Monuments

Monuments in your life

Hardly forgotten 

With wondrous memoirs

May influence you 

To break barriers 

Once again 

With alacrity 

To break new frontiers

Tis you re consumed by it

Guzzler

He who guzzles a lot

Should appease same passion 

To books than the plight 

Of alimentary canal 

Much growth in medulla 

Than mere growth in shallow belly

Not to please every one

When you learn to please every one

One day you shall wake up 

And you would realize 

You had no zeal to compete again 

To stop following the crowd 

Begin by believe in your verdict 

Libertas Conversation.part 3

Hardly had Tumulus unveiled the necromancy 

That necromancer the witch at the golden valley Venusivian resurfaced 

To administer the essence of magic potion and curry sorcery 

And thus she invoke:

"Libertas Conversation shall no fail us

 O ye libertarians and tequila equalitarians of the cosmos ,

O ye mystagogues and apostles of mother nature 

Thou sinister necromancers of mother board

Behold thy deity at thy pantheons of pantheistic crossword 

Old greybeard's come to town fortnightly 

In the seething wings and broken waves of the golden hills 

O ye shall be superhumanitarians thereafter your initiation 

And unto the old grey beard's messenger of peace Aristobroth,

Shall thou servile and subservient mystic palms and mystic charm 

Transit thereafter unto thy household 

O grey beard's messenger the sacred apparition of the motherboard 

Thermostasis of the mother nature 

Utter now from thy broken navel and belly ache

Thou the terse verses of this initiation script

"Unto the sacred messager of peace 

Aristobroth 

I submit my resume of spirit soul and body

That I superhumanitarians upon initiate s

Shall be elevated above demise 

That upon the mystic palms of my navel 

Sempiternality abode and abode comfortably 

Amina Amina Amina "

Mystic oils and perfume of Arabian knights 

Pour she upon their forehead and left reeling on the ground lifeless 

As if impuissant in an hour towards the eventide 

Aristobroth messenger of peace alights in the mystic winds 

To wake them up from demise like stupor

Now initiates of the motherboard the immortal cult of mother nature 

The golden initiates of the third cult of mystagogues 

Happified immortal knights took place at Stonehenge, golden enroute golden hills 

A lingering distance from the manor.

The witchcraft at Stonehenge was weird than tumulus had found,

Sorcery and wings of the motherboard's 

Whisk them at light speed into stone henge 

And awoke now upon the vertigo speechless "

Why are we?"atesmus whizzed like a grampus 

"At terrifying Stonehenge?"

"You knew it?"

"Barely a stone nor a rock or mere mortal

Come out alive."palasmus retorted weakened from navel beneath fallen again 

On canvas 

Libertas Conversation

The price of freedom seemed quite uncharitable 

The knights in the manor swore not to defend its heinous trenches

And ensure liegemen lived off bound,

Vacuous feet bonded in perpetual shackles 

"Knights tell your lord to decree their freedom "

"Who tell you our repressed title?We re liegemen waffling beneath knightshood in repression of squirearchy "

"Then who is your knight and the lord for your lordship amidst the squirrels and best bits and nines suggest otherwise?"atesmus weaved curved sword secured to broad sabretache 

Over his shoulder as he drew his five bills sabretache to a pound to retrieve the location intelligence.

"Tumulus knight at maledectine would redress your entreaty."belched ejactamenta in the smothered sighs to the bonanza of no condescension of reprieve.

In the muse of enchidiron's,the gritty fabulous sabrerattlers winged as they winced

O the East forest path riding their wagons and saccadic saddle horses ,

Linen changed in small sabretaches of the tiger skin, 

Saccharofarinaceous haversacks cuddled behind a repertoire of dried meat, hard-boiled eggs,

Appended to the sacharimertric saddle,with saddle horns, saddle blankets,

In such ample on a pinch for a good day meal,

Sloven frock ,jackets decked with sabretache and swords,

Indisputable habbit de court,waistcoats,crisscrossed to the north for the Tumulus manor house.

Defiance in safety numbers, there's .Their detest of pyrates consigned them to seas And not the clueless intendment to succour lushes for the sabotage and reconnaissance purport at alupluto's.

Then they came to Tumulus fortnightly and petition him for the redress and verboten of brutish lores.

"S'il vous plait for ye re the gods,Knaves on the preeminence, knights are no more the chivalrous saints of the public realm.Whence cometh the moult that we seeketh?"

"Maximus the sabora of trenchwarfare redress keenly your entreaties 

And to our altercation on the matter of lordship realm and the knighthood custom That enforce perfidy,we ultimately berth consensus from assymetrical posits."

"Like seriously "

"Yeah we did.Recruit into the ilks though conscription is long forgotten "

"We regret this missing ribs".

"O Palasmus and atesmus oracle eulogized thee"Tumulus bantered

"Like seriously "atesmus schocked

"So we re intimated and ...."

"Initiation at my shrine shrink not today till dusk.Sit on the crouch."intoned with sachariferous grit.

Shallom to thy household

Shallom to thy household 

Do not offend anyone 

But  if you do

Take your mother 

To beg them

If you cannot 

Take your father 

To beg them

If you cannot take them

Nor hire your brothers 

To determine

My kismet

Stay

Silence 

Is the best virtue

Time is Going

Time is going 

Do something 

For yourself 

And your siblings 

If indeed you can

Make them happy 

Life is short 

Enjoy it with them

What is the good in life 

If you hardly enjoy 

With loved ones

Make haste 

Raise your head 

And conquer 

The world 

With loved ones 

Alongside

Alongside my sacrifice 

Bring me my glory

Alongside my glory 

Bring me my rain coat 

To cover me 

In the raining days 

Carry your Sacrifice.

Carry your sacrifice 

To the golden gates of victory 

Do not digress nor court

Adherents of digression 

And cowardices 

When you travel in linear 

Direction 

You go get to your 

Prime destination 

In recorded time 

It's a gospel 

But folks won't hear it

And they remain poor 

Forever 

Never doubt

Never doubt your aerial capabilities 

That is your uncommon talent

Otherwise you might not achieve 

Your full potentials at the end.

Never never never never never 

Never doubt it for once 

No matter how silly 

It sounds 

Hamiltonian America.Chapter 10-Leonine Strides.page 10

"He had also pour encomium on him before his wife although more extravagant partner was found in Lauren, Lafayette was more pronounced in rapturous prose . Little wonder he had boasted before his wife "Among the general 's aides de camp is a young man whom I love very much and about whom I have occasionally spoken to you.  That man is colonel Hamilton."When he wrote to him in 1780, Lafayette says", Before this campaign I was your friend and very intimate friend agreeable to the ideas of the world."And after his return from France he spoke"my sentiment has increased to such a point the world knows nothing about ".They were the rarest breed of friends he ever had attracting the high and mighty in the government circle of admirers gathering influence from well placed folks to expand his political power to the highest plateau ."

"As at this material point in time,the battle was still raging in New York.Do you know that?"

"Not far from the truth.See when in early July 1777, upstate NY fell to the British. . "he interrupted quickly..

"Where exactly in upstate location?"

"Fort Ticonderoga to be precise."

"Oh my gosh you re so good."

"See the shortlived impetus ignited colonists confidence and king George 111 clapped and jubilated beating them to the game and screamed "....Beat all the Americans"signified temporary setback for the Patriots."

"And the instant effect was?"

"See you you re pulling my legs.You know it already."

"What?"

"Say it"

"Don't you get it? Because it opened a frontier a new corridor the invading army of general John Burgoyne to push further south in New York City from Canada."

"And the target?"

"Why asking such a silly question? Slicing the rebel army and isolation of new England,a principal objective of the British war policy "

"Who was held responsible for the near fatal defeat?I mean the lapses in defense came from?"

"See later father in law of Hamilton General Philip Schuyler was responsible for the catalyst.Regatdless of the shortcomings Unsparing Hamilton unveiled the culprit general that was behind the predicament.Livid at this defeat when he wrote to Robert Livingston e says "I have always been a very partial judge  of general Shuyler's conduct and and vindicated it frequently from the charges he brought against it""but I am at last forced to supposed him inadequate "Irrespective of the distinct critism,he had remained loyal and heavily defended Shuyler's though this one carried light punishment.Being a tough disciplinarian his new England troops worked against him as New York leader and weakened by desertion and settled malice at the same time in which the British pulled off a master ful plan scaled up ward steep mountain overlooking Ticonderoga that led to unlikely capture.Then he was replaced as the head of army's northern department aftermath of diverse slurs by Horatio Gates a personality that he jeered as the new Idols of new Englanders.Though he was exculpated in a self bequeathed court martial for the loss Ticonderoga, Shuyler's never really recovered from the damage that affected his military influence.

Hamilton's upset was quite astounding of a state that was considered as his political parent and could be a more perilous loss for america as a whole and he began to interrogate the proprietary level of allegiance he had for the state.

Hamiltonian America.Chaper. 10,Lionine Strides.Pg.9

"Marquis really had a mutual love for Hamilton like his friend Lauren?"

" Eliza Hamilton also confirmed the mutual love they had as brothers for each other.Also slender youth like Hamilton regardless of early childhood sorrow when father died quite earlier in his upbringing at age two and mother at thirteen and an orphan at early age . Married at sixteen and wife at fourteen Adrienne de Noailles a daughter to one of the victorious families in France.So he offered america invaluable access to illustrious and snobbish court of king Louis xvi .Owing to such a letter written by Benjamin Franklin on his behalf to George Washington,he recommended astonishing level of meteoric rise in the continental army.often times in a powdered wig,long face with rosy lips and delicate eyebrows . Lafayette a well connected man was said to serve without pay."

"Like Washington quite interesting.Only recently sabbre rattling Donald Trumps repeated that."

"Lafayette brought a ship to United States at his own expenditures..."

"Then he must be so rich by the then standard ".

"Of course because Hamilton befriend the high and mighty being the second most powerful man in government after Washington."

"The second man policy bureau, intelligentsia of the state."

