I love things of greater art:
Well-worded poetry like Shaw would write,
Or the superior sonnets Shakespeare Composed,
Generally succulent prose - by a black or white.
I loathe the commonness of average folks:
Like Shadrack who thinks himself a journalist,
Or his cohort Philip who writes silly gibberish
And parades his inanity in front of the real linguist.
I cherish the company of obliging gals:
Like one Susan who painted my literary pupilage,
Or a Faith who kissed greatness some fair times,
And an Anna who mellowed at the passion of a sage.
Who wouldn't abhor empty-headed show-offing?
The kind that Aggrey would curse heavens to showcase
And some brown small-headed nitwit I somewhere know
Maim his soul to an inch of this possess…
I detest titular sanguinary ties and such things of blood:
The lethal serpent called brother and all such crocodiles,
Or the suppressed below-averageness they call sister -
These I oil with love, the bitter ones I anon spurn.
Things I hate, things I love…
Who can ever face the learned folly of Paul?
Demented, dim-witted, dunderhead of higher learning…
Worse than a deranged donkey run out of control!
The list of vile airheads is of course tiring long
But who would stomach the arrogant quackery of one Ben?
A medical quack with foreign-acquired scraps of folly,
Comprehending this numbskull is truly beyond my ken…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem