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Posted: October 23, 2016 in Uncategorized
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I found a crimson dawn
A wake of an unusual ambience of glistening airs
It came iodinic, but gave an impression before it disappeared
It did gave a seed of royal gaze, Elise
Of Pulchritude, of Nous. Her breathes are sentinels
So, that she captured my thoughts, completely
Elise, your advent is not momentous. Time brought you to stay.

For this time alone, this whole season, I cherish
Elise, time borne you, when my bloods would dry
That your breathes would resurrect their fading shades
That your palms would fix the cracked skins
That your sight would heal the drowning countenance
That your whispers would save the dying heart
That the bloods wake again, to smell the spice of comfort
Thence, from within, resurrect like a multicolored Phoenix
This love that I have seen, yours, has melt my thoughts.

If love shall be fair, then my heart has found rest
For seasons have betrayed my past fantasies
Chances have mocked my wishes and interest
The weathers, from afar jested my heart with simpers
Now that you are here, I smell time and love reward

Elise, love is no time’s fool, it reigns
Its colour is not chameleonic; it speak constancy
I will love you as brightness, to the sun
I will do, as the whale, to the blue sea
Elise, not time nor chance, will intrude the love.

Murphy Simon, 2016.


Source: Random internet search

Ao pade leti odo
Tese Angeli tite e

The airs are dry again
The soils have risen unprepared,
With sudden hastiness of unknown rushes
Plodding the earth’s fabrics with no regards
Melting the sun with their weird pinching countenance
With unnumbered questions flowing their helpless mind
Brothers, let’s be silent, to permit some untutored wails
Listen, the melting tongues come so close, far away
Someone had just passed on! The land is ill again!

Let not the anxious thunder be an angered today
Its lightening is another terror, sending heels to hell
Let not the day brighten today, in shame it should lie
Like the heavens, like the winking carefree hell
Should anxiety’s connivance entrap the clear ambience?
Should dreading spill the concoction of ailments?
That these lands then die in weariness and staleness
Death, please! Your palms are heavy on this cuddles
Spare these breeze of your unwanted breathes

To mo gara bi crystali
Leba ite Olorun)

Albeit, eventide would yet praise your invisible brow
But we have seen it, the hue of your unknown shades’ mixed
When the town daughters slipped at the sea shore
That your Finch glued trespass, on the palmwine tapper’s mental
Of them, of you; just a surreal hand, thoughts, and fate
Don’t harm them no more, these lands wither of pains
Friend us no more, our companies are yet much enough
May the rains fall soon, to sooth our pained heart
To heal the lands, with hurting hands of colorless stones

When will those with Hiroshima’s dust wake of bravery?
When will the gaols of Sambisa resurrect, eventually?
Shall we keep hoping for the freedom of the moulding tears
To fix the debris of the battered mind, whilst time fades
Down the West, we heard your roar, like a mad lion
Down the East, we covet your smiles, like an infant’s joy
But wither we tend? Your chameleonic breath only feint
But let him rest, He that is passed, maybe time would speak
Yea, speak for us to meet again, when the other days are born.

Ao pade leti odo
Odo didan , Odo didan naan
Pelu Awon mimo leba odo
Ton shan leba ite nan)

Murphy Simon
04 . 06 . 2016
15 : 00hours

© -2016- AdamsMurphy®


Photo Credit: Free Internet Search

The sun would soon be tired
When her fabrics bleach ecru
The fading feather fabrics of her fainted follicles
She would be weary, when the rain comes
To bath her with mockery dews of insipidity springs
Lumps of her throat wouldn’t dissolve, not one
Chance, may comfort her dying desire and hope
Tell her I shall join her, on the staunch faith seat
Waiting for the one, that never comes

The Archer spoke to me of blossom-ness
His surplice white was celestial, of high regards and sacredness
My shadow yet would not go, no, after the twilight play
The Archer was malignant, his black blood spoke it
Tell him, his stabs on my Shadow hurts but yet bearable
Of him, of his Machiavellian hues, I remain stoic
On this post I yet remain, building my brows of grey and yellow
Waiting for the one, that never comes

They say, patience is a virtue that doesn’t fail
When my nostrils smelt its different shades, they scared me
Its shade are ambivalent, seeking which to build on
Brimstone would rain tomorrow when the sun sleep
And royalty would be jested when the purples slumber
If time would yet spare us, we shall yet be staunch
Waiting for the one, that never comes

