Money is a god

If you look at the world 
We live in,  vividly clear 
In its true colour and form,

It would be hard to believe 
In humanity a concept and 
What it is suppose to stand for. 

The asylum of country, 
Religion and politics 
Is being run by mad men. ‪

#‎art‬‪ #‎philosophy‬ #‎culture‬ 

We are all walking blind 
And money is a drug on overdose 
Being worshipped as gods 

Popping pills daily 
To maintain the delusion 

Sacrificing human beings 
On the alter of war
 Greed, famine and hunger 

To the gods of money
#capitalist thinking 
To the gods of money 

On Church Grounds

The more churches I see
The more morally corrupt
Society seems to be

A few good men left
Quickly turning into
No  good men in this town

Is it so cheap now to confess
And have our sins forgiven
I ask

Void is flagellation
As a sign of penance to give
#philosophy #life #society #religion

Bless me father for I have sinned
Replaced with cash and carry
Blessing and sins on barter trade

The richest is the most holiest
And highly morally corrupt
Blurred lines all in the grey

Schematics
No one is looking that close
To see blemish on white canvas

It is all clock works
Days into night
ORANGE.

Charlie Hebdo; No religion

I am a cartoonist, an artist 
I am just a guy with a pencil and a paper 

It is not as though 
There is too much salt in the water 

It is as the situation stands 
The whole water is just salt 

There are no religions
There are no sinners 

My country is without boarders 
I am a man without a country 

There are no black areas of shades  
There are no white areas of shades 

It is all blurred in grey 
No blood so red 

No cut so deep 
No handle on the butcher's knife  

No symbols and affiliation 
No secret handshakes on alters 

We are living in a nightmare 
Where all the monsters dreamed of, come alive 

The nut house is empty 
The inmates a' the guards running this ward

The President has a secret 
Greater than the man about to be hanged 

Do not look directly in their eyes 
The sun will blind you a' rob you of the day 

Hide the last manuscripts 
The decree ruled, is to burn all books 

Do not look for mother 
To be our saving grace  

She has long converted 
And we are all aliens to her course 

Blood is lighter than water 
And the sun dries it out so fast, desert rain

Amnesia is our luck to be found 
Stops us from remembering the pain 

I am a cartoonist, an artist 
I am just a guy with a pencil and paper 

Why would you brake my pencil 
And scatter my blood so raw

Bridges of Spiritualism

Religion as the bridge into spiritualism  

Two landmass and a river between 
A side we live-in another we aspire to connect to 

Religion is the bridge to cross on this river course 

Of which different architect, forms, design and make 

Some as wooden curved structures that stand 

Some as metal elaborate in design

Some as concrete firm and wide

Others with boats to sail across these aqua stand

Yet still on this river in parts where depths so shallow

One can venture a foot long, walk through

And yet to cross this river a sense of faith

As steps is required, do you believe 

For one cannot see in clear view 

Unto the banks of the river with all the 

Fog around and the winds that blow 

Threatening to throw one overboard 

It is so required for a medium to be picked 

In crossing over but do not swear to the bridge 

For it is only but a bridge, do not worship its stands 

And the men and women tasked to hold its grounds (special interest)

For it is not as the value 
Of the river bank on the other side 

Just the passage, where no one can 
Find divine awakening 

As it stand these bridges being of human make

Changes are made, as some required and some influenced

To modify these bridges, each care taker, gate keeper

And the tweaking changes they make to fit their notions  

As with familiarity, locality and proximity

We do patronize a given bridge of cause we do 

Though from time to time we question its integrity  

We find a need to use others when we come across them 

But do not worship any given bridge 

Nor the men that are tasked to hold guard

Appreciate it stands, as a passage path 

Knowing that once you cross any given bridge 

You will land on the banks of spiritualism 

Awareness, meditation, faith and prayers

Are currencies the gate keepers accept 

Evidence as a reflection of thy will

To cross their bridge you have to believe its hold 

Know each bridge, has culture and norms

And one has to obey them as allowance and respect

But do not become fanatic to the norms

And hold as true as the one and only course

Religion is the bridge over the river

Bridging t' gap between the mortal and spiritual world 
We wake, we have faith, we pray 
And walk the bridged road into 
A spiritual awakening 
On which bridge do you walk 

Lost sheep

Awakening is freedom from mental slavery
Chains that bind the mind in cuckoo land

