POEMS

 CLASSIC SEDUCTION
                                                                            August 6, 2010

Classic Poets never die
But love fresh fruits, love gentle
Breasts, seduced by fresh women

Thanks for music, poetry
I love. Words rhyming through
The language of a poet full of
ever green instincts

If it were not for literature,
Where would Poets dip their
Pens for lines of inspirations
To seduce in classic poems

Indeed you possess the calabash
From which all cultures,religions
Originates, seducing the world in
Holy Romance.  


My interest in poetry increased in the late 20th century after my first encounter with the book titled: INVENTING IRELAND - IRISH CLASSICS authored by Declan Kiberd, professor of Anglo-Irish Literature at University College Dublin-Harvard, W.B. Yeast-BUILDING AMID RUINS and other great writers.

My conviction of writing CLASSIC POETRY is that, a classic is like a great poem, which has the ability to forever remain young and fresh like the standing breast of a teenage in her puberty. To me, CLASSICS is like Country Western Music. It belongs to the mature mind. It feeds the brain and touches the heart. Not only that, every selection of classic writing has an arbitrary personal quality about it.

Classic Poetry is indeed a collection of consuming emotions, the passion of love, hatred and the sweet pleasure of enduring the trauma, the extreme excruciating pain of heart break and the romantic feelings of falling in love and being loved.

The notion that texts have their season was proposed by Scott Fitzgerald when he said that: "AN ARTIST WRITES FOR THE YOUTH OF TODAY, THE CRITICS OF TOMORROW, AND THE SCHOOL MASTER OF EVER AFTER."

Somehow, paintings of images by an artist has merged into poetry so as to better project what has been written. Thus, associating itself with the educational process of our centuries before today and thereafter. This was glossed by Hyde in a Hiberno English commentary: It is making us understand that it is, there be double knowledge and greatly increased sharp sightedness to him who is in Love. the love is like a star, and it is like a star of knowledge on the account of the way in which it opens our senses, so that we be double more light, more lively and more sharp than we were before. We understand the glory and the beauty of the world in a way we never understood it. 

Indeed, where would we be if it were not for Literature, the bedrock and mother of all Classics. Thank goodness for education, poetry I love.

IRRESISTABLE ME!!!

Mystical from afar 

Yet irresistable from near

They came. . .hope to gain

Could they win

I am mystical

Irresistabibly mysterous

Yet meek and lovely. . .

A luscious poem writer

My love is big

Can they handle it

Can't keep it, else it'll

Intoxicate me

I am big

Big and ambitious

A fastidious lover yet

Vivacious and extravagantly

Loved by the unisex of my time

Could they eloquently

Elucidate the emancipated

Irresistable me. . .yet they came.

"SHE'S THE ONE."                                            May 15, 2013

She massages my emotions

She heals me psychologically 

At her smooth voice, she takes 

My worries and stress away

Drowning me into the seduction 

Of her love

With a touch of her finger tips

My emotion is erected like her

Twin towels

She's my inspiration

With an inspired heart, I'll 

Love without regrets

She touches my heart deeply

Cos I need her badly

At her smiles, my passion 

Unfolds...

In her heart, my faith is secured

She's a humble therapist

She takes me deep into the 

Future and brings me back

To the reality of her voice

She's the one

She's the one...

Country music - she's the one 

Poem: LIVE AGAIN" by d' draper, s. 

O that I might live again

A soul enslaved with golden chains

In the nakedness of a heart perfumed 

The pleasant joy of a future calamity

In distance far, fair eyes dance'd at the pleasure

Of my heart beat

That I might live again

Drowning in a strange misfortune full of calamity

In the smoke of romance and forbidden pleasures

Guilty eyes steering at a melancholy heart

Half naked - the embryo of a solitary love

Indeed youthood is pleasurable, but wrinkle is 

Cost price

I live

I perish

I shall live again.

"A PIECE OF MY MEMORY."                         August 3, 2010

I've gone crazy, crazy

Out of my mind. Engulf in 

In illusions that intellect cannot

Detect. A pioneering heart wailing

In wakeful dreams.

In wanderlust, virtues 

Full of sweet love, pierced

My waif thoughts...

Emotional ache touching a 

A heart that cannot lack, but

Act, act in love that is so tender 

To randier.

I'm rich, rich in love 

From above... holding unto 

A memory full of glory.

Am I in love? Perhaps, in love

With a mystery of myth. 

Infused with emotional claptrap.

Where would I be without

The love of a woman? Woman

Fashioned for my passion. Giving

Anything to be her everything

I've gone crazy, crazy out of my mind.