"Exactly.With the ship he brought at his own expense he kitted and lavishly clothe and equipped the Patriots.A liberal man of the people and a great poet like his friend Hamilton . Franklin lavished him good praises and also expressed fear to Washington people would take advantage of his weakness capabilities to show goodness . Franklin was not worried thereafter about his safety and he became a much revered paternal and was fond of him too to name his only son George Washington Lafayette.So when he wounded in battle Washington instructed the surgeon to treat him as his son and received the best ever treatment.Though people accused him of lip service ,vain, suspicious and self seeking.Whereas Thomas Jefferson who was a prominent critics in this context when he says ..,,.."his foible is a canine appetite for popularity and fame"was pompous,gluttonous power hungry and a flagrant abuser of the state. Jeffersonian mess were uncovered later on as a worst power hungriot in American history.Hamilton had almost ultimate instantaneous support from the history of his early republic and colossal load of friendship across the board.He was equally rewarded by many of his actual faithful Stewart's.The speed of their friendships skyrocketed when he was assigned to him as a liason officer.Their bond was so strong that James Flexner doubted whether their friendship goes beyond mere friendship.Hamilton's grandson also saw their  friendship bond and had to show the love to get together and succeeded during early days of his success.

Ring the bell

The truth can protect you 

Family and friends 

Cannot 

Even though are

Your immediate shelter

Only you can ring the bell

What Is Human person?

There is no vacation for good deeds

There is no vacancy for good deeds

There is no vacuum for good deeds

The true reflection of the human person 

So what is human person?

Ethics say

It is good deeds

But politics say 

It is bad deed, deceptive character 

But economics say

It is scarcity of want

As the scarcity of human character 

But prejudice say

It is evil deeds

And every deceptive character 

Chooses prejudice 

And the world 

Is full of evil deeds 

And evil doers 

Sooner or later

Sooner or later 

History shall be rewritten 

What should it write about you?

Before they do

But what should I write about myself 

That others don't write about?

That is my selling point

That is not my pseudo history 

Rewards for action

Catch a thief in the day

But in the dark and light.

They tell lie

Without ceasing 

Reward the righteous 

In the day 

Not in the night

When 

He's gone 

Every action 

Has a reward 

What Is Human person?

There is no vacation for good deeds

There is no vacancy for good deeds

There is no vacuum for good deeds

The true reflection of the human person 

So what is human person?

Ethics say

It is good deeds

But politics say 

It is bad deed, deceptive character 

But economics say

It is scarcity of want

As the scarcity of human character 

But prejudice say

It is evil deeds

And every deceptive character 

Chooses prejudice 

And the world 

Is full of evil deeds 

And evil doers 

If...

If music is the food of love 

Let it play one

If message is the food of 

understanding and wisdom

Let us listen 

If love is the language of 

Passion 

Let us clamour 

To grow that passion

The language of custom

And character 

Tell yourself the truth

Tell yourself the truth

Do not deceive your self 

If you do 

The whole world 

 will tell themselves 

The truth 

When everyone 

Tell himself 

Or herself 

The truth

Then it goes

Round in circles 

And the world 

A better place 

To live 

 

Who am I?

Today

 I become 

The richest man

In the Cosmos 

Blessed beyond compare 

Tell me

Who am I?

Am immortal

Am fortunate to be alive 

May I live forever 

I shall live forever 

With my pen

Then if I do live forever 

With my pen 

I truly truly live 

Forever 

Am immortal 

Hold your faith

Hold your faith 

So much tight

An august of the fact

That your victory 

Is guaranteed 

Am immortal

Am fortunate to be alive 

May I live forever 

I shall live forever 

With my pen

Then if I do live forever 

With my pen 

I truly truly live 

Forever 

Am immortal 

What you know

What you know 

Is very delicate 

And very risky 

And you have 

To grow it

Because 

It is your limit 

In a lifetime 

Everything 

You have 

Belong there

And nothing left

After they re erased

And they day 

They get outdated 

That day

 all your possession

Get outdated 

So you must 

Grow your holdings

To stay relevant 

Beyond compare 

Of thy mates

And the society.

Your instincts

Shape your instincts 

Into your day of verdict 

Shape your instincts 

Into your day of verdict 

Shape your instincts 

Into your day of verdict 

Follow the path

Follow the path not the path owners but what if the path owners derailed what abject prospects for the dying arts o

Remember to treat people and to do

Otherwise the famished road into Netherlands cannot be erased.

Good mission

Good mission and bad mission 

Initially are not identified by the 

Causes but the maturity at the effect ends

Is a different ball game entirely:Beware!

That good mission takes tides of time  to boost human dignity and guarantee good mission.

Wilderness Sands.part two

Statutes cannot change man but man can change statues

To the rash of enchiladas and enchidiron's flames

The rays of the ordinands are swayed and sworn to the etiquette of the statutes 

That we sometimes deemed to defend the espousal by default 

Upon the frangibility of arts and the dire consumer of arts

Misrule trod gallantly at alupluto upon the belies of ignoble knaves 

Who defies chaste from the paramount ensembles and retreats sinews into perfidy 

The forest of knaves with bearded with beastly kings and vacuous Lords 

With hoipoloi twice like wax in their hands 

Where squirearchy embalmed mischief 

In the crooked vouchsafe and brutish repression of vassalage and liegemen.

A million times moults of moulds maketh no statutes human

Whose whims and caprices devise blizzards of its artifices

"The golden lions upon their ascension might do otherwise"

"They may prowl only much ado about nothing 

And when the dust has settled,the flaws revert to the man who made the statutes.Are all men the same or by which custom did they hew them?"

"In this contract and context thou well nailed the poser like ancient man nabbed in the ancient times."

"Devise should grant reprieve to the public squares to endorse and condone and concede defeat

To machismo with egalitarian spirit and not the despot by integument 

Only shall we have mien that splashes esteem on the golden letters of statutes 

Glorying the enforcement with chastity,probity and immaculate sense of clarity "

"I know maximus he came pretty close "

"Should his golden lions we re doomed to die in this echinated heen of banana republic."Tumulus ranted

"Are you not part and parcel of the stormy stardusts,this illustrious ilk of the golden lions,sating with pride in your friendship with maximus?"

"Yes we Ve gone up fifteen folks at vestigious count.May Semenya befall in the trenches and forest?"

"Amenya.Shallom."

Wilderness Sands

Not the gallivanting hood who feedeth on a heavenly flames where beautiful roses barely die

Making abundance, plenitude even in surfeit for the haunting herald sweet ornament greets gaudy spring to besiege the crooked brow

Cringing crow over hazy mist of morning bloom,tender hoist surmised over thrashing loop and tattered weeds perpetuate the singing hymns of radiant times

Look in thy thriftless eulogy and make a distinction over sinking infraction of beguiling sport 

Now the belligerent nesciency makest thy visage the hoots of the raspberry 

Whose tingled retribution by paladins if not thou not repel

Thou dost dissuade and dissipate and dispels with mothernature 

For where is mothernature so bloody whose miracle in the personified archives ran accolades 

That deepens the mystic of the eaon to enquire company of encompassment at lurid expense

Not to breathe bloody savages and faux pas so quaintly 

Over taints of liberty in the dirty linen of the tarnishing procedure ,

Turbulent winds sometimes tear apart germane disposition 

Outrageous slings flinging over fortunate arrows 

Spurns liberty for seclusion of broken reeds

That peculiar archipelago from whose bourn no junketing feet hardly returns 

Isn't it strange where clowns forfeit liberty though wittingly in the moist cities with no wilderness ramblings?

Gentle men of abesi and sarabesa gathered knighthood from the stuffed mist of wilderness ramblings 

Who has quest to retrieve Sunny times from incorrigible wilderness sands.

 

My Poetry Evolution :A First Generation Poetry Class.

I think poetry has come a long way and I have done a lot of western poetry research and wrote almost all forms of western poetry and also have used more than three million vocabularies in my writings more than any African writers or poets.Am moving back to my culture and start the process of exploring local form of poetry and I think we have more diverse forms of poetry than even an average Westerner.For instance an average indigenous poetry architecture including the oral poetic forms such as in the Yoruba context oriki or panygeric poetry or eulogizing Poetry,ọfọ or incantation ,ijala or hunter's chants,ese ifa or ita divination poetry, Iremoje or valedictory verse,owe or proverbs,all apamo or riddles and jokes,epe or curses or imprecation,asun rara or chanting song etcetera.

Anyways,to prove that I belong to the best poetry generation in Nigeria which is The second generation the wole Soyinka generation,I will let a third party pass the Verdict.

Let me reproduce a Guardian essay entitled The Nigerian Poetry Send the lost/careless Generation.part 1 published in 11th September,2016 on Guardian online authored by Christopher Anyokwu as reproduced below, enjoy the reading:

Nigerian poetry and the lost/careless generation – Part 1

 By : Christopher Anyokwu

 Date: 11 Sep 2016 :

"The concept of Nigerian poetry is at once as interesting and problematic as that of the Nigerian post-colony itself. Interesting because, regardless of its unstable and amorphous constitution, it has continued to subsist, defying, as it does, the law of gravity; and, problematic in one breath because its very definition and its constitutive properties vary from habitus to originary habitus with particular reference to ethnic claims and, hence, epistemic afflatus.

Given this problematic conceptualization of “Nigerian Poetry”, it has become something of a lazy, if normalizing, sleight-of-hand to speak, descriptively. The poetries emerging from within the geographic province of the nation-state as “Nigerian Poetry” is a group of ethnically-informed, religiously-nuanced and culture-bound verse-making whose critical appraisal must be conducted from within its specific socio-cultural ideational matrices.

But, like everything “Nigerian”, seeking to critique this body of dissimilar but inter-related poetries from an ethnically-informed prism would be misconstrued and denounced as an assault on logic, or, in political terms, as heretical, if not downright unpatriotic. But since the business of scholarship authorizes research as re-search, it therefore behooves us to rethink and re-conceptualize and, ultimately, re-operationalize the notion of Nigerian poetry with a view to properly situating its heuristic and hortatory potentialities. If, indeed, we take ourselves seriously in our determined pursuit of the truth about the integrity of the phenomenon of “Nigerian poetry”, we should be speaking of it in the plural, to wit, Nigerian poetries (in other words, Yoruba-English Poetry, Igbo-English Poetry, Urhobo-English poetry, Ika-English Poetry and so forth!).