Erased self awareness
Loosely defined phantom bells being rung

Awakening paranoia thoughts
Dislodged confidence locked midway

In the under belly of confusion
No physical hold can grip strong

The little bird in the cage paralyzed  
For even at the sight of open doors

Do not approach the drowning being
Determined to have her eruption of emotions

Sent into the whirlpool of madness
Insanity is a problem child running in circles

Who will not listen to reason
Though I feel sorry for the lost soul

She will have to find her way
Out of the wilderness wonderland

Before she can be saved
Before she can be saved

Awaken is freedom from mental slavery
She would have to find her way out

Before she can be saved
Before she can be saved 

The cries of mother

What a cold night, the smell of fear fills the air,

Even those afar off, sleep and stare,

Staying alert, watching out, ready to flee like a hare

Its a problem we all can't help but share.

The cries of mothers filling the streets,

Even the fathers have decided not to sit,

Our brothers are contributing their bits,

Our sisters we want to rescue from the evil pit

The evil ones with us have taken residence,

Their barbaric and destructive acts are now prevalent,

Further mishaps we are unable to prevent,

And so many lives everyday, we continually spend.

How much do we have to pay for their freedom,

How many souls to redeem our lost kingdom,

Or we are unconsciously treading the path of Sodom,

How we so pray for a miracle our way to come.

Suddenly the world is attentive to our plight,

To assist us they get on the next flight,

Their strength to combine with our might,

And together we will the enemy fight.

The blood of our girls  is to high a cost,

To redeem a cause we consider lost,

Dear Lord, please save us from this hell 

We pray you help #bringbackourgirls

Thank you,

John kuforiji

Bring back our girls

Were we born blind 
Did the night refuse to break 

Did the night refuse to break 
To see light in day, were we born blind 

Were our wings formed broken, clipped 
So from the bird's nest, birth we could never fly 

Who would we blame pointing fingers 
For the burns on our motherland, this time 

Watching on, as our sisters are rounded up 
Like a herd of cows huddled to be sold 

Who are we to blame for this curse 
That tortures tears from Mother's eyes 

When will we rise and truly take form 
No longer the weak with stories of greatness 

The Kings and Queens of this land as acclaimed 
Yet with cowardly acts, so little bravery bestowed  

Why are we so content with the burden of  pain 
To add to chains of hold back, locked up minds  

Will a hero come out of this land 
Not foreign again as rescuer, to the rescue  

Prepared to sacrifice, blood, sweat and tears 
And be true to the cause, a hero from this land  

Oh mother cries, tears, bring back my girls  
With so many of her daughters stolen 

And yet not a single son, takes stands 
Ready to bring back sanity to this land 

Who would cure the madness that grips this land 
Of false religion and politics and politics 

Sending mother's sons and daughters into 
The depth of insanity and inaction  

I hear mother's cry I feel her pain 
Bring back my girls 

Just bring back my girls  
Bring back my girls 

And I cry, bring back our girls 
Bring back our girls 

Banksy's Christmas Postcard

Jesus wept 
And Jesus protested 

Jesus would not reach bethlehem 
This year, for his ceremonial birth 

Marry and Joseph would have 
To make other plans for this year  

The promised landscape has changed 
Emotion has fed of hate, full to the belly 

And peace is a foreign word 
Never heard of, in this land 

The bible is back on the editors desk 
Typos to be edited, it was rushed to print 

A few incoherent stories 
And lines to be omitted 

Someone went back into time 
And built a wall to block pilgrim's path

The star is in the wrong directional location 
For Marry and Joseph can not reach 

The three wise men without GPS 
To navigate their way around the wall of jericho 

So the good bible will have to be edited 
For religion to make sense again 

All because someone decided to 
Build a wall and block pilgrim's path 

Jesus would not reach bethlehem 
This year for his ceremonial birth 

Marry and Joseph would have to
Make other plans for this year 

#Its the season to rejoice in 
#la la la la laaa la la la laaa 

The Sun the Moon in Court

When the Sun and the Moon 
Came to court, seeking redress 

The sun will not future the moon 
Something to do with a misunderstanding 

Of how many hours a day one works 
A' w' works more, w' works the most,  w' works best

Some would say the sun started this acrimony   
Calling the moon lazy and empty without life  

A scrounger, needing the sun 
To define its value, always in after favour  

The moon replied with anger, what! 
When all this started in the beginning of earth time 

It was a favour I did you Sun of man, 
And of the nine planets;

Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars and the rest 
Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto 

