"SARO WIWA’S WAITING WAR…" A POEM WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY EMMANUEL U. OKOH AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 3 EPISODE 10 "FREE"

SARO WIWA’S WAITING WAR…

My keen cry to Kenule: I, Fubara, of disjointed

Fishnet and gaping boat, from the land of kernel

Back feeling and staggering heritage.

Of gasping fish and de-flowered flowers,

Of frowning waters and stunted stalks.

I sit on a lonely log; One of the few remaining.

I write on a Dutchman’s Dollar paper.

It left the Howling Helicopter.

Black crude: my ink, my thin thighs: my table.

It’s a stolen converse Kenule, so, listen.

I know you still hear truth.

Your ink bullets still hover in mid-mission,

Taking stolen rests on shrunken leaves and

Greased waters. The cruel antics of the goggled

General regenerates in bloody resonance,

Feeding the rusty rulers of our land.

We await the revolution of fish and oysters

From long years of petrol-logged breath

And bone splinters from Shell’s shell. 

Let the cry of prawns and Lobsters

Aid my call to you Kenule, while my throat

Is lubricated by this crude I drink.

Bright glow from Dutch giant metal

Candles steal our nights, blasting insects that dare

Hover. Caked soot sit on my nasal paths.

I breathe with my ears; ears saturated with news of

Inverted justice, of blood soaked loots I loathe.

Hear these words Kenule. And berth those

Ink bullets of fourth estate fame and stencil

Romance. That short romance of eternal frenzy

And gothic engravings of your letters that die

Not from ‘feeble’ minds of Generals nor fumes

From the Dutch industrial farts.

EMMANUEL UWERU OKOH

I AM NOT A NIGERIAN, A POEM WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY KEMI BONUOLA AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 3 EPISODE 10

I am not Nigerian (BEST POEM OCTOBER, 2012)

Doh Re Mi

Mi Re Doh

Re Mi Re Mi

Across the shores of a

Land long developed I

Trod yet I never forgot

The musical notes

Of my mother tongue

Olúwakémi -re mi re mi re                                                  

When they asked what name I bore

I proudly sang out my identity

You also can make music out

Of your name I urged the colored

I say colored because they say

“I am white”

Is not white a color?

They call me black and

I shake my head in rejection

I am not black

Black and white does not exist in

Heaven from whence I come

Only male and female

I am female

They say I act like

The rest of them

Nigerians who cheat and lie and corrode

I spit out with fervor

I am not Nigeria-n

They named the Giant of Africa so

I am not Nigerian

 I am Àkànké (Doh Doh Mi)

I am a beautiful dark complexioned female of

Yoruba descent, Arewà adumaradan

I was Yoruba before the colored man

Made me Nigerian

I am

I am Yoruba - Doh Doh Mi

As I returned to the land of my birth

My heart beat faster

Àjò o da bi ile

Though I envy the sanity

Of the foreign land

I only felt free

When my feet touched

Native soil.

Kemi bon

LESSON ONE - ENJAMBMENT

Hi Poets,

Please check out these conversations and see if you can learn one or two tricks to add to your poetry writing.

Having lost my muse for several years I finally managed to put pen to paper. Hoping it is returning. My first ever without rhyme.

The moneyed vultures swoop down
And pick at the bones of the already dispossessed
With a glint in their eye.
Sycophantic familiars prepare the ground
Under the illusion of their own power
With guilt unperceived by the unsuspecting thralls
Who gaze at the remains with smug satisfaction
While the vultures return safely to their nest
To plan their next feed.

Jane Canning

Jace Williams • I agree with Carolyn, your images are great (and a little terrifying, but I'm guessing that's the point). 

If I could make one suggestion, it would be concerning line length. Enjambment can be one of the most useful, and underused, of poetic devices, and I think breaking up your lines (along with not capitalizing the first word of each line) will help the flow of the poem as a whole, as well as leaving readers with powerful words and phrases at the beginning and end of your lines. I hope you don't mind, but I've come up with an example (I've also deleted a word or two, to help with the flow): 

Moneyed vultures swoop down, 
pick the bones of dispossessed, 
a glint in their eye. 
Sycophantic familiars prepare ground, 
under illusion of their own power, 
with guilt unperceived 
by unsuspecting thralls 
who gaze at remains with 
smug satisfaction. 
The vultures return safely to nest, 
planning the next feed. 

With capital letters at the beginning of each line, I assumed that it was a new line, which made the poem a little difficult for me to read. If you put your best images at the beginning or end of a line, you can emphasize them. Also, if you put a little more focus on the number of syllables, and stressed syllables, I think it will also help with the flow. 

Great work!