The Master Knows

The Master knows, it’s far from good
For blessed he-man to dwell alone
For his warp, He’ll give a woof
To make a whole, the masterpiece

Two hearts there are that owns a rib
From one it was taken, to the other given
The trees are named, the birds christened
Yet none has a heart that beat as his

Two hearts there are that beat as one
Each other seek, though yet unknown
Calm they'll stay, facing each day
With hope alive, they'll one day meet

When the time is ripe on Master’s clock
He’ll wake the straight and show the curvy
His face will lighten, his lips will mutter
Of a truth, this is a Wao! Man

Bro. with missing rip, think less He sees
Your growing needs she is called to meet
Wipe your sleepy eyes, here she comes
Hmm, now you know the Master knows

©Toyin Daniel (00:49, 07/08/09)

LANCASTER IN WINTER / Bony trees, white grass

Just before the power of winter
Start to release its chilly breath
And drop its tears of ice pellets
It was dense thickness of green and fresh
Ornamental shrubs, beautiful roses
Climbers, flowering bulbs and flourishing branches
The blossoming abodes of fragile birds

But now all I see is this frame
Work of unseen abrasive hands:
Bony trees with dried skins
With hairs shed laying around its foot
Mere skeletons, delicate and frail
Snatched ornaments, wrinkled waist

Where flew the shines
Where are the wrinkles from?
Who painted it white, the green leaves?
What a slippery path, I walked here before!
Who coat this road with this tender glass?
Where are the ducks that glide in this pool?
All I now see is a carpet of ice.

But reflecting on this I ask myself
Is this barrenness, unfruitfulness or sterility?
No! Life is in frames, just like seasons
Live each day expecting the best
But whatever comes, still live the best
Just as I am with my hands in gloves
Shh! My warmer is at home, run I must.


©Olutoyin Ogunmola, 05/12/08
Friday, 5/12/08 : around 1PM. I started reflecting on the windy, cold winter of Lancaster as I go to Project Management class by Steve Baron, and during the break in the class I started to write this poem. I wrote the last two verses on Wednesday, 10 December.

Rose has thorns

Rose is beautiful, and it also has thorns
Fire can cook, and it can also burn
Salt sweetens, and it can also spoil the broth
Friendship is sweet, and it can also hurt the heart

Rose is beautiful, but thrust not yourself
Against its plant, it tears your skin
Fire can cook, but put off your gas
With naked fire, it burns your house

Salt sweetens but never use a scoop
In a meal for one, your tongue will revolt
Friendship is sweet, but never misuse it
Nothing tears the heart, more than a friend in hurt

Toyin Daniel, 12/12/08, 00:50

So far in Lancaster

“Oh finally”, my lips muttered as the announcement of our arrival at the Lancaster station broke my wondering thoughts. I was in a train from London thinking of the next one year in a ‘foreign land’. I thought of lecturers and lectures, porters and what my room would look like, the LUSU I have read about and students I was sure to meet. The permutations of these thoughts got me heated that I did not feel the cold outside until the train stopped and I came out pulling my bags behind me as a snail does its shell.

Behold how time flies; now it is my third eventful week in Lancaster University. What a mix of ‘genres’! I have seen the ‘black’, the ‘yellow’ and the ‘white’. I flew over the Mediterranean Sea before I got here but the diversity of Lancaster University makes me proud; fourteen countries represented in my class cannot all be wrong. I’m in a group with Paulami - an Indian, played with Cabrera - a Mexican, discussed with Hatoon - an Arabian, danced with Jiaxin - a Chinese, drank tea with Sarah - a British, visited Nkele – a Cameroonian, ate pizza with Pelumi – a Nigerian and checked the map for Cyprus and Mauritius with Rowin – a Mauritius. I cannot count them all; it is a big world of diversities. In all of these, as said by Rene Dubos, I have learnt that human diversity makes tolerance more than a virtue; it makes it a requirement for survival.

