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Today's poem is rather controversial. Yeah. Cos it has to do with religion. The opium or is it cocaine of the masses.
I wrote it on 2nd October, 2003. All I can say about that period of my life is that I was a young man in the University coming to terms with the apparent contradictions I noticed in spiritual men who profess my faith (Christianity) but who to every intent and purposes where impostors and charlatans. There were news and stories (there still are) of pastors, so called men of God, religious men caught up in vile acts.
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Some of the happenings then led me into (yeah you guessed right!) to write a poem after some soul searching. The poem is titled 'Father Tif!'. It is a free flowing verse written in the heat of passion (pardon me Criminal Law Lawyers!). For the record, I remain a committed Christian and I believe in the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ and the salvation that resides in him. I go to church and I do my duty by God.
During the period I wrote this poem, I came across a Bible verse (Mathew 7: 15) which as in all things regarding the bible is gloriously prescient! It's captured in the image below.
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So my faith in God remains unshakable in spite of the wolves in sheep's clothing that forms the angst of the persona in this poem. So should yours.
Anyway I wrote the poem. But I ain't the persona in the poem. The persona's views are not necessarily mine even though those views are borne out of my experience. So charges of blasphemy in the light of the foregoing disclaimer accordingly holds no water. (Waoh! Don't I just love poetry! Imagine this for a defense?)
Enjoy!
FATHER TIF!
Play me this lyric, Father Tif!
Ignorant I stand, threat's approach unknown
encased in parasitic cassock and messianic garb.
my prayer becomes gibberish
as arcane inanities I stutter.
Argh! I must shout aloud
my voice rising to the skies
for HIS abode is quite a distance!
and Father Tif his chief emissary.
Play me this lyric, Father Tif!
Your business center beckons.
clang clang goes the coins of my toil!
the notes falling in, too heavy to shout.
Your petulant stare glazed with greed entraps
as the Holy book is called to aid
holy admonitions breaking my resolve
as I empty my pocket in zeal!
Play me this lyric, Father Tif!
If the nose looks down
the mouth it will see.
Vagaries my sense becloud.
Sorrow preponderate my face.
Devout and starving, my bones
become chewing sticks.
But in piety I will eat my crumbs!
shutting my eyes to Father Tif's
generous waist line!
For I am a wretch! and he the watch
picking my pocket,
as benediction I render to our maker.
Play me this lyric, Father Tif!
But why won’t you shriek
ebullient ventriloquist?
The kingdom is yours all for the taking.
The maidens, little boys and all therein!
The rood is to a stick glued;
your cavity a mesne of bilateral flow;
your proboscis shrouded in lies;
your unsolicited phalanges plucking
at my frustrated sweat!
Play me this lyric, Father Tif!
or shall I at my armpit sniff?
Aha! Let the 'Eke' market beckon!
will the hand not stink?
the buttock befriends?
you that devour the 'Udara'
about glued lips should worry.
Fallacious elixir and delusion is born,
sensory perception in illusion is lost!
Gentle Savior put up for sale
while my discomfort is drowned
in torrents of deceit!
Uche Okorie (2nd October, 2003)
Anyway I wrote the poem. But I ain't the persona in the poem. The persona's views are not necessarily mine even though those views are borne out of my experience. So charges of blasphemy in the light of the foregoing disclaimer accordingly holds no water. (Waoh! Don't I just love poetry! Imagine this for a defense?)
Enjoy!
FATHER TIF!
Play me this lyric, Father Tif!
Ignorant I stand, threat's approach unknown
encased in parasitic cassock and messianic garb.
my prayer becomes gibberish
as arcane inanities I stutter.
Argh! I must shout aloud
my voice rising to the skies
for HIS abode is quite a distance!
and Father Tif his chief emissary.
Play me this lyric, Father Tif!
Your business center beckons.
clang clang goes the coins of my toil!
the notes falling in, too heavy to shout.
Your petulant stare glazed with greed entraps
as the Holy book is called to aid
holy admonitions breaking my resolve
as I empty my pocket in zeal!
Play me this lyric, Father Tif!
If the nose looks down
the mouth it will see.
Vagaries my sense becloud.
Sorrow preponderate my face.
Devout and starving, my bones
become chewing sticks.
But in piety I will eat my crumbs!
shutting my eyes to Father Tif's
generous waist line!
For I am a wretch! and he the watch
picking my pocket,
as benediction I render to our maker.
Play me this lyric, Father Tif!
But why won’t you shriek
ebullient ventriloquist?
The kingdom is yours all for the taking.
The maidens, little boys and all therein!
The rood is to a stick glued;
your cavity a mesne of bilateral flow;
your proboscis shrouded in lies;
your unsolicited phalanges plucking
at my frustrated sweat!
Play me this lyric, Father Tif!
or shall I at my armpit sniff?
Aha! Let the 'Eke' market beckon!
will the hand not stink?
the buttock befriends?
you that devour the 'Udara'
about glued lips should worry.
Fallacious elixir and delusion is born,
sensory perception in illusion is lost!
Gentle Savior put up for sale
while my discomfort is drowned
in torrents of deceit!
Uche Okorie (2nd October, 2003)
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