To do that would, of course, create the uncomfortable impression of an “enemy national” out to put a knife to that which holds us together as a (homogenous?) people (‘Though tribe and tongue may differ, in brotherhood we stand, the defunct National Anthem proclaimed!). But beyond the political correctness of a pan-Nigerian posturing and/or the feel-good, anodyne shibboleths of patriotese, the prickly truth of the heterogeneity of our poetries continues to stare us in the face. What, in concrete terms, does, say Wole Soyinka’s poetry have in common with Christopher Okigbo’s poetry; or what communion has Niyi Osundare’s verse with Tanure Ojaide’s poetry? To venture an answer here, however, it is pretty straightforward to stress the point that these poets all hail from the same country, write in and speak English, the country’s official language, and, to that extent, are all united by factors of context, that is, Nigerian polity, and language, that is, the English language. But if we take the trouble to interrogate the linguistic and the contextual minutiae of their work, it would become quite apparent that what divides these literary avatars are more deeply-entrenched than what unites them.

The troubling and vexatious details of the strife-riven ethnically-charged Nigerian politics do not only shape their linguistic ideology but, far more significantly, colour their reading of history and the relationship between poet and polity. To speak a bit more about language, it is common knowledge that every writer from a postcolonial country wrestles with the English language, especially one from an Anglo-phone nation-state (cf: T.S. Eliot’s “intolerable wrestle with words”). As Niyi Osundare typically brilliantly posits in the case of a Yoruba-born Nigerian poet, when two languages meet, they kiss and quarrel. Does this apply to both the Igbo-born poet and the Yoruba-born poet in equal measure and in every material particular? Not quite, we daresay: for Igbo and Yoruba, though both of them, tone or tonal syllable-timed languages, have phonological, syntactic, morphological and, thus, semantic features unique to each of them.

Embedded and deeply-ingrained in each language is a particular philosophy of life which, in turn, invariably permeates the social values, the patterns of thinking, religious outlook and the epistemology of that particular ethnic group. Yoruba is Yoruba, Igbo is Igbo. What, therefore, comes through as Soyinka’s poetry, for example, is an admixture of Yoruba oral tradition and western poetic tradition. By the same token, Okigbo’s poetry is steeped in autochthonous Igbo orality and a welter of foreign-derived literary traditions.

Using both Soyinka and Okigbo as template, we can very easily analyse the socio-cultural features of any Nigerian poet. Therefore, just as it has become increasingly difficult to speak of African literature due largely to the multiplicity of nationalities, ethnicities and communicative idioms which make up Africa, so does the description of Nigerian Poetry as a single, homogenous body of writing leave much to be desired. What is being proposed here, for whatever it is worth, is that, in the light of present realities, geopolitical and all, it may be more intellectually rewarding and, of course, more factual to take another, more dispassionate look at the criticism of Nigerian poetry, and, this time, from a decidedly ethnically-informed perspective.

The merit of this procedure is that, shorn of the lie of cultural homogeneity, the critic is more equipped and better informed to plumb the depths of any Nigerian writing under analysis as he or she is required to situate the work within its socio-cultural milieu and, thereafter, stake out its proper place within the larger Nigerian social life. Poetry originating from the so-called minority ethnic groups would have their day in the sun. We can then have, say, Efik-English poetry, Esan-English Poetry, Isoko-English Poetry and Nupe-English Poetry and so on. Beyond showcasing the vast cultural diversity of Nigerian Poetry as a whole, these poetries from hitherto suppressed and marginalized social groups would be brought to the fore coupled with the fact that their academic or discursive respectability would be established. To this extent, therefore, uprooted scholars and prodigal researchers must recognize the need to return home to their villages and localities to collaborate with their unlettered townsfolk who are the custodians of their artistic patrimony lest they die out with their artistic heritage. To be sure, the importance of this town-gown synergy cannot be overstated, particularly against the backdrop of the depredations of globalization.

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Tabloid tradition and modern Nigerian poetry

In talking about what we have referred to as the “Lost or Careless Generation” of Nigerian Poetry, it is important to clear the deck from the viewpoint of periodisation before we delve into the nitty-gritty of the modus operandi, the distinguishing features as well as the triumphs and troughs of the emergent tendency. Many scholars and historians of literature over the years have tried to furnish what in their considered views could be regarded as the definitive periodisation of Nigerian Poetry.

Some of these scholars include Harry Garuba, Biodun Jeyifo, Donatus Ibe Nwoga, Senanu and Theo Vincent and Tijan Sallah and Tanure Ojaide. Jeyifo remarks, for example, that: If there are now about five distinct generations of writers, critics and scholars of modern African literature, the first two generations came into their own in the epoch of the high tide of decolonization while the last two generations have been confronted with the specters of arrested decolonization, failing or collapsed states, economic stagnation, widespread autocratic misrule and the delegitimization of the grand narratives of emancipation which held that the liberation of African peoples in the modern world is indissolubly linked to the liberation of all the oppressed peoples of the world.

In spite of the perceptive and near-accurate analysis of Nigerian literary history given by Biodun Jeyifo, it appears far more accurate and, indeed, intellectually rewarding to stick to the periodisaton provided by Sallah and Ojaide in their jointly-edited anthology of African poetry entitled New African Poetry: An Anthology. According to these African poet-critics, there are three distinct generational cohorts in Nigerian, nay, African poetry, namely (1) the Nationalist poets such as Nnamdi Azikiwe and Osadebe who wrote poetry in imitation of the 19th-century British poets, as part of the momentous anti-colonial struggle and the agitation for self-determination; (2) the Independence Generation, that is, African poets who came of age during the heyday of political independence across Africa; and, in the Nigerian situation, this refers to the so-called Wole Soyinka-Clark-Okigbo coterie; and (3) the group of African poets who had cut their teeth on the works of their immediate predecessors but dissatisfied with their precursors’ performance, saw the need to steer a different course, thus inaugurating at once a thematic and formal sea-change in Nigerian verse-making.

Sallah and Ojaide, both among this coterie of African poets, identify some characteristic features of this school/tendency/sensibility, features which include limpidity of diction, a clear class consciousness or poetic ideology, a sense of propaganda, instrumental orchestration of poetry, otherwise known as “performance poetry”, antiphony, the adroit incorporation of indigenous oral poetic forms (in the Yoruba context, such as oriki (panegyric poetry), ofo (incantations), Ijala (hunters’ chants, ese ifa (Ifa Divination poetry); iremoje (valedictory verse); owe (proverbial lore) alo apamo (riddles and jokes) and epe (curses/imprecations). Additionally, these poets regard themselves as agents of change – radical, progressive and revolutionary change – poet – prophet/seers, social gadflies, ideologues, notably left-leaning revolutionary arbiters of taste and social health. Among these poet seers are Odia Ofeimun, Niyi Osundare, Okimba Launko, Funso Aiyejina, Obiora Udechukwu, Ossie Enekwe, Catherine Acholonu, Afam Akeh and Harry Garuba.

The impression has been created in much critical commentary that the third generation of Nigerian poets emerged out of the frustration felt by the readership over what has been variously described as the ‘obscurantism and eurocentrism’ of most of the [second] generation of modern Nigerian poets. Or, what Chinweizu et al characterize as ‘Euromodernism’ or ‘The Hopkins Disease’; or, to further flesh it out, ‘Hopkinsian syntactic jugglery, Poundian allusiveness and sprinkling of foreign phrases, and Eliotesque suppression of narrative and other logical linkages of the sort that creates obscurity in “The Waste Land”. This cultivation of obscurantism is also excoriated by Biodun Jeyifo when he comments that ‘The Older poets [i.e. the Soyinka coterie) generally deployed a diction and a metaphoric, highly allusive universe, calculated to exclude all but a small coterie of specialists…’

Given the fact that the second generation of Nigerian poets was to produce the first major body of poetry for sophisticated critical engagements, it was not surprising that their works have attracted in equal measure both high praise and acerbic denunciation, a vilification that came to a head with the publication of the Bolekaja Troika’s vitriol. Typically, in what he has called ‘Responses in Kind’, Soyinka has equally fought back pound for pound, taking his traducers to the cleaners in such mordant rejoinders as ‘Neo-Tarzanism: The poetics of Pseudo-Tradition’, ‘The Autistic Hunt; or, How to Marxmize Mediocrity’ and ‘Barthes, Leftocracy and Other Mythologies"

Now I must say with due sense of respect the classification of the five generations of poetry was done almost perfectly well but I make bold to disagree if it were based on the quality of impact and not driven by time or timing in the timeline analysis of checkered antecedence of poetry the first generation now would be the second generation and the second generation that is wole Soyinka generation would now be the first generation of Nigerian Poetry czars.Hence I too belong to the first generation and no need to change the rest of the three generations in the rear.Since none of the poetry czars of these three generations could dislodge the erstwhile first generation now the second generation tells a lot about the significance of poetry towards decolonization of the mind.

 There seems to be a wave of poetry movement in Nigeria as encapsulated in the beautiful essay below:

The Ex-Puritan

Schism

A smiling man in a black jacket stands near bookshelves, captured in a black and white photo.

“What in the World is Happening in Nigeria?": Adedayo Agarau on the Recent Explosion of Nigerian Poetry on the World Stage

By Adedayo Agarau

If we must write about the new crop of Nigerian writers, we must write it through history.