So also I have learnt that the only constant in life is change. Studying for Masters in Lancaster University is a different ball-game. Lancaster says, “read a mountain of books, dig out wealth of knowledge discussed by men, living and dead”. In two weeks of lecture I have been trained to skip and scan – great skills for intelligent knowledge searcher. The classrooms are world-class and the lecturers are dedicated researchers. “What a wonder of a library!”, said Emmanuel as I explained to him he could borrow a book without seeing the librarian, change his money from the ‘money changing machine’ and top-up his printing credit automatically with some coins in hand.

There are more to write as there are more to gain, I know time will tell of the volumes I will soon write of my experience in Lancaster. Lancaster University, here I come.

19Oct2008

His Rebuke ...

As a guide for life
He gave His word
For us to beware
He proves He sees

Before we err
He sends his Spirit -
A gentle still voice
To warn ahead

But when we fail
By heeding to the flesh
He brings His rebuke
He has long withheld

Our hearts may ache
By His rod of rebuke
Painful to the bone
The fellowship impaired

But in His Rebuke
I see His love
That pains me more
For erring at all.

Lord give me grace
With you to walk
In Spirit every moment
The flesh subdued.

Toyin Daniel
08Oct2008
Reflecting in my room in Lancaster University.

SAFE THE TWO

Hard to understand
The speech of love
Words fabricated
By hearts in glue
Expressions composed
By two minds as one
Written by hands
Soon to be in marriage glove
All can see
And all can read
But who can decode
The strings in cipher
Safe the two
The two in love

Olutoyin Daniel - 8:25am, October 10, 2006

This was written when I saw loaded words on the first inner page of a book a friend lent me, it must have been written there by her lover who might have given her the book. I tried to understand the expressions but they were just too ciphered. Something tells me this is nothing but real expressions of lovers that only the melted hearts could understand, I drew my system closer and I wrote this.

THE STRUGGLING BUTTERFLY

THE STRUGGLING BUTTERFLY

Behold the fly, the strong and ardent
Fighting like warrior to pass through the glass
Struggling all day, exerting force
To do what it thought it had always done

Quite transparent the glass may be
Quite spotless the solid crystal
Light can pass through the colorless
But no! No! It is not the thinnest air

Who would help the helpless fly
To discover an opening on the other side
Should I whisper, it would not hear
Should I shout, I'll threaten it more
So is a man in his world unknown

Struggling, struggles, witty sidestep
To pass through the crystal of his life of war
Should a Master be found to whisper the Way.
Oh! What needless pain he'd dare to bear

Hmm,tired and worn, the fly layed
Wounded, exhausted and dying.
So it is of a Christless life
Who may labour in vain till death
---2002 ---

BUT WHY?

"And one of the elders asked

What are these?

Whence came they?

To him who asked I muttered,

'Sir, Thou knowest' "

Just then one of the Elders addressed me:

"Who are these dressed in white robes,

and where did they come from?"
Taken aback, I said, "O Sir, I have no idea--but you must know." ...

Rev. 7:13-14

John was called to the valley of Patmos. He was taken on a tour to see what were supernatural to humans. Yet, while he was in a maze, his Guide asked him, 'Who are these? Whence came they?' I read that and I was amazed at the misery, then I wrote:

BUT WHY?

Who called up to see

Who then will know

What are these?

Whence came they?

Torrents of questions

My mind would ask

Pondering hours

My heart engaged

Over whys and whys of life

Why should he die, the little saint

Who knew no sin, save that of Adam

Nine months in belly, he killed no ant

Yet, at delivery for him to cry

Only to be lifted and christened a 'stillbirth'

Even when with the Master stay

Looking at me He asks me still

Who are these?

Whence came they?

What else could I say

Only, only Thou knowest

Process and People

Process is great, if well defined
Written with skill, detailed and clear
Audited by the learned, words defined
But process is nothing, if people are lost

'Dependable' she aspire, her core value
Yves has written, Victor has checked
On paper it will remain, lest 'the people' know
What the essence is and what is for them to do

Excellence remains written
Except the mind is taught
Except the people are trained and motivated
To run and fly with it