I've asked myself the 

Reasons at least a thousand time

A mystical experience? Probably not

I'm in love with a fair butterfly, tearing

My heart apart. Tizzy indeed in love.

I'm going to leave all of

My struggles when I find that

Safe stable, with you criddle in

My jungle...

Possessor of love's sweet wine

Trembling fingers of my heart

Always searching through the

Tunnel for an endless love. 

Sailing with my instincts, running

To the coast of beautiful right in my heart.

Am I drowsy in illusions, fanciful

Myth, craziness, or imaginations

Of a reality yet to unfold, or...

Indeed memories cannot recall

I must pause till it comes back to me.

"O BENDU MY MOTHER. "                 

                                                                              May 7, 2004

O Bendu my mother

How I am thinking of you

I've always imagined how I 

Sucked at your full breast when

I was a baby.

O Bendu my mother

How I am thinking of you

I imagine how sickly I was 

When a baby and how you 

Took me from one hospital

To another, just to save a dying

Soul.

I imagine how doctors give up

Though dejected as a wet hen, 

Nevertheless, you always stood 

By by side.

O Bendu my mother

How I'm thinking of you

You were always as sleepless

As an owl at night. You never

Neglected me or threw me on 

The side-way as others would do.

O Bendu my mother

How I'm thinking of you

When I was at sleep, you stayed 

A wake to watch over me. I'm

Proud to be the son of a native 

Woman like you.

When a growing up child,

I still remember how we took

Me to the village creek to fetch

Water and how you washed my 

Clothes on those great rocks.

I remembered how we carried

Kola nuts and other goods to 

The market in far away towns 

On market days just for survival.

O Bendu my mother

How I'm thinking of you

Whenever I smiled, it brought 

Great joy to your blessed soul

You are always as gentle as a fallen dew.

Now that I'm a man, 

But still remembers.

My love for you is like food 

Unto my soul. Remember, I'm 

Still thinking of you, no matter the distance.

"A PRIDE TO MOTHERHOOD."

( Letter to mama )    

August 6, 2010        

When I pen my thoughts

Which I've stolen from my

Memory box, words roll like

Gushing stream

Though you may not possess 

All the wealth in the world,

You're God's special 

Channel of blessing

You've proven to be a 

Heroine in your time.

Your distinct ways of 

Discipline is distinguishable

Thank you for education

You're indeed a crown to your

Children. Your generosity to the

Needs of others has always been 

Outstanding

Your spiritual enlightenment

Has shown me the path to success

And the VISA to heaven

Fulfilling the scripture

According to Isaiah 15 : 13

Memories of you are always 

Sweeter than wine

Today, I commemorate you

With holy beauty. Many women

Have done virtuously well..., but

You've passed them all

"INNOCENT GLANCE"

                                                                                                                September 17, 2010

I random with her mind

In the shelter of her eyes

From a stolen glance which

Does not come by chance

Just one look, one magic moment

I have waited a life time for you 

To come along when love was just

A country girl

Passionate admiration turning to

Passive jealousy in her flawless eyes

Internally awakening the strength of 

A masculine 

Indeed, no man could ignore the

Standing breast of a female pride

An ideal womanhood. Eyes to never

Glance without the consciousness of

Failed rejection

Should he speak his thoughts?

Choice of words careful, but deliberate

Ignoring passive rejection for his 

Election without expression of rejection

Lavished with luxury beauties

The price of her artistic structure,

Who would ignore.Trapped by ideas

Of his mind.

Let words laugh. Laugh with romantic

Thoughts. Thoughts of a poet, imperfect

But distinct from others

In radiance of innocent glance

Brilliant glance that lies in the

Treasure of pleasures. Merit of 

Romantic identity. Just an innocent

Glance breeding thoughts in his mind.

"STILL IN HER PRIME"

Still in her prime

Like the palm wine from 

The mines. Can she be mine?

Don't have a dime to make her mine

Can't resist her smile from a mile

Wished they were mine. I have seen 

Her in familiar places that this heart 

Of mine embraces

She's in the privacy of my night

An improbable romance out of glance

A shooting star still in her prime

Could we dine? Hope it's my time

She's a glimce of eternity, like a 

Diamond on my mine-puffing my 

Wine. Her charm, sophisticated 

The innocence of her conscience, 

Too precious to measure 

Should she be fined for playing 

On my mind? Too kind for a dime

Her beauty, fabulously wealthy

Full of sensational romance

Still in her prime

Is it a crime to make her mine?

O the collections of my sinful lust

With hope, I will cope-cos in time

She'll be mine.

( Special dedcation to C.S )

'THE PRICE TO PAY.'