 

If we must write about the new crop of Nigerian writers, we must write it through history. The angels did not just remember to stir the waters of Nigerian poetry today, bestowing upon them the evanescent gift of language and the ability to submit poems and support one another on Twitter/X. Nigerian poets ride on the backs of small hubs, community culture, and language already established by writers before them. Before Facebook or the arrival of social media, Nigeria had already been identified as a major literary hub from which writers of the global south had emerged. Before I was born, Professor Wole Soyinka won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1986 and was said to be "in a wide cultural perspective and with poetic overtones fashions the drama of existence." In 1979, Chinua Achebe was awarded the Nigerian National Order of Merit. We have had Cyprian Ekwensi, JP Clark, Gabriel Okara, Christopher Okigbo, and Flora Nwapa, among others.

Earlier writing communities were formed in hostels, under trees, under the small light of nights where revered writers read to each other, published work in bulletins and formed collectives. Professor Niyi Osundare, whose poem made me fall in love with writing, Femi Osofisan, Odia Ofem, Tanure Ojaide, Festus Iyayi, and other writers of the second generation emerged with their sound nature and socio-political poetics heavily influenced by diverse Nigerian oral traditions. The history of Nigerian writers, contemporary or newer, has directly or indirectly been influenced by an earlier generation of brave writers who wrote despite.

As Julia Kristeva’s theory of intertextuality reminds us, no text or artistic movement emerges in isolation; it is instead a mosaic of past voices and influences. Akin to Newton’s First Law, metaphorically applied in cultural studies, the movement we see today is a continuation, a response to the enduring currents that shaped its path. In fact, it feels wrong to define Nigerian poetry as a movement. We’re just writing and submitting because our voices are fresh and our languages primed, and the world is listening.

Nigerian poets ride on the back of small hubs, community culture, and language already established by writers before them.

This essay captures my firsthand experience of community, reflecting how Nigerian poets formed connections on Facebook and beyond. It does not aim to alienate, erase, or rewrite the history from which it draws. My experience of the Nigerian poetry hub is personal, shaped by where I lived and the communities I belonged to, and does not imply that other communities did not exist elsewhere.

Only a few months after discovering the poetry scene on 2go and meeting Rasak Malik—one of my earliest mentors—I slid into Kukogho Iruesiri Samson’s DMs on Facebook Messenger and asked him to mentor me. A few years before, I had seized the Anthology of West African Voices from a junior student we called Fufu Meje, my first encounter with poetry. Samson asked me how far I was willing to go, and I responded, “As far as you take me.” Samson was a Nigerian working in media who loved literature, had written several poems, and, like everyone, believed he could make something out of creative writing. Instead of focusing on writing his manuscript Devil's Pawn, which won the Dusty Manuscript Prize in 2015, Samson dedicated hours to the community he created on Facebook—Words, Rhymes, and Rhythms (WRR)—platforming thousands of Nigerian writers like me. Samson mentored me, edited my work, and published my first poem, "Freedom." WRR democratized access to literary resources, particularly for poets who lacked formal training or connections to established literary circles. By creating an inclusive environment, WRR enabled diverse voices to emerge, reflecting the multiplicity of Nigerian experiences.

Samson asked me how far I was willing to go, and I responded, ‘As far as you take me.’ 

Outside of WRR, small hubs of meetings, readings, and slams were emerging across the country. The year Tade Ipadeola won the NLNG Prize for his remarkable volume The Sahara Testament, I found myself in the crowd at Artmosphere, hosted by Servio Gbadamosi and Femi Morgan, shaking in my boots as Femi called me up to read my poem "An Ode to Amiri Baraka." Around the same time, Dami Ajayi had just released his career-defining chapbook Daybreak & Other Poems, a collection that explores desire through lush metaphors. Dami, with his enigmatic, carefree, and effortlessly humorous presence, struck me as someone who had stumbled into poetry by chance, as nothing about him seemed to fit the stereotypical "poet." Moments before taking the stage, he downed a bottle of beer, then proceeded to captivate the audience with his electrifying poems. I was invited to #BeBlessed a week later, hosted by Olumide Bisiriyu. I still remember my mother sewing me an Up-Nepa buba and sokoto for the poetry event—her son had finally found something he loved, even if it was something she didn’t fully understand but supported wholeheartedly.

In 2014, #BeBlessed Quarterly emerged as a crucial gathering place for young Nigerian poets, fueled by our collective passion for language—a fervor that consumed us entirely. VicAdex, who once walked halfway from Ibadan along the perilous Ibadan-Oyo highway to attend #BeBlessed the night before an important exam, exemplified the depths of our dedication. Such was our hunger for poetic communion. Every quarter, Mr. Olumide Bisiriyu's home became a sanctuary for around 30 young writers with nowhere else to stay after the poetry event. His generosity was a cornerstone of our burgeoning community. Evenings were spent in shy, earnest conversations in the dimly lit corners of the Bisiriyu compound. Mornings began with a humble feast: slices of bread, fried eggs, and tea. I can still vividly picture Mr. Olayemi Ayo, a fellow poet, sipping tea in front of the large television, sweat glistening on his brow as he later read a poem about his life in Lagos. The image is etched in my memory, a testament to the power of those moments. Lawal Kafayat Gold, Kemistree, Clementina, Oluwatosin Faith Kolawole, Bliss Akinyemi, and several other writers would take turns standing before Mr. Bisiriyu's TV, their voices bringing their poems to life in that makeshift arena of art. At a time when oral traditions and the study of poetry were declining—or by extension, the death of Nigerian education—writers were forming a community to uphold the tradition of language.

Around the same time, initiatives from Poets in Nigeria (PIN) began to flourish in Lagos, expanding the reach of our poetic renaissance. The convener, Mr. Eriata Oribhabor, became a pivotal supporter of Samson's visionary ideas. Under his guidance, PIN launched the Nigerian Students Poetry Prize, the PIN Food Poetry Prize, and several other smaller contests fostered in hubs across the country. Mr. Oribhabor's support extended beyond the conceptual; he provided crucial financial backing to young writers, nurturing talent with both resources and recognition.

At a time when oral traditions and the study of poetry were declining—or by extension, the death of Nigerian education—writers were forming a community to uphold the tradition of language.

In 2015, when Ademola Adefolami and Ewo Chidiebere won the PIN-Rose Residency program, I found myself in Ademola's room, engrossed in deep discussions about poetry. These moments of intense literary exchange became the crucibles in which our craft was refined. I had not learned of the African Poetry Book Fund then. The first time I heard about it, we were huddled in a small room at the Ayotoz Hotel, a dilapidated hotel that Samson’s “Feast of Words”—a poetry and literature festival hosted by WRR—could afford. Chika Jones mentioned that Kwame Dawes sent him an invite to submit to the box set. Imagine the bewilderment in the room. A quick Google search showed us what Kwame Dawes had done and was doing with Chris Abani on the continent. We sat in silence, listening to Chika and Ademola tell us the history of this new industry we were attempting to break into. I was a writer that year. That was all that mattered—being a writer. I hadn’t even thought that years later, I’d be writing this essay from a coffee shop in downtown Oakland. Looking back, I am struck by our fervent desire for growth, which I now realize was born out of the lack of formal institutions. Without established structures and the generosity of older writers willing to throw a few thousand around, we became our own mentors, critics, and champions. We were all we had, and in that scarcity, we found abundance.

Looking back, I am struck by our fervent desire for growth, which I now realize was born out of the lack of formal institutions. Without established structures and the generosity of older writers willing to throw a few thousand around, we became our own mentors, critics, and champions. We were all we had, and in that scarcity, we found abundance.

This grassroots movement, built on the foundations of gatherings like #BeBlessed, WRR, and initiatives like PIN, has played a crucial role in shaping the landscape of contemporary Nigerian poetry. It stands as a testament to the power of community, passion, and perseverance in nurturing literary talent and fostering cultural expression. It is important to mention that, as far as mentorship goes, Nigerian poets Kanyinsola Olorunnisola and Oyindamola Shoola started the SpringNG Mentorship program, which has successfully mentored hundreds of writers, some of whom are now in MFA programs and are award-winning poets.

In Rasak's poem "If You Come Tonight," published in African Writer in 2014, the poet captures this deeply rooted authenticity:

And if you come tonight

To preach to my deaf ears

For I have seen miles before birth

I have rendered my lines with mourning mothers

At unnamed tombs

I have earlier spewed words

Only cureless consolation I received

And if you come tonight

You won’t see me.

This verse underscores Rasak’s burden of inherited memory and his relentless confrontation with suffering, capturing the rawness of the Nigerian experience. I met Rasak for the first time at the Poetry and Palm Wine event hosted by the Arts and Theatre students of the University of Ibadan. That evening, I learned that my childhood friend, Uthman Adejumo, also wrote poetry. We’re drawing poetry from communal and personal experiences. We’re writing into and from the graffiti in our small lives. If the Nigerian poet sings of birds, it’s because pigeons are on electric cables outside their house. If we sing of fire, is the fire of the current political climate not hot enough? We’re closer to our metaphors, in language and in reality. Rasaq’s writing introduced me to language—and not just me; a host of Nigerian writers were studying Rasaq’s deviation from Victorian English into something that feels quite like a night in Iseyin.

We’re drawing poetry from communal and personal experiences. We’re writing into and from the graffiti in our small lives.

James Ademuyiwa and Gabriel Ayomide Festus were among the few emerging writers at that time whose language seemed like a gift from God: fresh, unpredictable, and brilliant. I also argue that the cycle of influence does not end—while writers before us took influences from writers like Pius Adesanmi, JV Verissimo, Lola Shoneyin, Toni Khan, Professor Gbemisola Adeoti, Harry Garuba, Professor Remi Raji, Uche Nduka, Ogaga Ifowodo among others—some of whom were members of Krazitivity, an earlier online community of writers—newer Nigerian writers take influences from the immediate generation before them. My earliest writing was heavily influenced by Gbenga Adesina, who won the 2016 Brunel Poetry Prize with Chekwube Danladi, D.M. Aderibigbe, Salawu Olajide, Shittu Fowora and Funsho Oris, who supplied some of my earliest edits. At the same time, I was writing with Olu Afolabi, Moyosore Orimoloye—one of the most brilliant writers I have ever worked with—Hauwa Shaffi Nuhu, Shade Mary-Ann, James Ademuyi, Mesioye Johnson, Ridwan Adelaja, and others. My first chapbook, For Boys Who Went, was published by Kukogho Samson's Authorpedia in 2016. It went on to become one of the most-read chapbooks at that time.