So I will sit, and be sober, and merry and be pensive
The fogs and the snows of the North, I shall consult
They will please my heart and they, me will melt
The one that never comes would come, serendipity
And the Sun, and the Archer,and Me shall be patient
More, perhaps Patience would smile of it fairest countenance
Yet, building optimism, waiting for the one that never comes

© -2016- AdamsMurphy®


Picture: Found Randomly

I told the dreams,
I won’t come visiting again
My eyes are weary of their ambivalence
That me, of utopian pleasures waste
And Fears, divorce my shying skins
My mental flies, on Phoenix wingspread
But a step away, when time dismisses our sights
The northern wind blows my fantasies
It does, that the frozen south scare them to wither
Dear dream, let time solve the faults
Those, that have bewildered our stars.

I told the Stars,
My skepticism has gone astray
Beauties of their twinkles birth their paranoia
I will tell the airs to aid the growing dread
Then me, and doubt, would be of enmity road tread
But I shall soon love my skepticism again
When the moon comes, risen from its seething castle
The Star tales shall mock its shaming feathers of lightening
The moon will come, and me, and him, will form the future

I told the moon,
A little while, the grasses would be green and lively
When the green comes, and then the night, they would fight
The frailness of the moonlight, then the mockery; would glow
But I, would betray him; I would get swayed away with it
Then the stars would come, then the dreams, to jest and simper
Dear moon, we shall be ashamed. 

I told the sun
Hers is Arrogance but I, will disdain her
The threads of her rays, and the beams, yes
When the airs agree to my connivance, and waters
Soon, then she shall know my prejudice is benign
That her wings, shall detests her glowing hues
And the Moon, and the Stars, and yet the humbled Sun
We shall wake to Reality, together, sober stupor.

I told the Waters
Soon I shall smile, but only for maggots’ pleasure
It shall be borne of my decaying brittle bones
But before then, my foviers are untidy and my brows, heavy
They should purge them, that their hues be civilized again
That me, and them shall of accord be for mirth and pleasures
Hairs of my Hyde are weary of unending journeys
Now that their streams are cleanse, and their sources, thoughtful
I, shall be stupor of them
So i, before my memories speak of me, shall yet glow, like my peers
And me, and the sidereal dine in shining fame

We shall all taste of truthfulness and deceit would divorce us
So when our eyes, and paths, and tendencies are tutored
We shall, tend, where the existence keeps our fortune.

© – 2015 – AdamsMurphy®


Posted: March 21, 2014 in Uncategorized

Life is but a mythical script
Hard to act, yet happen to us
Its ways could be crooked themselves
Its mangroves; in a deadly thirst
Its desert; laments of snowfall
Its lies; not a hunger for Truth
And its meek face, so deceptive
Though all are rather unreal sights
That rays from our mind illusions
And swelters from life’s cruel torture.

Happy #worldpoetryday…. Let’s catch the day live and feel free to express our mind…

A Note for my Birthday

Posted: March 13, 2014 in Uncategorized


Perhaps the Day won’t break, no one can tell
Whether it pleases the Sun not to shine
Imagination be then reality
If the atmosphere shall now blow whirl fire
Then its surreality is tired of dreams
Perhaps the Cloud would have some earthly rest
Or relaxation, to dine with nature
Maybe heavenly alliance becomes true
Perhaps the Mermaid is cold at winter
The desert could rejoice of a new guest
Then the river cries, and the ocean morns
Till their stupor dies of being over filled
Perhaps Moon could surrogate Day of Sun
Then earth is not but a home of drama
If the planet lights and comets would fight
Or yet Battle wars of supremacy
Would the chaos not have consumed mankind?
Of the zeal to dream dreams in mama’s womb
Dies before time and wait not for it birth
This same life would have been an unlived life
And stillbirth of brilliant hopes and desires
Then my dreams would have been some teetered dreams
Lying dead in another man’s mind
So, thanks to the birth that born you, SOLA
Thanks to reality that made this me true
Thanks to all that works for my existence
To its limitless height the bird thus fly
Thanks to all that wish for him good balance
Oluwasola, like grandma would call
Is a year older on the twelfth of march
      H U R R A Y.    H U R R A Y


Join me as I celebrate my birthday this week. Its has been wonderful all through the years! Murphy is a year older!!!!

~ Copyright © ~ Adamsmurphy® ~ 2014 ~