Godwin Inyang's Blog

  M arching gradually deep into the New Year: A ll resolutions kept or have you broken some? R ealign yourself if so but if a beam you wear C ause the right boot isn't on wrong foot worn - H old on tight and see your game this year is won.

I was ready to paint A sombre sky with rainbow But she spirited the brush away; I was ready to wet The drought-stricken land with rain But she steered the clouds off; I was ready to light The night with the moon But she blanketed it with her gloom. Beautiful bud, I'd waited this long for you To unfurl so I'd feast my eyes On your radiant petals And my nostrils on your scent But I just didn't know Flowers too have venom and fangs.

The muse can fly so he alights on your mind; The muse can sing so he pipes a song And the poet picks his drums, flute and gong Engraving on paper for the world to find. The poet the muse on secrecy does bind - What mouth knows the one to tell is the tongue; Who'd tell secrets in breath better than lung? A good poet does not leave his muse behind. What is an actor without an exact role? What is a tale's worth without the bearer? What use is an ink without the paper? Stone dead is the body without the soul! The muse flies, alights and sings on a poet's mind; The poet puts across the songs for all to find.

Language being the big city it is Has innumerable words as its citizens And occupying mountaintops and abyss Are multiple and colourful denizens. Vulgar occupies the slimy gutter As informal inhabits the city's wings. Through its elevated and gold-framed shutter Formal surveys his lesser fellow beings. Prose in basic form is mortar and bricks; It is also the plain track and alley. Poetry is marble and polished sticks; It's also the toll-imposed carriageway. In the land of words prose is the subject; Poetry over prose lords with grand effect.