I cannot underestimate Krazitivity's role in the brilliance and vibrance of Nigerian literature as it migrated from the page to the screen. The online community was pivotal in developing Nigerian literature in the early 2000s. Founded as a Yahoo Group, it served as a virtual gathering place for Nigerian writers, poets, and literary enthusiasts within the country and in the diaspora. The platform facilitated discussions, critiques, and collaborations, fostering a sense of community among emerging and established authors. Notable members of Krazitivity included Nnorom Azuonye, a poet and publisher who later founded Sentinel Poetry, an online platform that provided a space for many Nigerian writers to publish their work. Toni Kan, a renowned Nigerian writer, also participated in the forum, engaging in literary discussions and networking with fellow authors. The forum was instrumental in connecting writers like Molara Wood, Afam Akeh, Pius Adesanmi, Victor Ehikhamenor, Obi Nwakanma, Esiaba Irobi, Ike Okonta, Wale Okediran, Chuma Nwokolo, Uche Peter Umez, Austin Njoku, and Abdul Mahmud, among others.

The understanding that an institution like the African Poetry Book Fund is bridging the gap between African poets, both at home and in the diaspora, and a global audience provided a glimpse into what you can be as a poet. But that felt so far-fetched. We didn't even know it was possible to live the life of a writer. It takes information for the world to open before you. My friends and I started researching, and our dreams started to build. They seemed unreachable, but at least the poet’s life is his dreams. We learned of D.M. Aderibigbe, whose collection was named a finalist for the Sillerman First Book Prize—another initiative of the African Poetry Book Fund—for his manuscript My Mother’s Song and Other Similar Songs I Learnt. The relative scarcity of continent-wide literary opportunities in Africa has played a significant role in shaping the trajectory of Nigerian poetry. Programs like the Brunel International African Poetry Prize, the Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets, and the African Poetry Book Fund have been crucial in providing platforms for African poets. However, the limited number of such initiatives underscores the systemic challenges facing Nigerian and African poets seeking to reach a wider audience.

We didn't even know it was possible to live the life of a writer. It takes information for the world to open before you. My friends and I started researching, and our dreams started to build. They seemed unreachable, but at least the poet’s life is his dreams.

Because of how competitive it is for African poets—which may also be argued to be one of the reasons why we must be so good— I and six other poets—Agbaakin Jeremiah, Adebayo Kolawole, Pamilerin Jacobs, Michael Akuchie, Wale Ayinla, and Nome Emeka Patrick—started the UnSerious Fellowship, which awards four Nigerian poets annually with financial and editorial support. Some UnSerious Fellows have won the Evaristo Poetry Prize and the Sillerman Poetry Prize. The UnSerious Collective started as a writing group on WhatsApp, which then evolved into an editorial team that worked together to produce the most extensive anthology of Nigerian poetry—Memento: An Anthology of Contemporary Nigerian Poetry, published by Animal Heart Press in 2020. The anthology also ushered in a text that contemplates the substance of Nigerian poetry—the range of language, the fluidity of its metaphors, the cloud of similes, and the barrage of issues the poems discuss. UnSerious Collective has influenced newer collectives and writing groups like the Frontier Collective, sprouting across the country. One of the most influential ways to emerge as a people is if we exist in groups.

The emergence of the WRR Facebook community led to TJ Dan’s now-defunct Praxis Magazine. The magazine published one of the most important queer chapbooks, Burnt Men, by Romeo Oriogun. Around that time, Wale Owoade founded Expound, and Wale Ayinla co-founded DwartzOnline. Agbowo Magazine, which I now lead as the editorial head, started as a collective of writers from the University of Ibadan. The magazine expanded into one of Africa’s most-read literary journals. Magazines and publications, riding on the wing of the global demand for Nigerian literature, now focus on publishing Nigerian voices. Nigerian NewsDirect Newspaper’s online poetry column solely dedicates itself to amplifying Nigerian voices. In a similar fashion, Poetry Sango-Ota—edited by Michael Akuchie and Jakky Bankong-Obi and chaired by Pamilerin Jacobs and me—reserves its monthly archive to platform Nigerian poets. Maybe why we enjoy what the world would imagine as a confident presence is that we’re creating these platforms for ourselves. During a project review with Pamilerin, I suggested we expand Poetry Sango-Ota to the Black diaspora, since we get submissions from the larger Black community anyway. But Pamilerin, whose mind is a wonder, argued that while the Black diaspora has several institutions, communities, magazines, residencies, and grants, Nigerians do not. And truly, we’re creating opportunities for ourselves, providing spaces for the next generation of writers, working and hoping that something like a miracle happens so we can preserve and archive the work we’re doing now.

In 2016, I created a WhatsApp group called "Growth is Coming," where we discussed poems for several days. We wrote and edited each other's work, preparing for a time like this. One of the participants, Toby Abiodun, became one of the most celebrated spoken word poets in Africa today. It seemed we had been doing all this wonderful work in our formative years, and the world was only catching up. But this was not the only writing group at that time. I was added to a small, closed group of writers that had Hauwa Shaffi, Daisy Odey, Salawu Olajide and Saddiq Dzukogi. We wrote, submitted, wrote and fought.

… we’re creating opportunities for ourselves, providing spaces for the next generation of writers, working and hoping that something like a miracle happens so we can preserve and archive the work we’re doing now.

There is always that person whose success helps redefine the movement. Although Gbenga Adesina had won the Brunel Prize a year prior, when Romeo Oriogun won the Brunel Prize in 2017, something shifted in our community. A year prior, the “Growth is Coming” community discussed the poems of Danez Smith, Sam Sax, Hanif Abdurraqib, Safia Elhillo, and Ladan Osman—whose workshop I attended at the Lagos International Poetry Festival in 2015—alongside other poets who seemed to form a collective of writers exploring the body in new, visceral ways. We jokingly called them the “Beotis Poets” that year (after the literary agency they were signed to). We studied their work closely, examining how they approached identity, trauma, and intimacy. Yet, it wasn’t until Romeo won the Brunel Prize that it began to feel like Nigerian poets could enjoy more audacity to be bolder, more daring, and precise in their poems because Romeo had broken a threshold.

Until 2017, many of us were writing from the outside in, dabbing our wounds with metaphors and tiptoeing around our intricate struggles. Romeo’s winning poems challenged this approach. They were fearless and unflinching,......."

I feel like joining the movement right away even as oldie.

Zero hour of silence

At zero hour of silence I was born 

But mankind gave it a date and a time 

And when I leant beyond death,they still called it a date into great beyond of the Cosmos and barely felt a qualm about it 

No more qualm about it silence unfurled

Silence unruffled determines everything 

I live forever beyond the pines and wears of nature whose gorgeous gorge had eternity stamped in my golden coats

A feast Of Silence

Nothing matters for the winds

Than the welfare of it's neighbors

Time and silence 

Does it not matter to them that 

Time travels in the environment of his master change whereof any altercation 

Whatsoever pounced them back to calmness the silver home of silence 

Must change shouts beyond itself

That time might miss the road and the flight goes off in the arms of Morpheus?

The crack in the walls is becoming bigger 

No one cares nothing even change tis noises die down at the silver home of 

silence and who has the audacity to silence silence and who can tame invincible deity of tranquility and transport its tranquil bliss from the aromatherapy of its loin to stray it from the erogenous glows of the main mission and vision?

Does time the computer of existence where all the chaos perpetrated alongside change ever matter when they cease to matter at the strangulated corridor of silence to denote the power of her tranquil bliss at golden moment of tranquil waves?

May you never appreciate the gloss of mothernature at the eulogy of the sea waves of tranquility in utter pride of the computer which barely get the data to run itself unless it keeps her mouth shot at the mercy of that tranquil web of silver silence who owns all the esteem and  intergrity 

Time and change, could linger and loiter with the dignity mothernature accords them as long as they accord with the golden esteem for their golden routine 

And golden robes that only silence,the true mothernature of existence and all exist someday returns to silence through death

But I the spirit of mothernature tawdry forever in the golden resort of no resort 

Knights of Old.part four

Knights and knaves 

The conundrum at alupluto riddled the palms of the knights and knaves

And wherewithal beyond impuissant knots

To pelt it with fracas at smothered fest

The monarchy at maledectine ere his dethronement had knighted the Maximus at the exit from monastery 

A deconium had eloped aftermath of the dethronement and initiation at the sorcerer's stone,had earned few accolades prior to knighthood long thereafter the exit from the monastery and incursion into the pyrates league.

And thus began he the brown study the tapestry of the knighthood steeped in the thralldom of the serfs, liegemen and vassals.

At his sordid home the golden morn was broken and the atmosphere was warm,upon his couch sat in the home front and tumultuous tumulus adorned epaulettelike apparel alongside esplanade veered into his compound approached him afar off at esprit de corps happified with the espionage for espousal who was also knighted prior to eventide and now pours his errant gusto for the title that epicurean Maximus considered 'horror clamours.'

And before him lay an escritoire holding his ink pen and a cup of espresso sipped at interval and two plates of escalopes a an afficionado affectionate of elevenses wore elastaned raiment of dungarees and deerstalker across the elbow room plastered with drystones.

As if with dry run belched his eulogy of personal accolades 

"Maxim my darling noble have I not been knighted as you were in donkey age,what dubious distraction cluttered thy bone to lucre thy guerdon with thy endowment?"saith he with green eyes raptured upon bellyaching navel.

His holistic detest in this emetic effluvium of dystopian eerie knows no bounds .

Bittersweet bits of black and white dissents binned navels with berserk.Rather than he to duck the retort and drool,emetic droop of banter ignited banter to scold his drivel.

