Walk before me now,
keeping my commands,
my statutes and my rules:
your throne shall be forever.
But if you turn aside,
go serving other gods,
then I will cut you off,
and cast you from my sight,
and all will be astonished,
and everyone will hiss,
why has the LORD done this?
And Israel will be
a proverb and a byword
abandoning the LORD
who brought them out of Egypt,
served other gods instead.
Blessing and protection,
severance and rejection,
carrot and a stick;
which one will you pick?
----------
musings on 1 Kings 9:1-9
When you rush stages.
Journeys take ages:
Cause for correction,
Stops for direction,
Loss to earned wages,
One coolly rages.
You’re now a story.
Not of sung glory;
Rather a byword
Who needs some watch word;
Writers for pages
Many turn sages….
And you’d started it;
Them handed their wit…
greens
landforms
humans treat
mother nature
yet, you maintain serving humanity.
every second you draw a great landscape
You feed and care.
selflessness.
byword.
trust.
Written: January 07, 2022
Four hundred years,
has it really been that long
My how time flies
when you’re singing captivity songs
2019 ...
oh, just living in modern vexation
Dwelling in the midst of a beguiled people,
who toil in concrete fields:
Pure medieval factory plantation
Dark minded people,
who live for their materialistic dreams —
Own a house,
purchase a car ...
possess the keys to another human being
Light-hearted sleepers
seriously addicted
to an ivory power narcotic wean,
in the year 2019
Emancipated slaves
still held in bondage by invisible chains
Debtors remorse
is a grievous, capitalist skin game
Four hundred years ...
yes, it’s been a chigger long time
My how the centuries crawl,
when you’re the byword imprisoned one
freedom silenced —
Tho’ you didn’t commit the crime
We the holy people,
the chosen children of God
Our glorious destiny
was graciously written long ago,
thankfully,
on the crimson cross of Calvary
We the righteous seed,
the select Elect
offspring of Adam and Eve
Our spiritual bloodline Branch
was set apart,
because we believed in God
with all our heart
We the byword people,
who have no faith in Man,
our prayers are just —
For we be the children of Abraham
From Noah to Lot,
we’ve had our vexed tears
mixed in the flood rain
Our Sarah and Rebekah barren cries,
God had not forgot ...
For we the children of the holy prophets
Alleluia rejoiced
when the Messiah came
Now His precious blood
is upon the door of our hearts
As the Holy Redeemer of every conceivable sin,
passed over our shame ...
the path to freedom came
on an Exodus caravan
As were we all,
so shall we all be
As the parents were put in bondage,
so shall the children be set free
At the opening of the plantation gate,
in the letting out of the slaves
Freedom came with an empty purse,
as well with a curse goodbye
Labor weary lost strangers
straggling along
the lone, dusty auction road
Back and forth a heated argument goes,
moving onward ...
life is better which way
Chains of dependency drags some back,
fetters of anger thrust others forward
To and fro ... back and forth
is the black eye in the pyramid
American experience tug of war
Ebony disunity is zygotic yoked at freedom’s dawn,
dysfunction is the birthright
of a byword nation
An ill-conceived, ignorant legacy
is the premature incubation
of an uncharitable emancipation
Movement of the branded herd,
(their b and b skin is iron womb stamped in)
aimless and without purpose,
settles on self-predation —
a cancerous gift of conditioned oppression
Present day wanderers in an urban wilderness,
dressed in their funeral sanctified Sunday best
Their traditional day of restless sabbatical rest suggest:
which way ain’t been no better either way
Jan and Daz are so so happy
United are Jadazzle
Many months have passed
Poetry writing has been put on hold
It's been over a year... but we
Never gave up believing we would write together
Good times are just around the corner
Friendship oh so strong
Overt faith in each other
Radiating from united hearts
Joyous in our reunion
Optimism will be our byword
Yesterday is but a memory
12th August 2015
This is our first poem in about 14 months - writing together again was a dream that has finally come true - Jadazzle are well and truly reunited.
Written by Jan Allison and Darren Watson
Byword
(I)
Tittle tattle tales rattle.
Cabalistic cabals in cans:
Malicious mélange of melees.
Mummers murmur, mumchance mumble.
Mummichog: the perfidious Fundulus heteroclitus-
For this parlance is pestilence:
For your words, for their words,
For your walls, for their walls.
But for their worlds, for your worth.
(II)
Malicious mischief shrouds in mesmerism,
Whilst her malignity molds she forgot unfold.
But the morbid medalled she, instead to merge,
Maintains calumnies, which not calmative in anyway.
Mummichog: the perfidious Fundulus heteroclitus-
For this parlance is pestilence:
For your words, for their words,
For your walls, for their walls.
But for their worlds, for your worth.
(III)
A candid parley and caring suits…
Indeed better parallel match -no losers, all winners-
For cases in conformity and un-confound.
That’s peace, that’s reign, to just justice of the peace.
Mummichog: the perfidious Fundulus heteroclitus-
For this parlance is pestilence:
For your words, for their words,
For your walls, for their walls.
But for their worlds, for your worth.
14/3/1434 ___15/1/2014
©Abdulhafeez Oyewole.
Obsolete is the byword
that keeps us buying anew,
products that last forever
simply would never do.
Paydays come in many forms
some junk is another’s treasure,
so creating problems to be solved
makes sense by the repairman’s measure.
There are industries of industry
who perpetuate themselves,
flooding markets with one thing
keeping others on the shelves.
This breeds the disingenuous cause
of saboteurs and fixers,
spawning each other endlessly
pitting inventors against the nixers.
Exhaust pipes made of mild steel
rust out and fail routinely,
planned obsolescence creating need
proving the point supremely.
Somewhere somebody is planting a bug
in my computer or my lung,
where a technician or a doctor
gets paid to see it undone.
And somewhere somebody is saying a prayer
to stop this insanity,
of misguided and opportunistic
cannibalization of ingenuity.
While I take to the road for a mission
Anxiety rivets me to my direction
It causes me to ponder and be calm
As a byword for courage and wisdom.
It is a wee bit harder to do
By living the “now” in the ministry
I move on to discover and listen
With a smile and say you’re welcome.
A sense of understanding drives me along
To the path where conversion occurs
And being an Asian by and large
Allows me to ensconce in this life.
There may be some pains and ill-feelings
Over the length of my experience
But I make a profound commitment
That echoes the so-called perseverance.
In moments of despondency, sufferings, and annoyance
The eye of the heart greets me with endurance
Just as I restore its meaning
Hope appears and brings the difference.
It is a gift to our freedom
Through reflection in depth.
This permeates my whole vision of life
To go beyond and hand on to God.
Fidelity to the gospel calls me
Directs me to the Source
Whose inner meaning becomes transparent
In my priestly and missionary work.
It is a call, a role to play
I can risk going face to face
With God who is the cause of all
To be a servant to his people.