Earthlings refer to you as a God Apollo 
Giver of life and light in the day 

What of me, what do I get 
An unsung hero

Who brings light to the night 
When you can not reach 

And allow lovers to court in romance 
Walking under the moon light hand in hand 

Yet even a kid as Cupid playing with arrows  
Gets the recognition, stolen from me 

I guide some religion, to fast with prayers 
On full moon, for yet another God to be worshiped 

I bring the high tide in, the fishes depend on me 
For the sea to rest its dance the night 

I give the wolves their voice  to howl 
To sing and hunt the night in joy 

Yet you will question my worth 
Because I am not a dummy god 

Don't you forget Sun of t' nine planets don't you forget 
I can eclipse you, when it comes to Earth 

Long enough for earthlings  
To question your status as god, long enough 

Mind you 
Long enough 

The puppet house

Knock knock  
Who lives in the puppet's house 

There are no institutions or organisations 
Be it religion or government 

Strong and powerful enough 
To fight or oppress us 

If we realise that, all there is 
Is greedy, corrupt and selfish individuals 

Working as one in human establishments 
Given resources, directly or indirectly financed by us 

And elaborate acronyms to match  
 (NSA, CIA, FBI, al-Qaeda, Boko haram) 

All engineered to scare the masses 
They are never more in numbers 

Than the oppressed majority 
Hiding from fear, of false assumptions  

Enlightenment is a realisation 
A realisation is an awakening 

An awakening is the revolution  
Are you still hiding from fear  

Knock knock 
Who lives in the puppet's house 

Who lives in the puppet's house 
Singing "kombaya my lord is coming" 

Addressing the Preacher

Helen Ward, had the same mind 
As George Orwell, I trust this to be true 

May be separated at birth 
But never on their essence of being 

Today frogs and their cohorts 
Stand on ceremony, demanding to be addressed 

I have long protested the arrogance 
And dishonesty of politicians "pigs" by George Orwell 

They make me sick to live in filth, plastic waste 
And demand to be called honorable 

But even for them, oh even with them, I spare 
I spare, for they are as politicians are 

I have come to associate them 
With a type in character, set on position 

The pontification frogs of this nagging address 
To this picture caption Helen Ward graced me with

Claim to hold holy his name 
And abuse their position on holy grounds 

They pay no taxes and con their way 
Into the pockets of the poor and vulnerable 

Offering miracles at a price, for self fortune 
Self anointed kings of the religious domain 

Quick to curse and doom any that question 
To the hell fire, "You do not question a man of god" 

They use their relation with their church members' positions
To threaten any that question, I have seen it happen

Helen Ward had the same mind as George Orwell 
To see these frogs with loud voices quoting scriptures 

They rob from the people they are suppose to free 
The Shepard who sold all his sheep to the cheapest bidder 

Clouded Sunday

When the other side, other half  
Comes to church on pretense 

A theft in a church, sticky fingers 
On a Sunday, dressed to steal

In a Church, after prayers 
And prayers for giving thanks 

A theft in the church ground 
With "holy his name" prayed for 

A theft in the church 
A theft in the church 

Who steals from a church in fellowship  
Is the forgiveness of God 

To be expected for the kind 
Who wakes the morning  

Washes and dresses up, walks the distance 
Marches to the church grounds 

To steal from another in worship 
A theft in the church 

A clouded Sunday 
Who steals from another in a church 

What becomes of such a sinner 
In the house of the Lord 

The falling faithfuls

A story about a man on a donkey 
And a crowd that gathers 

Palm branches waved in the air 
In celebration for the coming 

A story about a man, a firm believer 
In some circles a rebel, in other circles  

An anarchist against the establishment 
Who protested against the trade in wrong places 

A story about a man accused by his own 
For taking a stand to say; wrong this is 

Preachers in fine clothes, traders with commerce 
On holy grounds, lost directions of essence 

A question then, one that needs not an answer 
But demands on lament, self soul searching 

Who brought the down fall of Constantinople 
Ransacked its wealth long before the Sultan Ottoman empire  

Who shouted crucify him, be done with him 
Though one, as him was found not guilty 

If a church stands in a community and the ratio 
Of its wealth is the same or more, as opposed to the poor 

It has no meaning, let no other, tell you otherwise  
It has no essences, no ground to stand on 

And I tell you this, to protest an injustice 
To upset the apple cart, is to be crucified  