"Felons in their bones, felons in their sinews, felons in their navels.This spirit of thralldom quest for disgusting refrain to assume the petty mantle of knighthood steeped in brutal repression of the knaves and knots ,fawns of serfs and liegemen waffling beneath them.

O squirearchy thy spindles of injustice art no bound

Barely history could exculpate them the quagmire of sprawling crease of cringing dustbowls at alupluto forest, riddled in brutal repression of the vassals and the serfs .Accomplices of mutineers, fifthcolumnists and the squirearchy and pyrates from the north country.

Knights turning into knaves what did the knight do?If I may ask what is your joy or riddance?"

"What denotes in your wildest coat of repugnant taste?"

"You re knighted by the lord's to his allegiance otherwise you risk hell.dishevelled Knights not always the transparent robes like any typical bimbo ". didactically mushed the grit.

Knights And The Sinews.

Sauntered dark,chemise in whirlpool bath saunteed in sauna bath 

Sarcoma, carcinoma of knavery and tumefaction of knackery 

In the corpulence,sarcous,of ultramarine,teal,saphire, in the porcine,podgy,torquoise of azure earth

O in the tubby , chunky of the ample time 

Blue green tombolo , cerulean sandbank 

Shallow -reef at the zaftig and beryled erose

A pounce on the khamsin, shaitan,simoom,siroco, sandstorm, waning on the front

Tis the quarrying lay redress of golden sarong,pannier,tutu,culote,midi,kilt, petticoat 

And girdled to the  waistband, cummerbund, casement, cincture,obi, ribbon ,sash

The sanctimony of sandspout, tartuferry and black blizzard 

And lo the sandy haired ,auricomous, platinum, strawberry, towheaded sandwiches as the golden knights ,

Not for once did they prance,flounce,glide,strut,sashay

Nor revel in the deli, subway shops,charcuteries, sandwich shops,

Nor skewered food,shish kebab,shish kabob in the deli

But gourmands, edacious, ravenous,omniverous,satings at skewered food in trenchwarfare still unquenched 

Save the kneads of the scarturient, torrential,superabundant, cornucopian knaves,scaredycats, poltroons,recreants,dillydallyers, slowpokes and yellowbellies 

Shlocks,shabby, gossip mongering pretentious , shoddy, inglorious, blabbing makeshift , scandal mongering, rumour mongering dingies,

Scapegoats,scapegraces, scumbags, scallywags,scopophilia

 ,peepers,voyeaurs,oglers,watchers,

Somewhat tagged ", shrinking violets"

In this didactic gloss of the stormy epic

Plummeted by the egregious taints of conscription 's quarryings.

With restitution of chastity, knighthood

Dancing browbeats, spooks,chilli, cows,affrights, 

At the desolation, hotspots,path of destruction,scene of destruction 

As smackdabbed sleunthhounds with edge of the blazing swords 

Egregiously scared the daylights out of pyrates and the ilks

Unlike the knaves,as the screaming meemies,bootsnakes,blue devils,the heebie-jeebies,blue Johnies,pink elephants and dementia apotus,

The dearth of jabber,prates,prattle,tattles, blather,blether, wiggle waggles and schmoozes

Nor dancing sedition, insurgency, insurrection and defiance

O with the scavenger hunt and hare and hounds 

Of the scarlet women,whores, evening ladies to abode their tents

Strike the chord with unflinching swordmen .

And not dancing seesaw,teeter totter , or vacillate 

Fast evasive segue with sleets on sleighrides

Cast over this simoom of seismic sea waves, white horses,tidal bore,giant seas swell,

Six feet beneath , catacombs,cinerarium, mausoleum,ossuary,sepulture

Stood still to watch and receive the demise of pyrates'pyramid  

Sequacious and setiferous knights ,in sack clothes and ashes, indulgent in raucous shrift, deafening,shrilling mortification .

Garrison

Beautiful fortress returns 

Gliding towers barely fade

Garrison of hardihood 

That hardly fails

According to the 

Bard of alupluto 

Is nothing but everything 

Knighthood of the golden hills.part one

Give thy ear to everyone but borrowed not and lend not that which is learnt

To censure thy verdict maybe a costly tarnish to thy purse

Prejudices expressed in fancy clothes of gaudying clouds 

For the best buys and nines,oft proclaims the true machismo

And they in their generous station chief in mischief and vile in misfortune 

Neither a crevice nor  crimson forsooth 

For the cavalier oft chaste himself and otherworldly ounces 

And burnish creases the edge of the sheathed swords 

Swordsmen wrestling the crest for the golden hills 

Swordsmen wield their panache at his ordinands,

Swore never to annex tis his grail of writ unctions

Knights kneaded beyond knaves scuttled the seething waves 

Beneath him they strike stuck to the scalpel 

In panache he held his scabbard, receptacle, trenches'integument,not lowered,

Apparently pulling his cartridges,spathe , canister off the riverbank ,

As abominable snowman,yeti, sasquatch,rakshasa ,

O bigfoot from the sand dunes,lava bed , badlands, wilderness cramped to the shore,

Butyraceous, saponaceous sapplings, cringing verdure,at his loathe,

Not to demean the aesthetics of the flora,

The dough,grumpy grime,on the rat race poultice,sponge,sarocarp, triturate,pomace seem not yet solidifies to nail the carton,the sarcophagus,the funerary box 

At the pinebox and pinto of the golden valley .

Who flings away your angels of ambition and ambivalent salvation

For self mettle that tires thee with willful stillness of anger

To quash gravity of wisdom from unruly caste of profound conceit?

To ope broken tongues and it's broken troths that cannot bark 

And say nothing hellish to avarice with no ears in broken flights

The noble dog barks at the beggar in miserly beggardom,

Who has not creature of manifold parts 

To gloat and run from the cur?

Neither the cur nor the curlique ever dance the cupid dance 

At the lush of filthiest lucre o filthy lucre how filthiest thou are?

Could craft burnish at every pelting thunderstorm at merciful heaven?

Proud artifice above the gnarled oaks

Poignant noses with sulphurous bolt

With gloss of glassy essence,soft myrtle drest in scabbard of beautiful dreams 

Does the beauty of thy goodness maketh the heavens and the angels weep,

Who coat grace and hardihood with quirky complexions?

Then shallow and shallow shall thy benediction be undervalued 

Braggarts in vain sands rambling with the municipality of munches and much ado about nothing 

"These dreary foxes would not kill me"

Maximus had screamed bared his misgivings of the true companions 

Then they censure front loading calumny even as they lube in the back loading calumny 

Slanderous tongues on faint deeds condone knights of hollow goodness 

Where fain comfort spake to theft of empty pledges

This silken thread on a charmed aches agonized with words of broken tongues 

To fetter the moon shone on a waning candles 

Merchants of conscience in the enterprises of guilt, cowardice of all

Then he wears a golden happify at the blossom of golden valley 

The dress of dread of something after dread

Makest us bear fruit even though beyond the pitfalls and contraption of those pitches we have seen 

Than fly into arcane ground to read the epitaph of broken pitches and dilapidated dreams

How oft the sight of calumny tarnished the feet of the gods with miscarriages of broken dreams fallen on broken pitches 

To make grievous tales irreversible and irrevocable 

From the dungeon of recklessness and ruthlessness.

That hurts by easing the spendrift sighs 

Skin and film the delusions of ulcerous clangs,

Not the expedition to lay the faltering ego and egregious unction of the humbled soul

But that maximus leaps with golden palms for golden hills 

And that makes all the difference from the badlands to the river bank at abesi.

Alakazam of beautiful forest and aesthetic ornery awaits him in manor houses

Teach yourself wisdom that no accretion could outsport discretion 

When wherefore art thou been cabined,cribbed and cramped with saucy doubts and dread.

A surfeit of equivocation over the deepest loathings 

The stomach brings from boundless intemperance and intemperate ribs cracked

Before they re goaded with mysterious cannonballs 

Fired from the cannons of fading muskets 

The ragged cups of falsehood and delusions are full

We went berserk still ride in triumph where abject fortitude became the threatening eyes

Bidding farewell and farewell to the golden valley 

From the  arms of the Morpheus dancing gigolo 

Wedlock the archipelago of golden hills.

.

Because

I make my beliefs come true

Because 

I make my trust in my verdict

Come true

I make my dreams come true 

Because 

I make my beliefs in my verdict 

Comes true 

Hamiltonian America.Chapter 10.Leonine Strides.page 8

"Who called him "little lion"?"

"Of course you know that.You know what? Remind me this one.You know the guy in question was older than him by ten years was a respected lawyer too like Williams.He hailed from Alexander, Virginia."

"Of course it was Robert H. Harrison"

"Exactly.A neighbour to Washington.He had lots of ovation for a man of his age was certainly phenomenal.I reworded the little lion as leonine strides to classify this chapter's character.You know Tench Tilghman  too"

"Hardly "

"He was the guy Washington called "faithful servant" having met for half a decade.A comrade that started from a light infantry company in Philadelphia.Washinghton also call him "a zealous servant," and a slave to the American dream.These are some of the young amiable working class aides through which he displayed familiar warmth.James McHenry came later to administer aids to Hamilton's ailments He had studied under Benjamin Hush and when he became aides to Washington,he treats his maladies and every summer reoccurrence of malarial infection,a childhood inheritance of tropical birthplace.He had advised him to avoid milk and drink wine though little notore than the three bottles per day.Mchenry was a poet too like Hamilton and was part of inhouse minstrels entertaining Washington households".

"Those aides don't they like women?"

"Apparently they do.They organised parties too and sneaked in with romantic flings .The details were archived in McHenry's diary . Though perpetrated during passive intervals in the spring many wives of high ranking officers from Martha Washington,Mrs Greene and Mrs Knox,Lady Stirling and daughter lady kitty organized bouncing parties in evening."

"So Hamilton was promiscuous."

"Yes he was.He had so many ladies to flirt with.He rekindled romance with old lover daughter of his first patron Catherine Livingston.Also daughter of the first governor of the independent state of new jersey William Livingston.Hence besides her he flirts rapidly at Morristown.

