GOD RAN

My Father, my God 
Made me in little
What HE is in large
In HIS image and likeness 
Was I formed

A spirit kindred of His
In the shoreless ocean of His love
I daily swam
In him I possessed nothing
Yet had I everything
And dwelt in contentment
Until…
Greed awakened in me
And the desire to posses
…in me ignited
So I took as mine
What wasn’t mine
And left His presence
He who is my father
…He who is God
Away I ran
And after me He too ran
But farther I ran
To a country far
And there I tarried
There I stayed
Oh! What life of waste
I there led
Oh! What riotousness displayed
In orgies my urges I indulged
From sunrise to sunset
Day in day out
With no thought for tomorrow
And tomorrow indeed came
And found me broke
Miserably so…
That on discarded husk
Meant for swine I dined
For no man would give me
Even friends that once ate
From the squander of my hand
I…who in my father’s house
Knew not lack
Neither by experience
Nor by imagination
Even servants there lacked naught
Yet now in hunger do perish
Alas! Done for I am
For in shame I’ll bite the dust
Memory of me in oblivion will be
But I thought to myself:
Why perish here?
I will arise
And go back to Papa
Receive me not as a son
I will say
But as an undeserving servant
Reprehensible to all that is upright
My presence is
For I have sinned greatly
Against thee and thine
So like a homing pigeon
Albeit in great shame
And much apprehension
I began towards what once
To me was home
But while I was yet a great way off
Yet too far off to be seen
Unless he went out searching
He…my father…my God
Saw me
And ran…
And ran…
And ran…
…to me…
And before I fell on my knees
For mercy to plead
He fell on my neck
Planting kisses of love
My son is back he cried
I am not worthy I began
But my mouth he stopped
Beloved of my heart you were
And that you are still
And forever will be
For you were lost
But now art found
You were dead
But now you live
My son...

My son

(inspired by the parable of the prodigal son as recorded in the Bible)

Ovie Mordi, Copyright 2012

POETRY AND POTTERY

Poetry and Pottery…

More than just homophones

At least to me an Anglophone

For this poet is a potter

Making pots of poetry

Amorphous thoughts I have for clay

Not worth much if left that way

But you just wait a lil’ while

Till they go to the Potter’s wheel

Wheels of deep cogitation

Turning in slow circles of cognition

Precursory to a sublime metamorphosis

By sheer penmanship

Myriads of thoughts afore tenuous

Become words flowing in tandem

Here a little

There a little

Worded verses glaze my ware

Of verbiage though I must beware

Aha! Aha!

My work is done

‘Tis a work I do adore

For like a treasure bearing pot

Poetry bears my precious thoughts

Ovie Mordi, Copyright 2012.

GRACE

Once was dying without hope

On the bed of fear I laid

Though wrapped in thick blankets of sin

Shivers of guilt shook still my frame

He is done for all affirmed

Never from thence again to rise

But from whence I knew not then

Like a sudden burst of fresh air

Grace came and everything changed

Sweeping away in its strong currents

All my sin and guilt contents

And in a flowing stream of liquid love

Soothingly warm yet refreshingly cool

Grace washed me through and through

Giving life where once was death

Ovie Mordi, Copyright 2011.

ONCE OF THIS GENERATION

Once of this generation it was spoken

Behold them, behold them

Behold them painters

Who on the canvass of honesty and service

Will paint a society of tranquility and truth

But alas I see that generation

Armed with brush and palette

Painting with well practiced strokes

But on the canvas of self gratification

With colors of dark greed and crimson lust

Why? I ask, why?

Why paint a mess when you can a masterpiece?

Once of this generation it was echoed

Behold them, behold them

Behold them builders

Who with the blocks of dedication and commitment

Will build a society of justice and wealth

But alas I see that generation today

Prepared for work as it were

Not to build but to demolish

The few structures there are

Left us by our noble fathers

What? I ask, what?

What will be spoken of this generation after our last sun sets?

But then, I hear a voice within

Saying:

This is not how the story ends

For this is a generation of rebounders

Though it seems fallen off a precipitous cliff

Will yet rebound to great and lofty heights

For this is a generation of victors

Though it seems submerged in an avalanche of shame and defeat

Will yet fight its way out

Until covered in a confetti of honor and victory

You are the generation

Moving with the mandate of El-Lyon

Sent to change the existing order

Of futility, negativity and mediocrity

And usher in a new social order

Where the benchmark

Is the excellence and perfection of heaven.

Ovie Mordi, Copyright 2010

LOVE SLAVE

A free man was I

Uncontrolled and unrestrained

By no master constrained

And no evil indulgence I refrained

Hate being chief of all

While I be chief of me

That liberty I loved

But my life I unloved

For all be misery that I had

And all be misery that I gave

And that I gave with such glee!

Hate-twisted face in a perpetual grin

But how I cannot tell

For by the hand of love I fell

This alien force my life captured

At its feet my liberty laid ruptured

Against my will of wills

A bond slave became I

To the servitude of love

It won’t be so long

Or so I thought

Its shackles will slacken

And its hold off me be taken

Then again will I be free

Free to my hate feed

Oh what delight the thought brought!

In that hope stayed I bound

A bond slave to love

And bound stayed I long

So long

…too long

For then all be love that I received

And then all be love that I gave

Because that be all I then had

In the servitude of love

Against my will of wills

Stayed I

Or so thought I

So my shock you may imagine

When I my master told

In the servitude of love

You have stayed bound for long

Now if you so choose

Today you are loosed

To your freedom you may return

And your hate you may resume

But to my greater shock

Such that my whole frame shook

To the realization I came

The freedom I once craved

To me no more appealed

And as it now appears

A love slave I now am

By my will of wills

A love slave I want to stay

Ovie Mordi, Copyright 2012

HEART BEATS...

Hear the beats of my heart

Pulsating in rhythm

It’s the music of my character

Resonating from my soul’s recesses

Peace and joy

Warmth and friendliness

Are its harmonies

But its dominant note

Rings out LOVE

Hear the beats of my heart

Feel its tempo build

It is the composition of my Spirit

Rumbling from the depths of my quintessence

Fairness and equity

Truth and justice

You will find in its lyrics

But it’s theme

Is centered on LOVE

Hear the beats of my heart

Pounding in staccato

It’s the song of my disposition

Reverberating from the core of my essence

Hope and faith

Tolerance and patience

Make its melody

But its highest pitch

Is struck only by LOVE

Ovie Mordi, Copyright 2012.

SOUL POWER

Oh my soul!

Invisible you are

Intangible is your form

Though incorporeality assumes to shroud

 The indispensability of your place

Yet my full essence you embody

Should I be bereft of thee

Then there would be…no more I

But the lifeless carcass of what once was

Oh my soul!

In immortality you thrive

Immeasurable be your dimensions

How you stay bodied

In this biological shell of flesh

I cannot tell

‘Tis good in there you be

For what life power I feel

It from thee cascades

Oh my soul!

For joy I weep

At the remembrance of the day

When your voice I found

With dancing flashes of brilliant light

My life’s path you illuminated

Bequeathing on me

 True freedom to live…

Estranged to impossibilities

Alas! Many poor souls I see

Unaware they be

Of how and what

Thine powers can be

‘Tis no wonder

With knowledge so grand

Lost on them

All their lives… they live

Trapped in a box…that is not there

Ovie Mordi, Copyright 2012