http://Weirdpoet.tigblog.org/ What's on the minds of young leaders from around the globe? en-us http://Weirdpoet.tigblog.org/post/586641 Sat, 07 Feb 2009 19:46:00 EST http://Weirdpoet.tigblog.org/post/586641 6.4333333 7.48333336.43333337.4833333 http://Weirdpoet.tigblog.org/post/586637
Anyway, I got no time. This is just the tale of my three eggs and me or rather my two and half eggs and me. Hot! Well, the would-have been third baby, sorry third egg was so slow to come by; but I could feel part of it with my fingers while I pushed. “Green egg” Oh, green egg! That was what it was all in my mind. I really guess it’s fantastic to have different things at times like colourful eggs.

So the labour came, but I would love to see the egg drop. Drop-drop-drrrop from my back, but Becky had no mirror. Oh, the egg is coming, so I ran to a stream some yards away. “Wait eggie, we’re there” I said to us as I reversed to pack my back over the flowing waters.

Legs apart, I bent my head and voyeur! “oh I can see it, no I can’t see it. So I pushie and pushie and shssss. Then I saw a big dimple on the rippling water, and a dancing dazzling white ball diving downwards. Wait a second, for I can’t wait for a minute. Is that not my egg? So I peeped into the water and got skill scared by the fishes’ bulging eyes. I brrrr up panting, shaking off water; and off I went because chickens don’t swim.

“Don’t worry, Becky. Things are always doubled and we get troubled when we don’t struggle!” I came to my comfort. This is exactly the way I fix things I can’t fix, like my next is still scanty. It works hard to get one knitted reed by reed. So, when Becky laid her first egg, it dropped off and cracked. I cackled, thinking it was funny. Meanwhile, I got no time for stories, am on my way home.

Oh home sweet home! Could it be we value things more when we’ve lost them? My green egg, my cracked egg, and my…no, am not going to loose this one. My baby is in there, my babie. Oh sweetie baby. She’s a girl, a fluffy pretty chicky chicken. Errh, let me see what name suits her. Akeelah, Boo, Disney, Chelsea…ah, could fix the poll or the roll in an alphabetical order like let me seeeee: Akeelah, Boo, Chelsea and…wait I got no time for it now please. Maybe some other time, I may got time to fix ‘em. Then, I will add the last one. Maybe Disney ends it.

Well, well-well, I guess I need to see the baby here first before the rituals of name. So, I placed my eye close on the egg to know if I could hear a thing, possibly a quack. I heard nothing. Then, I brought it under the sun to know if I could see a thing, but nothing again. Oops, eggs they say need tender warmth to hatch. So I brought my nest by a fire stand. I was away to catch some fun, when my nest caught fire. I still ponder and wonder how my egg wandered off to a corner, looking droopingly ashy.

Ay, it is now about the 8th month, and I can’t wait further for another one whole long month of gesticulation. And I said, “Hey, chickie, mama wants to catch some fun like Grasshopper-chase, Quacking-in-da-air, Sand-in-da-wind, Sand-wish, and on and on and on. So get out let’s go.”

Don’t worry Becky, things are always doubled and we get troubled when we don’t struggle! I came to my comfort. This is the way I fix things I can’t fix like when I broke my last egg. No, it broke itself by itself when I rolled it down the isle. I guess that was what my mama once said to me that, “The Curious Chicken chuckles no chicks.”

That for now seems to be all. When I got time I will tell you the rest of the rest of the story. It’s me Becky.


http://renaissanceafrica-ostar.blogspot.com

]]> Sat, 07 Feb 2009 19:21:00 EST http://Weirdpoet.tigblog.org/post/586637 6.4333333 7.48333336.43333337.4833333 http://Weirdpoet.tigblog.org/post/478417
It was a beautiful day. Sun flowers cane sun-bathing while the serene breeze blows gently over the fields. Hence, the bees went busy buzzing as they make their juicy lovely honey. Drones as usual drummed and hummed and as well waxed! Other little bees fanned the hive with their soft wings to cool off the heat.

However, outside the hive, messenger-bees caress the beauteous blossom for nectars. Legs laddered with this sweet substance, they danced back and forth the busy hive. Yet, flowers smiled seductively with exquisite colours still, and exuberance of graceful fragrances. Dangling and flapping, the butterflies perched from one to another checking on the pollens.

Nevertheless, beneath these bridal flushes of the springtide, were other little creatures knitting, tailoring, hunting, gathering, parading or peaceful at a leisurely pace. Moreover, not the soldier ants who are always set in a military array! Today, there seemed to be a prison break. Alarms went up; all were on the alert, trigger-ready to shoot at sight....

Meanwhile, Mottie, the lazy monkey whiled away picking edible leaves while planning to make a bee-line for the bee hive. Yawning and preying through leaves and reeds, he waited till the moon began to smile. The bees would not see me, he said, as Mottie the monkey goes for the honey, he assured himself.

And there dared the daredevil! "Mottie's a man-monkey and Mottie needs some honey!" he recited as he stealthily inserted his curious index finger through the honeycomb. Out came the chilled-honey-coated finger one-two into his q-shaped mouth as he sang, "oh sweetie Mottie honey monkey, monkey honey Mottie sweetie oooh...." Eyes closed in pleasure to the rhythm of his sweet song, while his other fingers walked lyrically round and round his ridiculously protruding tummy. "More fingers ah sweetie Mottie, more honey oh sweetie monkey honey!" he thought, so he inserted all his fingers greedily and nervously into the honey-pie....

Bang! Came one shot on the head. "No way, just a scary dream and am not scared a dime" Mottie explained away. Bang-bang and BANG!!! Came one, two, three and pellets of stings all over the poor monkey. Then he leapt to the sky shrieking and falling like sort of a cluster of cosmic offshoot from the moon.

At once, pebbles of bumps flourished on Mottie's body, but he held so dearly his honeyed-fingers despite the excruciating pains. So, Mottie fell and fell and fell without an attempt of grasping any gangly tree branches for safety. Thereupon, he hit his head severely on something and thereby got paranoiac!

I am not just Mottie no more. He might have climbed up, but a winged Mottie monkey flies down. The only flying monkey, flying down in a butterfly grand upward strokes. I don't want honey anymore, but a barrel of an elephant's milk. I am not a monkey any longer, but a roaring tiger. Don't you see the trees running and speeding away because i am running....

Then came the flop, the last flop indeed that broke the monkey's amnesia. And he banged up the ground and laid still. There Mottie laid still till certain acupunctures instilled a sense of life in him and he woke from his trance heaped like a log of wood floating on a troubled sea. And it was in the deployed camp of the indefatigable soldier ants that he fell in! So, they speared him, butchered him, mobbed him while he was still hypnotized and resolved to bear him home.

However, Mottie woke up a better monkey and sprang off in a feat that even bewildered him. "No more lazy sweetie Mottie honey monkey again" he resolved, "but with the rising sun, i shall rise and be wise. And like the busy honey bees, i shall work for my daily bread and be at leisure with the moon at dusk."


Sparing some seconds starting someone smiling!

Lil'Smile Foundation
Ostar Amakeze
Nimo
]]> Mon, 15 Sep 2008 11:23:00 EDT http://Weirdpoet.tigblog.org/post/478417 6.4333333 7.48333336.43333337.4833333