Christmas Shopping

Christmas Shopping

By George Amadi

December pay-day one whole week away,

Adrenalin rush stifling can’t be kept at bay.

Instinctive buying this pushes all the way,

Dresses, shoes, here and there, on display,

Frenzied women lots snatch from a tray.

At a farm, fowl prices haggle, have their say;

To shops in SUVs then, drive without delay,

Smuggled booze pick up along the highway.

‘Shopping till you drop,’ indeed, gone astray,

Christmas my locale makes go gay up all day.

Lagos, Dec. 20, 2014

Enter Mario Gotze

Enter Mario Gotze

By George Amadi

“Oh, Messi, Ah, Messi,” lost chances prompting,

He would carry the day not a few fans wishing,

2014 World Cup final tackles reckless getting,

Each passing moment hue and cry mounting,

South Americans to fate resigned, grieving,

German coach for a glorious day plotting,

Referee a penalty shoot-out envisaging,

Maracana disappearing seconds counting,

Planet Earth on TV a baited breath holding,

Frenzied bookie’s cigar in the mouth hanging,

Enter Mario Gotze, dying minutes bets choking,

His brave volley Argentine goalie sent sprawling.

Lagos, Aug. 24, 2014   

Dream As Reality

              Dream As Reality
              by George Amadi

I'm in my grand-mother's yam barn,
starry-eyed, wondering how she keeps
thieves at bay with a time-worn broom
hanging as an oddity from a sherry tree
one hundred years old, when out of
it fell a goat-thief, his intentions spitting.

Clutching the magic tool, to work, then,
went he, sweeping dead leaves out,
sweating out a storm, yet, returning to
start the energy-sapping chore afresh
until he dropped dead or so I thought.

A native doctor to the rescue came,
driving evil spirits out of the crook,
warning that time was running out,
and his perdition was one sin away.

Fifty years on, grand-mommy's village,
now crawling with criminals, toward
reversing the trend hasn't got a clue;
yet, all around, armed security agents
abound, not forgetting opulent courts.

When illusions, even if fragmentary,
allow hallucinations to trade places
with facts, making dreams seem like
reality, how hazardous mind's plight
as think-tank can, in no time, become.

Lagos, Oct. 16, 2012

Top Dog's Trail

                     Top Dog's Trail
                     by George Amadi

Captain Adarema red crust scoops,
little knowing unseen eyes stared;
Martians, fascinated by huge boobs,
nothing have that sexy ever bared.

Nkita's frosty nose at trouble hints,
Man's best friend groping on stilts,
couldn't help but be ill on red planet,
alien to a foot-loose dog's dragnet.

Metal bones yummy seen from afar
but up close, really weren't crunchy,
this, in turn, Major Ibe made grumpy,
he who had space-ship's door left ajar.

Cold a trio sent back in, heat hunting;
all Control Tower could do was wait.
Soon, reddened sun doubled as bait,
an expedition crew prying, taunting.

Mother ship, expected much sooner
late arrived, said one calendar lunar.
Back in Owere, lofty ideas take wings,
'Imoh Space' a new expedition strings.

Lagos
Oct. 13, 2012

Dropout's Invitation

Dropout’s Invitation

By George Amadi

Buffeted by a dingy bar and a run-down building,

Hair-dressing salon, in one disused container set,

Not a few gals of appearance conscious, attracts;

Unwise men nearby quaffing beer, object of focus.

Owned by pretty teenager with low-cropped hair,

She, struggling high-school dropout, pulls a crowd;

Without fail, every Friday to the bank goes smiling,

Toward future growth, a small fortune puts aside.

Many among her peers from a sordid past still roam

The streets, flimsy excuses giving for their flirtations

Although, she to one and all job offer letters sends,

None invited with arduous work intends to grapple.

Lagos, August 30, 2014

Last meal

Last Meal

By George Amadi

Squatting, in unqualified awe of a nearby Iroko tree,

Exhausted, as a result of a long, fruitless outing,

Our cooking fire crackling, now and then,

Lighting up the sky of a village in the jungle,

Cocooned by impregnable darkness,

Crickets bamboo grey, a handful,

Giant praying mantis, a score or so,

Half-dozen grass-hoppers khaki brown

Roasted in the company of Tilapia fish,

Fleshy mushrooms, a trio, all chopped up,

Crowded out by sliced Ugba,

African castor-oil bean, in dried pepper decked,

Garnished with a dash of red palm-oil, by a

Sprinkling of salt for taste topped,

Washed down with frothy palm-wine,

Nutritious, if drunk before noon,

My grand-mother and I, ravaged by hunger,

Unbeknownst to me, our last meal together,

Two months before she passed on,

An unusual dinner, gobbled,

Upon returning empty-handed

From snail-hunting

One dry-season night in Fifty-Six

Lagos, June 3, 2014

A Village Morning

                A Village Morning

                By George Amadi

Early risers, who a foot-path thronged

Whilst the stars up above still twinkled,

Jungle creatures still asleep alas, roused!

Armed with varying sizes of containers,

Villagers to a distant water-hole rushed.

Oh, how sweet it was, life in the village

Back in the day, when male and female,

Young and old, on the way, bowels let go;

Their behinds with corn-cobs tidied up,

In gender-segmented pools then, bathed!

Females chattering, or love songs singing,

Their ebony-black bodies scrubbed clean.

Men, out Tilapia fish, one or two, to catch,

Their utmost with a cast net did in silence.

After lovers sweet nothings said and did,

To clean water-hole wended one and all.

With wet clothes placed on one shoulder,

On everyone’s head sat a water-calabash.

Lagos, 2014-02-23