Picture by: forangelsonly.org

To Save Timbuktu

Is water worth more in the desert 
Than the bright diamonds that sparkle   

Crystal transparent particles, that flows 
The same, in need, in want, to have, to own 

In its perspective value enough to kill for 
In its desired richness to be had 

What of camels, yes camels 
Are camels worth more in the desert 

Than the stud bred for the grand national 
Dressage for Olympic gold medals 

Who would carry me to free Timbuktu 
To save those old manuscripts that holds my history 

Rescuing Birds At Sea

To rescue a bird out at sea
With battered flickering wings apart 

Loosing bright announce flamboyant colours 
Anchored with weights to strangle such rejoice 

And high winds with strong push 
And high waves that threatens pull 

Each with their own intentions
In knowing better than recipient 

That which is best for fulfilment  
In one's paradigm of identity 

Aqua and oxygen can not be sidelined 
If for life and breath to be lived in union 

Complexity entangled with notions drawn 
As with society, religion and family engaged to 

Would these candle lights, blow out on winds 
Just before bright the stars that it is made of  heals 

To rescue a bird out at sea
With battered flickering wings that hang 

Philosophy On A Sunday Sermon

Stranger than fiction is seasons of the world past

Present and as at, as at before with strings

Secrets of the past made subject interlude 

Of our enquiry to indulge, "hanging apples"

History by historians writes "history boys"

Always has that hint dot of fiction attached

For no story is complete without the cacophony 

Of special effects based on dramatisation of views 

Hence the grape vine and the Chinese whispers

The missing chapters and the thorn out pages

Enquiry always leaves room rich for imagination 

The unknown breeds fertile in rapid thoughts 

Speculation, to trust the mind to go 

On a wild hunt of suspense "who done it"

Between all the spiritual books and all

The Egyptian scrolls of present past  

The unequivocal stands made 

Is to have truth as a chapter subject to

Once preferred associated stands

If Hitler was to write the history books

For the bible knows and tells me so

So as to analyse what I read rather

Than take it as raw like sushi on face-value  

A chapter has subjected angles of thoughts  

Nature "God", has never spoon fed

Man to start now with the history boys

What with a big brain given and 

The will to explore with intriguing notions   

I Am A Sacrificial Lamb

I was silent at birth w' bliss, mother said I never cried 
I saw no evil, I spoke no evil, I heard no evil 

But I sinned before birth to be of this earth 
As thus I was born of sin 


I was innocent at birth though to earth born 
Thus as thus with sinned birth 


Surely a baptism in rivers to equal my neighbor  
As holds holy, is strong enough to cleanse 


Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil 

To have me clean, like aerial wash 
I am thus to be aerial clean 


And as thus, would commerce stop 
If I am to sin with dirt accompany no more 


See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil

Is that then not of sin, thus of me to send 
A thousand plus away, as without work to do 


As thus in this current climate of grey 
To make a priest redundant and a judge likewise  


What of the politician and his claim of innocence 
And his promises of change, change is coming 

Speak no evil, see no evil, hear no evil 

What are they to do, thus without blinds 
If I am to sin no more with selected ignorance 

And thus for the definition of sin 
To still be left as blank subject to 

Subject to a special interest 
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil 

To have the priest, the politician 
And the judge always with work to do 

I am as then, with a role to play 
I am a sacrificial lamb for society to the alter 

To Kwahu Mountains

A season for crosses we carry 
And chocolates with Easter bunnies 
As cheerleaders, waving a pompoms 


A season for life's steep mountains 
We visualize to climb, that far up 
The traffic jam of slow progress


And the value of sacrifice 
Dearly beloved, for knowing you 
Of friendship and its true meaning 


We pledge to a cause, an Alma mater 
This will be our defining legacy 
And we make a pact, with life for the duration 


Easter is agreed, junction stops, as the celebration
Of  the pain of perseverance, holding on 
The stumbling blocks, of hold backs 


And repeat steps, de javu in reality 
Where we conjure, our inner strength 
To finish off, standing on top of mountains 


A thousand more will start this journey 
A thousand more, would have wished they did 
Only a handful will make it to the peak, pick a boo


A season for crosses we carry 
And chains with medallions, as symbols 
Heavy with what is expected, this much 


And tomorrow will tell, tomorrow will tell 
There is a cross on my bed room wall 
It glows in the dark 


I will have bird's flight and glide on descend 
With the crown and blazing glory 
Beneath, a thousand more waiting to climb