Posted in Poetry

Under size and over size

Size matters,

big good, bigger better

and this hunch back mind frame

begotten of  the cult of quantity

slowly overruns and over turns sense

the ramparts of value breached

size soon deforms, corrupts

Our world staggers,

drunk, awash with situations

Teary, tearing and tiring

where the over size bank account nourishes

the under size conscience,

shrinking and wilting

values lost, morals flown, soul in slow decay

 

nearby, the lad with the over sized chest,

six packs and biceps in riot

muscle bound, more bran bland

brain draining blank

Size defines all, limits him,

The lure and the law of the raw,

Brute force supreme

the beauty in the simple lost

in simple equations of the big

with good, more with best

his undersize emotions

seek solace but suffocate

In the heaving over scented bosom of the lass

mammary implant  oversize,

her ever enlarging wardrobe

celebrating waste,

happily co-habiting with her shrivelling soul

the well glossy manicured nails

contrast with the growing dirt

and darkening gloom within

that houses a withering mind, 

and a soul that festers

 

In wide and poorly lit corridors

politicians jostle around

with their over -size vocabulary

their obese ambitions and hypertrophied egos

undeterred by their under size self-knowledge

atrophied and stunted consciences

feed and are fed upon by that hunger

that always eats up the entrails,

never abating, the spiritual bankruptcy

despite fat bank accounts

the social void, the empty vision

the oedema of the malnourished conscience

condemned to always seep of a sop, 

that creates more thirst,

forces more drinking to forever drink and know no satiation

and drunk and drowned in that soggy sop that empties

and drowns the voice of reason and compassion

slowly making a victim of the misguided assumed victor

while the sad world rolls on

the loud voice of size

drowns the persistent appeals of sense,

of quality and eternal values

**** I wrote this song some time back as I worried over the situation in my country where greed and materialism had almost succeeded in snuffing out all sane values.

Posted in Poetry

Dry taps

By

 

Noel Ihebuzor

 

Dry taps flood my eyes raw and red with tears

the running noses of malnourished children dry me up

slowly eat me up

 

Nothing runs now

nothing grows now any more

save the swollen stomachs

severe acutely malnourished children, SAMs

Nothing else but the growing numbers  of kids carrying these  ugly loads

of shame, nothing else  but these

and the swelling bank accounts of officials and politicians

persons of shrinking consciences, stunted morals

afflicted of severe affective deficits – SAD

 

Ugonma has died of thirst in a land endowed with springs,

Echidiime of hunger in a land over-running and endowed with plenty

in a land increasingly overcrowded by uncaring and indifferent adults

adults with blinkers and going bunkers

adults with contracted souls and empty minds

 

is there any wonder why the taps continue to run dry

and  I continue to cry for my hopes betrayed and

lament dreams and inheritances sold for a cheap porridge?

Posted in Poetry

lean years

the lean year now grow long

the lean years now swell

fat years now a memory, fading and withering

withering as children, fading as hope

whilst rage roars and soars

and fat indifferent officials and politicians gorge themselves silly

in fits akin to cannibal rage and infantile obsession

Posted in Poetry

The road we walk

by Noel Ihebuzor

It appeared shorter, smoother and surer,

Easier, beckoning, enticing

but once our seduced feet

Set off on it

The road became long and longer

and our enlarging lust glued our feet to it

and we got stuck and sucked in

 

The ephemeral glitter, the vanishing flashing lights

left us lost, clutching our harvest of cheap gains

and dense chaff

eternal virtues abandoned

redeeming values jettisoned

 

Our lust locked us in, stills locks us in

and still locks us out

of our possibilities 

and we walk and trudge along in loose losing circles,

muscles aching, limbs limp, souls sore

minds racked and feverish

our days now empty, our nights long and limp

 

A constant rush of rash

dull but disturbing lights invade our nights

stagger into our sweat filled dreams

these dreams filled with uneven riots and battles

In which demons and angels contend

For our souls and our wayward soles

mornings are stale and dark like the days

 

We trudge on

in ever widening circles and sterile cycles

in our fatigued state, we clump and stomp,

our alluring Journey’s end

now hazy, dim and receding…..

 

Outcomes from our feverish indecent haste of the past

now visit our present,

ghosts from our past,

they clamp our limbs like dead lead

And us, miserable us,

still blind, obdurate as if cursed

very reluctant to return

to the basics

to start anew

rather preferring to sift

the blowing and bellowing winds

for a harvest of  fresh fish