            

February 14,  2009

Long years of toiling

In the desert of lonesomeness,

Searching for a lost love, my heart

Burns like there's a desert in side me 

Dreams beyond dreams,

Years of awakening every night,

Toes goes thirsty in the lonely hours

Of a desert sand searching just for you

As the birds brood in their nests,

Awaiting the dawn of unsung melodies,

Telling tales of long ago, lingering sweet 

Thoughts, memories of satisfying pleasure, 

So am I in the candle search for an endless love

Toiling the church bells,

Where sounds fades into memories,

With days of illusions and abandoned 

Ideas, the price has to be paid

With the simpleness of a

Peasant life, my part I shall play

Though not the custodian of time 

To keep the fate

Toiling the woods, brief parting

From those dear, my part I shall

Play. Time drops in decay. The price

Has to be paid for the woman of my life,

Sweet perfume of Paris

Like a dried-up river, 

So deep shall  I go in search for 

An endless love. Like a long-legged

Insect on a stream, or like God's lamp

Shinning in the dark to find the sweetness

That all would long for day and night

I feel her sweet presence 

Her hands tracing my heart

Like the hand of God turning holy

Communion into sweet love

I would kiss her good night

Hold her a little tighter, scroll 

Through her silky hair, it is then

I would thank God for her and ask

Him for nothing expect one more day

When the price I have paid.

 "THE LONESOMENESS OF LOVE" 

                                                                              February 14, 2011

Every thing that man esteems

Endures for a moment or a day 

Like a candle burnt out. Time goes  

On, memories remain. It lives in the 

Mind of her beauty.

                                                   The joy, the sorrows, the pains so

                                                   Sweet. She cannot unwrite  it out 

                                                  It out of her heart. Oh St.Valentine

                                                  Of February 14...thank thee for 

                                                  Memories .

Words look on in silence

Oh, Draper, custodian of 

Lyrics. You are wise, but foolish 

When in love. Crazier than you think.

                                                    My heart is homeless, homeless 

                                                    In bitter prison. For no reason, 

                                                 My fair-headed love is abandoning

                                             Me. Should she deny the love to which

                                             My heart is wed?

Words of tenderness for the 

Woman he truly loves. She 

Like a sunshine on a fountain

Silky hair composed with poetic lines.

                                                      My pity isn't tonight. Should she 

                                                      Be my heart teaser, or pleaser  of

                                                      Pleasure? She cries I pet, stories

                                                      Still untold of  a woman to whom

                                                      I  am deeply in love.

Thanks to thee

Sweet memories of a valentine

All night, I lie breast to breast

Bosom to bosom, mouth to mouth

Full of illusions and love.

                                                     My heart is thirsty, thirsty for her

                                                     LOVE. Oh fair woman, woman 

                                                     Heart, to whom my soul longeth.

                                                    Hope she loves me.Thus, bringing

                                                    Salvation to a weary soul longing

                                                    Love. 

                                                      ( To  the lady I call D - Etta )

"LOVE SONG OF ROBERTSPORT."

December 3,2012

O we have a home-yes we do

A home that reminds her compatriots

Of a noble and sacred heritage

For o'er thy hills and valleys

Carries the echos of thy ancient pride

O the flowery tongue of thy native voice...

Setting the pace of noble kinsmen

O happy bound to thee who merit thy

Love

Lifting high the banner

Of noble kinsmen... awakening thy

Strength o'er the hills and valleys of 

Grand Cape Mount...

O come to thy home sons 

And daughters of Robertsport -

Emperor of the peasant

Singing the lyrics of our

Traditions, hoping in thy

Endless light of love 'til

Heaven we possess....

"ROBERTSPORT SHE HAILS"

  March 14, 20

Long, long ago 
I fell in love with her
When she was just a peasant 
Illiterate. O gentlemen of the press,
Country men of my county.

I call her ROBERSPORT 
She's a public taste of beauty
A lady of romance owned by a Classic Poet
She's the social independence of her country's
Pride. The industriousness of her hands is a 
Celebrated beauty.

She's not built to stand on red carpets
When she walks, men glare in watchful
Delight. She's the embodiment of patience
Gentleness, and intelligence. The planes of 
Her hills and valleys are ever green.

She's an extravagant lover-it cannot be called
Superstition. The excitement of her discovery 
Cannot be worded. A wasteful smile trace my 
Lips in mutual admiration. She's my home made 
Honey, my bubble bath with candles.

Her mom calls her Grand Cape Mount
The origin of her country's civilization 
Remote as she is, works with cheerfulness
On days of labor. Gentlemen are obsessed 
With her shape. Cupid calls her the goddess
Of beauty.

