BLACK GOLD

With enormous powers conferred on him as president,

The buck stops at Oga’s shiny mahogany desk

From where disaster, after disaster,

Unto the heads of subdued lives flows,

Poor folks, who, constantly,

In unspeakable want and fear bask.

None, in this tropical clime where corruption is rife,

Real fight to a cabal’s looting plans on giving.

Quite a few roughing it out

In shanties pinch at soup slimy nightly,

Talking in a hushed tone about their oppressors,

Namely, despots and thieves,

For whom Manna’s reserved,

No thanks to an impoverished citizenry.

With enough for everyone’s needs, to many it seems,

Hardly need anyone his, or her, greed’s needs

To satisfy, no matter whose that may be,

Yet, by this creed stand not powers that be.

Black gold, to not a few nations, east, west, north or south,

Misery brings, when viewed as lottery jack-pot

By leaders with no vision, let alone, mission.

But no country with

A giant geographical expression of sorts,

Where graft no arm of government spares,

Hardly, compares.

Yet, in no distant future, its ballot, opine optimists,

Sacred will stand, since, according to them,

Nothing remains the same, and, as well, “This land

Of opportunity shall bristle with prosperity

Because true representatives would,

Not misrule with impunity”, they believing.

Lagos,

March 18, 2013

 

POETRY, TO ME

If ever I'm on an island marooned,
I would etch my poems on the bark
of trees this week and then round
go reading them, the next week!

Poetry, my pastime true, without
compare, loyalty that never flops.
Though other vocations also count,
writing, however, my list long tops.

It thrives in each soul, even if locked,
striving hard to be written, hawked.
Life's companion in a lonely journey,
winning, cares little of, in a tourney.

Poems my heart make go gay up,
more sweet than a full Champagne cup.
One stanza, well-written, the mind blows,
in anthologies, a poet's fame grows!

 

George Amadi,
May 14, 2011 on Linkedin
in response to: "Would you
for one year stop writng
poems"

MY RAMSHACKLE

Tucked away from Main Street,
my retirement abode,
atop a two-storey
ramshackle,
sits pretty
with a vantage view
of the sky-line
hugging coconut trees
hiding Atlantic Ocean
from view.

A sea of rusty roofs,
face-saving caps to tainted
shacks, all meticulously
spread out
around the edifice
I live in --
an apartment building
not more than a miserable
patch-work without
a garden --
stuck perfectly
dead centre of
a notorious slum,
painfully draws
even greater attention
to the potentials of
this missing sea-front,
thereby doubling
my misery.

Every move, and many
there have been,
albeit half-hearted,
at giving the neighbourhood
a face-lift
in sharp disagreements
ended,
not least of all,
drilling a gutter
through its hundred-metre,
unpaved road
characterised mainly
by gullies.

In the evening of a chequered
life, I would have treasured
nothing more
than the serenity
offered bountifully
by the rolling hills of Nsukka
but, pray, why, every
now and then, do
I keep returning
to the twin villains,
bedlam
and squalour,
which funky Lagos never
stops
poking in my face,
time and
time again?  

 

by G. Amadi

Lagos,
Oct. 29, 2012

OZONE LAYER

'Smoke billows ozone layer lay bare,'
says UNEP, but does the world care?
Folks a few to hygiene rules adhere,
yet, City Halls at abusers only stare!

Whacked by too little government,
much of urban beauty bares a dent
arrogantly inflicted by focus misled,
weary tribes, slowly dying, tax-bled.

Trash bins aren't the norm or what?
Strewn everywhere bits filthy squat.
Fish smelly here, napkin stale there,
only noses covered to pass by dare.

Dump sites a metropolis entire dot,
fly mean into my visitor's coke got.
In the car booth roach at me stares,
then favour to return, time spares.

United Nations on pollution lots say,
mayors can't help but such talk slay.
Huge clean-up funds unwisely spend,
still, new tenure bids to voters send.

 

Lagos
March 1, 2012

by George. Amadi
 

NEW YORK I LOVE

Eleven hours' flight to America, Lord,
atrocious, stormy weather, my word.
But the view from Pan Am, nice load,
when over the Atlantic, JFK showed

In the Bronx, there's a lot to be got, 
even, if folks from Queens think not.
Grand Concourse driving taught me,
traffic snarls not a few for all to see.
    
Staten Island, history's relic, alive is,
a flattering view of city's port gives.
when Twins got crushed, guts bled,
an Empire State Building tears shed.

Leviticus truly, its word made good,
recall I one guy a gate ticket booed:
'If in Jeans dressed, then, enter not,'
a club classy, out undesirables shut.

UN a talks trade on East River plies,
many a voyage risky under its belt.
One outfit which to war zones flies,
fighters, grievances,at its boss pelt.
 
Greenwich Village in a longitude fits
but by jazz festivals, here, known is.
At  Shea, top stars home runs bang, 

The Beatles, "P. S., I love You," sang.

Few basketballers to the top strive,
O'Neil's scenes lively Sugar Hill drive
But nobody's creativity, then clicked
the way Erwin superb shots nicked.

Chariot riding in Central Park thrills,
the Middle Ages alive again in frills,
and New Year's Eve at Times Square,
the air fills with tender loving care.

One thing more, really unsaid left is,
as Rock of Ages for me verily, cleft is,
so is it crystal clear,enplaned above,
that New York City, Big Apple, I love.

George Amadi   
Oct. 23, 2011
Lagos

A TOURIST'S POETRY

 Naive, vacationers into trouble pry,
even in Rome, Romans to outdo try.
Tourists cunning away guides scare,
alas, their dirty linens only to lay bare.

Ignorance of the law, not an excuse,
a man caught in sin, yet this pleads.
A wrong foot leading crime breeds;
outcome hardly difficult to deduce.

A reading habit invaluable stands,
do not books by covers alone class.
Travels, hand in hand, with facts go,
only in word banks do these grow.

Poetry books in lyrics classy flowing,
facts sourced rhymed, away tucked,
prose to language of the gods elevated,
level creative new agenda allowing.

No field of study the mind enriches
like the lofty heights by literature 
over, not a few millenia, attained,
poetry's content evolution, no less.

Reach, prime factor in today's deals,
by words soothing spiced, delights,
and, as salesmen wax more poetic,
so will their outings get less chaotic

Trade, per force, tourism paths links,
raison d'etre of business, flourishes,
better ties nations binding, threads,
folklore by poetry woven, spreads.

 

Lagos
April 10, 2012