Posts Tagged ‘soberness’


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®



So many rhythms we forgot to play
So many memories were arrogant
So many moments we hungered their sway
So many lives of gloom, mirth wine and dine

Whilst I, on my conscious heel, quest solace
The River did to me, unfairness; solemn
Morrow shall be, of relief to my soul
Albeit mulling, tensioned breathe crept mine brow

Oblivion! Callous thee! Thou knew my thoughts
Whilst thy comfort hands morn, howbeit bold
Tempestuous thy breathe blew nonchalantly
Our memories, this i speaks, shall yet rise

That these our moments, of  serenades’ melt
Mirth and gloom; thou wasted fairness for blues
Shall it be, tide basking in time’s anchor
This rhythm shall glow, down the riverside!!

(I miss you! I wish we could re-visit our gone times)

© – 2015 – AdamsMurphy®

The Sons Of Cyclone…

Posted: January 29, 2015 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,


Do you hear their silent whispers?
Their heartbeats are convulsive
Do you feel their jittery minds?
Upon the roaring podiums they breathe
The lands disdain their footing
The airs have spelled them of pleasure
The waters gladden of their dire thirst
Faded beauties of their hoping fortitude
Weary yellows of their supposed sun
Their stars shy to twinkle
Their moon fears to brighten
Their trusts swallowed by dread
The ember of their roses is faded
The radiance of their diamond; dull
The fertility of their nature now shames
No crimson to merry for droll
The graveyards garrulity yet gives no solace
They are the children of the nonchalant fathers
They were brewed from the careless mothers

Their bloods; the land soil’s ecru
Their dreams; the moon exhausted.

© – 2015 – AdamsMurphy®


Ferries on the road
Cars on the sea
Laughter on the dimples
visual on the lips

The seen are paranoid
The heard yet quivers
Surrogacy of thoughts
On an exile of fame
Illusion veils a seem mystery

Sentiment supplicates mercy
An ambience of ambiguity and feint
Intelligence masturbation and weariness
The fovier’s ailments have worsened
To foresee thus becomes worrisome
For these seem, the state of our Nation.

#politics #aCryforEnlightenment

© – 2015 – AdamsMurphy®


Posted: November 14, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , ,



Hand of life

Seems like the more I think
The more ambiguous things become
Seems like the more I search
The more things and words get elusive
Seems like the more I go
The farther the journey gets
Seems like the more I build
The more things get undone
Seems like the more wealth I gather
The needier I become
Seems like the clearer I see
The blurrier all becomes

Seems like the more people I trust
The more betrayal I experience
Seems like the more I try to love
The more I get hated by people
Seems like the more I eat
The more hunger finds a place in me
Seems like the more the rain falls
The thirstier the lands seem
Seems like the more I quest for truth
The more lies sing of victory
Seems like the more I feel I have won
The more failure’s hue become brighter
Seems like the more the Sun shines
The more darkness darkens
Nothing ever come so real as they seems
Life is so contradictory and vague
Today never defines tomorrow!

©2014 ~ AdamsMurphy®


Posted: October 28, 2014 in Poetry
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A final tribute

Seven lives you had
Over some woven tethered
Of ancient  mended clothings
They were your left fingers rings
On your brows they hide there feet
Your lips harboured their white stars
Glowing fine on your soft sleeves
Kimola, your life was seven.

Your heart did whispered to me
It jittery voice bruised my mild
Mild, my mental of royal scheme
But the songs seemed of Nightingale’s borrowed
Albeit my mild still bleeds of the bruises
Now that your steps have missed the ground
And you are gone, gone to pity my adversaries
Kimola, shall you still come?

I asked of you at the backyard
Bloodshed were my clock’s time
Tears were my Cheek’s golden polish
Backyard brothers grayed my page with your dirge
Then, your mem’ries whipped my conscience to weep
But the tears still were my comfort
Yea, on a pedestal of selfish blues
Kimola! Shall I again behold you?

I knew your first life
It was made of finely brewed jealousy
Writhe in hierarchical chauvinism
Its tyranny humbled soon the second
The breathes from the thirds’ nostrils got aglow
Its flames choked them when others were yet born
Even when others came, they dare not speak
Their heart was a resident of their lips.

Did the callous sixth eventually fight?
Fight to save the fourth from thirds’ cruelty?
Your seventh, immature, weary to strive
And yet inflicted the innocent fifth
Kimola! How soon your waters ran off!
Seven congenial lives, of mysteries
But the lives were arrogant to live
For their stay with you came so malignant.

Unending joy seemed, the ground’s countenance
Your mouth-maggots scheming, Ground acquainted
Albeit of sweetness your response once tend
The hue of your Hyde shy to glory
Perhaps it’s saddened courtesy of your rest
Not your rest, but your seeming cowardice
Your extinct dreams that roared, though covert
Kimola, I yet glimpse bright your spirit!

I knew not if gloating your heart desires
But my euphoric bloods has journeyed South
The ice have fainted their arrogant hues
Fosterage harangues to ameliorate
Too weak my sun seems; Sorrow stupors me
My quest hope to banish this thoughts of you
Till my heart find rest where your abode sites.


©2014 ~ AdamsMurphy®

Tony my Dear Friend

Posted: June 27, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , ,


Tony, dear Tony my good friend
Tony of Nightingale’s vocals
Ozing through his pink oval lips
Lips of the spring; so colourful
Tony of admired postures
But of white-faded pulchritude
Fainted beauty of his ageing
Not old age nor of luxury
But of misplaced priority
Making a stroll down his weak spine
To commend his lecherous blood
Of which indulgence he delight
Tony! Could your ways be ever straight?
Off your crooked pleasure of vain
Will your feet ever stand so good
On decency platform of life?
Without any compromised form
Over your bogus gentleness
I shall fight with you, yea so soon
Not the physical self of you
But your mind and mental scheming
To make halt the insidious thoughts
That smokes your sanity for fun
Before your arrogance ripens
To thwart fortune’s goodwill for you
If I win, it shall delight me
You shall be drunk of soberness
For o’er my seeming naïve lips
Shall teach you intelligent words
So, my cridecoeur is my fight
Though your unrepenting soul prouds
But I so pledge pertinacious.

~Copyright 2014~Adamsmurphy®

NOTE: this poem is not about any personality. It was written about the state of today’s society.