I'm in rhapsody with the love of 
Her melodies full of realities without
Partiality. Summer flower adds to her 
Beauty.
She's irresistible and not replaceable 
I cannot unlove her. 
Robertsport MY FIRST LADY.




'O JOEFORLOVE - AMBIGIOUS POET'

 October 30, 2010

O Joejorlove, words to smile you
Are imperfect, but deliberate.
Custodian of poetic lines...expressing
Deep feelings and noble thoughts

Poet of today's critics, letter to the 
Youth and school master of ever after
How lovely are your lines...
Full of splendid beauty

You sold your thoughts and wished 
To be an author of them. A great source 
Of new health comes from new thoughts
Every poem we wrote almost broke our hearts

O Joe, gentle Joe, desire grows from
The heart, never to part. Your poetry,
Beautifully ambiguous - does it mean faithful
And beloved?

Your lines, full of prophesies
And might be accused of over-emotionalism
Should love be our idol? We will enjoy the
Wreck of wealth, proud of calamity

Manifesting the affection of our youth
Breeds suspicion in my conscious thoughts
The pen is in your control, write as far as it 
Can go. In union we shall seduce the world so
That civilization may not sink.

"In My Mind - I'm Already Going Home"

September 9, 2011

Now the peril is o'er

Are the scars on thy walls forever?

The sun have said good night to the mountains

And to night, a heart is lonely-lonely in bitter tears

O Montserrado, from which I hail

Nobody was quite able to account for the

Flight of their children. From thee, we derived comfort

A lonely and long farewell 

Has been taken for safety beyond thy boarders

Thy hands are stretched and there is no one to 

Cloth thee

Where is the robe of thy glory?

To night, a heart is homeless-homeless

In bitter tears

O Montserrado, my Montserrado-

Where are thy friends?

Should we play with the

Peril edges of reality? O the sadness

Of my hidden sight-a sensory world full

Of beautiful fragrance

To whom do I pay my dues?

Lonely are the branches of thy trees

Shame on thee, weapons of mass destruction

Shame on thee, silver chains of slavery

Shame on those who have invaded the nobility

Of thy pride

O the composition of my solitary poetry

Leaving my heart lonely - lonely like a 

Monday morning church where sounds fade

Into memories, abandoned forever

Time has triumphed

Memories waxed old

I am lonely lying in a country far away

A broken man with a weaken strength

O Montserrado

Should thou have more friends, less honor?

Never again will thou face the wreck of shame

And extreme peril

Won't thou be pleased when thy

Children touch the green - green grass

Of home and feel the warmth of thy love?

I am weary, weary of puny pretense

Pretense of being happy, but going a

Little further to a road full of mockery

Should my body wax old and memories

Reside in the cemetery of exile?

Now a night drops again,

A poem in the poet's pen

My foot steps cannot take me 

Away, but in my mind -

I am already going home

Special dedication to all Liberians who find themselves

in exile due to what I'll call the Liberian holocaust. May

the souls of all our grand parents, parents, brothers, sisters,

friends and loved ones who lost their lives during this period

rest in perfect peace.

Never again, Liberia says never.

ECHOES

April 4,'13

16 : oo

We cry, yes we cry

Our voices h've drummed

Its silent dancers ... yes silent dancers

Sailing across Mano River to Cape Town

Can they hear the beat of our silent voices?

Spectators h've gathered ...

The flutes h've combed the branches 

Of our trees

Yet Africa is at sleep

We cry, yes we cry

Dark echoes stormed the cloud

They see it, but pretend not to notice

Africa a horror movie?

Indeed, our voices h've drummed its

Silent dancers   

The cock has crowed 
But day don't seem to break
Our echoes are dark, but loudest
It cries in the market places
It cries in our class rooms
It cries in every corner of our streets
Yes the see it, the feel it but, pretend not 
To notice    

We cry, yes we cry
Our fears, full of tears
Africa, O Africa!! who wi'l our tears bear 
The cow cannot gaze...
Yet monkey dey chop banana
Africa a full belley - Africans empty stomach
Indeed our echoes has drummed its silent dancers
Yet Africa is at sleep 

IDEA

Where is my idea?

...echo of voices

Combing the thoughts of her mind

In silence deep within she cries

Where is my idea?

Can they hear her…I feel her deep

Within the belly of my heart

She’s so beautiful yet untouchable

Should I write her, or…

Who’ll believe the innocence of

Her newness

Yet lingering thoughts give

No room to outside voices

In simplicity she whispers…

I’m your idea

Make me plain-improve me

Morph me-make me better

She pleads…don’t’ leave me

Solid, liquefy me…

…echo of voices

In the night of a bright mind

An idea is conceived

Yet lingering thoughts give no

Room to outside voices