 Nevertheless,in 1777 he began the most intimate friendship of his life with John Laurens as new recruit to the Washington's family.He came from Southern Carolina the son of one of the most influential planters .He succeeded in November John Hancock as the president of the continental Congress.They had a lot in common with the Huguenot and the British sides.Ron Chernow called spiritual twins or kindred spirits and was better than any friend Hamilton ever had.He was born in Charleston, South Carolina few months before Hamilton was born in Nevis

and was enrolled in Geneva, Switzerland at a cosmopolitan college at a time Hamilton was struggling as a clerk in St.Croix.It was from Geneva that he planned to become a barrister and by 1774 at the middle Temple in London also studied law.He was a follower of the abolitionist movement too like Hamilton studied law during the period of antislavery movement and slavery was banned in England.It was spurred by legal Mansfield 's legal decision that a slave that enters England is declared automatically free.When he desired to return the father was disappointed that the son had become the abolitionist and the sense of fighting in the war of independence that could lead to his demise worried the father so much .He gre in radicalism with the emergence of the Common Sense's pamphlet by Thomas Paine in 1776 all the more fired his anger.He was trapped in England for a while after he impregnated Martha Manning the daughter of wealthy man his father's friend William Manning and had to wed her secretly and returned to Charleston later to join continental army four months after the birth of his daughter.He won Washington's trust who then gave him confidential missions after signatory.They became unbreakable bond and write him with so much unbridled affection never elsewhere seen in his rapport with other aides .Infact they were styled "as the knights of the revolution"and it was said he had developed an adolescent crush on his friend giving the prevalence of sodomites or pederasty especially in the Caribbean during the time of Hamilton's migration to America.They latter formed a common bond with a third guy marquis de Lafayette nineteen a young French noble and a honorary major general in the continental army.He was so appointed on July 31,1777 and so they became gay trio.

Hamiltonian America.Chapter 10.Leonine Strides.page 7

"I think Charles Wilson Peale drew the first portrait of Hamilton."

"Yeah a Washington 's staff when he visited the new jersey headquarters with a miniature of ivory drew the first portrait.It was tinted with gold epaulets and the aide de camp's green ribbon adorned in a blue and buff uniform.With long poignant nose and close cupped hair portray the visage an radical look and not yet with the trait of metropolitan spirit of self assurance a typical demeanor of Hamilton.His face grew from thinness to broaden the width as he age and grew older and broader than his daper class.

Nevertheless for an orphan from the Caribbean to spend the rest of his life at the top echelon of American society the most elite family,this is no mean achievement.He was quartered at the Jacob Tavern 's library that gave him an intimacy at the top military army and could summon aides at any time.Wasinghton was satisfied to keep the staff in one building for the easiness of managing schedules and also located small office to keep obligations intact.About four to six sides abode in one room,with two to bed in a single room in long working days.They copied a hundred letters per day and lavished with random surviews ,dancers and parades.Out of all the aides,he was the youngest most confidential scribe and draft all Washington's letters.Affirm."

"Nothing to affirm?"

"Washington's army valued more intelligence of upward mobility than the European armies top heavy with aristocrats an outdated tradition according to him and this picturesquely portrait of the American army system with tradition allowed him to rise rapidly into a full blooded American with high level political services.The continental army provided the pristine  Hamilton an immigrant whose special love for the adopted country unleashed the template to redefine the non existent American political system with the notion of the American nationalism.His presence at the headquarter according to Nathaniel Greene created "as a bright gleam of sunshine ever growing brighter as the general darkness thinkened"."Frank, affable,intelligent and brave young Hamilton became the favorite of his fellow soldiers"says Harrison Grays Otis who was later a senator.He was capable of making both friends and enemies and "..….make those whom he opposed fear and hate him cordially",says Lawyer Sullivan Williams.He could create psychological trauma than he realized and unwinnable in debates even before seasoned politicians and intelligent folks.

Golden Knights at Maledectine

The reprisal was absolute reprieve ever since the quarrying.Ere the quarrying perfidious knaves scuttled the battle bins.They rose with upright leaps on horsebacks and battlements tarried eventides and struck from the forest at abesi.

The swift hungry river bank abesi's thirstying for the blood of the foes

As they move eastward to maledectine the foremost golden lions savaged the fiends a ferocious horde like the swarms of locusts 

Unflattering and unflinching as the leonine prowls in the bloody dens

Plunged swords in the fiendish ranks,clash of steel echoing like thunder 

Knaves And Knights Quarantined.part one

"Take alliquando for instance and aliquanta at aliquanto should be the watchword"

"Oh aliquantum!"

"Aliquid,aliquis growls on your botched coups."

"A trial is never bad.Let them shelve amaritudo."

"Bravo! Your gangsters behold loot alveuses and bazaars at ambitus.Your amplexus at amplitudo was stratospheric 

and ampliocentric breedeth amplus where the umbilical amo had thrived.Haffligeniensis of golden knighthood to carcer the perfidious cariosus of the knaves for the capitulus of the caste.Caritas at carus became the carmen .

Not the knaves in their riverbeds and balconies of brooks and broods."

"At this angulus, quarantine quarrying the knaves was not augustus and prejudiced"

"Yeah seething waves was constrained and not a bin of the argentio pilfered.O great animus.A bundle of animadverto and animus in the most beautiful annus wedded to its salient antepono.

Behold that quarrying lay aperio in aperte to the fathomed search of the golden knights at the apostulus of the abesi forest."

"Appareo ! appareo!! appareo!!!

Appello of the golden knights,approbo and appropinquo towards the golden hills.Bonus mellius optimus."

"Perfectly said"

"Ain't you gonna relinquish the knighthood"

"Certe cerno an indispensable ceernus.  Tis my coronated feet is hewn,and apto and aptus earned at the ara of kingship.We have returned to the trenches fortnightly for the conscription was golden".

"Arbitro,arbitrate indeed was golden "

"Aristobroth prognosticated the great Sullivan's travels".

"I barely knew that.Cogito cognosco."

"Oh he did, inklings stood at first appalling at the nocturnal expeditions at abesi riverbank."

"What argumentum for the otherworldly stars?"

"Palasmus belched the conspiracy of the loots,aresmus had butchered a thousand in the sleepers and jettisoned the spoils and pows not eager for the luring armarium and arcesso of the loots, regardless of armo and arma for daring aro and arguo ."

 "They scaled through atrocitas,asperitas and articulus in wondrous arọ of audencia,audacitas and artificiossus ."

"Eureka "

"Shallow!"

"Now we go plunge headlong on the morrow "maximus grew in conference of confidence hilts with porous bibo.

Golden Knights of Old.part 3D

Vulnerary,medicative, remedying ,remedial, alleviative and therapeutic expedition 

Golden Knights of Old.part 3C

Then at river bank abesi's taciturn sentinel 

And introspection 

Coerced the knaves on a sabbathical retreats 

A sabre rattling gusto to repel perfidy off the 

And the furlough was egregiously  minacious an indefinite order of sabbathical leave 

"The knaves are not knight and now we have the golden knights for the salad days."bleeding memento Mori or sad spectacle.

Ere the exit of the monarchy,at maledectine,the rusticated monarch grew maximus into a lord from knighthood and these knights beneath him serfs and liegemen hardly retreats from farmfields.Squirrels had served him and hold the forth to quell the exuberant pride of squirearchy on the farm fields.

Then thralldom had plotted this horizon for exploitation.

A dozen knights beneath his lordship hold the fronts and still held to the title until the reprisal battle against the great Sullivan's travels at Sarabesa tis the revolt to enthrone him at abesiland's.

Sullivan's entry was alien to the stratagem of warfare 

And scary winces of the wasp and bees nest him to stardom in the shortest tingle of time.

The Knights of Old.part 3b

It is trite where odious precepts maul gallivanting hood 

How artfully doth the hood at stalking broth, unbundles the hails and galls at measly pawn slavish to slay the burning froth.

Apparently how that vanity of phantom doth leaks to expose vacuity of arts at the melee of rampage

Travellers beneath this pew of wits shall traverse beyond the stoneages of antiquity 

 From the alluring notes of the huntsmen and the hunted, the haunted and the dreary foxes,

Ungrateful critics even in their encomiastics, perfidy swore them to defend their tricks in chicanery of spoken jest and jeering hearts

Sloshed into the sorcery of magician isle,

Dainty spirit in the wild sea of sorcery beguiled moon beneath his embattled lush

Not the mensrea of psycho,plodding at pliant steps as if its wit is trapped in oubliette 

And the psychical thrift of the machismo to drift from idealism into positivity of positivism

To play possum at the writ of feigned nesciency 

For the plethora of wit beyond pleonasm from the plexus of possum plaited,

Insomuch the wit as the plinth upon which plexus bounteous plows

Eureka they coast to shore of estuary as the eulogy of eves 

That ambit of aura the factual aether prowling grotes with more than ethereal etiquette an esteem for a materialistic essay 

Those writs poignantly disposes escapistic eschew from eschatological to scatological

To robe evasive sinew with wherewithal of the greenfield 

The dainty spirit Maximus in reprisal of pyrate's acrimony gone sour

Grew into a grandiloquent fortress 

To quash the thunderstorm and lightning butst over the isles of Alupluto's tragicomedy 

"Can you recall the prior conquest at maledectine?The imperious chaos at public squares doting mother's battling still births,scary ailments, emaciated peasants, mischievous urchins,street gangsters, paradise of brothels and sloths,indebted artisans,secluded bourgeousies, petit bourgeoisies, parvenu on the escalate via abrupt demise,untimely cloaks, pestilential Economia marred the blinking elves.

Not the peasants 'cronyism to groan but also gnomes 'n'zurich smothered with dearth of public harmony.

Arise let the gangs launch reprisal against the union.The vendetta with encroaching wings had reared its ugly head across the board upon the slaughter of abesiland's forest.Arise and arrest the pestilence."

"Let the Conscription at Abesi retreats from fracas and grace let it summon the golden time from the miscarriage of broken times.The kismet at alupluto's bizarre as it seems fall upon the shoulders of glossy stars.Sifting the knaves from the fringes of knighthood,only afford us a soft ball landing at the shuddering distance."

And lo repose him the confidence hilts And before the sun goes down they went down to abesi

As keen sentinel of the trenchwarfare and warring combatants 

Hardly refrain from elongated shelling, blading,matchetes'brandishing, unsheathing and musketeering 

Where munitions and infernos of cannons 

At repressive cannonades battered the pitiable woods.

Across the adjoining cities feloned with amplitude of booties 

Scary machupelahs broke into bazzars and marketplaces 

Peasants'wares smoked with inferno and looting sprees on the escalade petrified metropolitans 

Then in refrain of his disconsolate ire, Maximus conversed him"How come the battles were won but looters skyrocketed and pillaged the relics to phantom opulence or stiffled the ways and means of the misers and peasants?"

"Now thy logics to me senses spake.We shall quarantine the knaves from the knights and knight the golden lions or the golden stars 

Not the perfidious tents of the knaves."

"You pluck your verdict abnittio accordingly ".

A dozen times over a dozen blessed blokes did they retract?

Of course nope and ever since sunny times breathes upon their rampaging union .

Knights of old.part Three

Aristobroth messenger in the third fortnightly rampage of nocturnal expeditions uttered him mystery of the knight of old:

"That fairest creatures looketh in thy glass

To boo discretion at the weevils of distraught palmwl where blinks and wrinkles of golden charm retrieve saline meeds from the bounteous usurer whose turpitude the the sea waves had sedate friction to lapse lovely gaze over doting eyes which confound him with beguiling sports of nebulous sorcery and animadversion of hideous winter whose sapped energy defrost lusty leaves and nightmare of broken petals 

Distilling showers never lose the mists of golden snows couched upon stallion of forbidden usury with season's crotchety feet and ragged hands forty times happify that dearth's conquest of wormwoods,thorns and thistles adrift,pleading homage adorned over golden pilgrimage of hindmost pitch and feeble dotards catchy tune to soften mood

Why nearest and dearest and hearest thy catchy tune to soften teasing mood?

To the layman war is nefarious venture but the men at arms,it is sweet as the honey baked with forlorn sight.Unions sweetly chide cannot offend the ensnare of the doting love.No one cursed speechless songs beneath murderous intents of unprovident earth seeking bounteous roofs for gracious homes

Look whom nature best bestowed thee he giveth it blessed dawn and blessed dusk.

Sumptuous drill denies scrupulous forests

Whose forester mineralogist of the golden hills drags the weary feet beyond briskly erose where season 's green beastly bearded meadows briefly stoop to forlorn loop at time 's scythe of the golden season not from the constant stars do we pluck the verdict of the golden stars .That barren gardens smother with dearth of maiden wombs.Should men of rage be flushed with fallen waves and be scorned with the golden moisture of heavenly eyes.

The golden lion's paws of forlorn hills shall not waiver to make the earth devours his sweet little brood

Tis all migrating birds return to the spring to nap and sing 

Where broken jaws and singing feet encrust the migratory birds with forlorn loop gliding the amazing nature with the love 's use of the earth's golden treasure.

Gilded esteem glide over everlasting bliss 

Roses of flowers cast over gliding swing of glamourous fortress audacious violet barely chide above the straits of the chilling fog that paradise is abjectly bare if it has less and dearth of golden stars in it

Beauty and loves daggered the broken realm with compassionate effigy 

Heaven bless he that deals his own soul by despatch of golden news

Fists of disparate messenger of peace aristobroth plead the fallen tide to arise

And summon rising tide.

Boors and moors only seek to summon rising tide leavened messenger of peace with smoky muskets 

Knights of Old.part two

Fortnightly nocturnal expeditions of the enigmatic engross abjectly fettered his elfinish feet and barely overlapped the fishermen in broad daylight.

Eldritched elision with elixir at sorcerer's potion trumped to the effusion of sorcery,beguiled him with belligerent charm in the battle fields

Behold it grew the monstrousity of the bird's eye view of the  birdwatcher .

A bird of prey held in the bingo of trenchwarfare and gunning for the impending pyrhic triumph at the battlefields

Not yet cinsumated the golden billows to quest his clubs of afficionados.

Nor old greybeard pointificating him the billets 

Nor the billiards tabled to begin yet his conscription at abesi

O tis the sorcery beguiled him insulated moors 

"Aristobroth why art thou the eagle in the quest for mine prowl ?" Saith to him as the broken mists of the waves readjusted its seething friction of chaos for the serene dust

"Gallantry gallantry gallantry 

Hardihood hardihood hardihood 

Gifted garb anoints golden feet's

Plenipotentiaries of golden hills 

Never found wanton servile to 

The Alakazam of golden hills 

Golden stars the same with golden palms.

Arise for the pyrates union and Confederate 

Begone from the fringes of monastery 

Barely you fight thy matriarch in the ding ding with clergyman.

Adhere the bingo saith unto thee adhere!"

"How shall I...."as smokes in the clouds cluttered his sight and Aristobroth vanishes and with clarity of drenched forehead and medulla,open sesame of sorcery utterly unleashed at the open hearth of inscrutable incantation,caught in the orotund rain of immaculate nap tis sunrise.

That operattalike as if with trial by ordeal, trial by fortune and optical illusion 

Illustrate the optimal frenzy of the illustrious klieglights and sallowed his ordinands.Rigged beyond the otherworldly ounces of sorcery a bewitching outbalanced sports,overcast and outworn over cloud 

O now much less overgrowth with emboldened charms of pixilated triumphant,and impending overmaster .

Knight Of Old.part one

Take a cock for the  cock and bull before cockcrow 

And raise the cocksure cock-a-hoop at your conceited cocktail 

A codger's cob with a coarsened cobber tilted as the cockpit 's resort for cockeyed cockfighting,

Who cobbles and coddles up erring cockscomb and cobwebs of his cockeyed foibles 

Where codswallop at cod up was cocooned with coded verdict 

Does the colloquy and the collision ever matter at the plucked verdict 

To combat the color blind and colour fast comatose of bellyaching navel

That barely commiserate at no comparator of compendious dent with the commission of injustice?

Does it ever matter for complaisant compatriot as abused component in a conclave of cognoscentis,be slapped still with the pawn of injustice beyond repair 

Smothered with such context of compound fracture of the human mores with no defense whatsoever?

Does it ever matter for the imperious conclave or confraternity or connoisseur of the confided persons who dole out confidence tricks and swindles at the lush of sinecure ?

Erroneous consummate bird smothered with contusion 

Like a conscientious objector might chided

And contumely assault the integrity of convocation 

Convened to obtain redress of the checkered but undissimilar faux pas 

Then pours diatribes on this convention

Who is conversant with convicts of its convex

Will his cooption not denies this convolution with the cookery of coos and convulsion?

Once bitten twice shy and who perhaps cooped them into menial junction 

As the dingy clouds of a cow,a coquette  a courtesan of the cordon bleu 

Who flirts away beneath the copula of copper bottomed corbels 

Essential mores with the contemporaries in the streets of easy virtues,

What a cordite,a corker with the corkscrew of corrective corrolary in corporeal terms!

Alupluto wails the corruscating spikes in their nebulous corteges and the cosmetic mendacity that appends costermongers of injustice

Coup de grace on the thunderstorm strike,

Cramped ,crabbed ,crammed into the nebula of cozened cronyism and cramed lawn manned by coxcombs and cowardices 

Behold this creed up the creek curn out banana republic 

A closet and battlements of nefarious creme de la creme 

Crevices of cretinous and crestfallen crepuscular 

Who feed on the crocheted crevasses of daylight robbery and crossworded crow of crimson injustice 

Crossbow upon crossfire, gunfight, dastardly ,crotchety gunfire hurled from cruciform of crow's feet at the crescendo of wrath and wars.

Avail them daydream deflect them with the delusions and palliatives to veil deep seated decoys and defecate this decoy in defiance unceasingly 

Emasculating the dejure path and deification of dejure from delirious seasons of dejavus.

Not merely debar them deluxes of the dejure delicatessen 

But demagogues daemonised in their demagoguery 

Blackballed crow's feet from the knight of old

Detract path of probity, dillydally,botched ,not as truthful as the knight of old 

Masqueraded egregious dimples underneath with diminuendo 

To dim the Dionysian amplitude of the ding dongs and dilated dins

Already heavily diffused across the public realms 

And douse elegy and dirge of the broken circus 

Yet the dirty words was diffused beyond dire of its dirty looks and dirty works.

Disparate and disingenuous bellies 

Where the dragnets downhill downbeatened 

'Who arrest the draconian drawbacks from dress rehearsal and theatrics to the final straw?"saith the old greybeard to the messenger of peace at the Alakazam coast at maledectine.

Then he dribble his retort and with draightiness of drawling accent .

Then raised him the drawbridge of prevision

And still find it hard to glide at the drawing board.

Then saith he to him"Have you met the golden lion?"

"What?"

"The battle royale shall throw them up in the dreary sinister of events.Behold their fugue man little Maximus cometh to the riverbank at abesi at noon.Behold him spectacle and aprise the golden news of impending expedition "

"Shall I stay at the coast?"

"Observe the coast at the noon"vamoosed the old grey beard into thin air

Where aristobroth was seated in the encroaching shore of roaring waves.

Then cometh he little Maximus dredging for pearls and droopy eyesore woke him up for the banter in the thin drizzle and invoke the jabber of the expedition:

"Saith the old greybeard's oracle.Arise to quell pyrates in your land."

"Who hath known the minnows in the dunghill to lord him with the trigger 

To quell the pyrates rampage and dirty work at alupluto 

Wield of matchetes and sword shall be ransom for his life and eclipses of eccletic runs.Chances like eggshell Chinese may pass for the graveyard "

"Old greybeard's elves,your elbow grease for the pyrates 'purgatory .A lush of elixir frequent the coast adhere to the nocturnal visit and shalt become indoctrinated."