NIGERIAN POEMS AND WRITING POETRY: POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 4 EPISODE 7 "PLACES"

FESTIVAL OF DEATH

Ask for the moon

And I will wrest it from the heavens

The lovers tongue boasts

Like these crazy drums beating like a bitch in heat

Insolvent joy reeks from this festival of death

Voices impregnate the atmosphere

To the joy of the heavens and earth

O the joys of death!

Food massacred for death

while i watch my cholesterol like a hawk

Like the white man's devil pitchfork in hand

Death does not frightens me now like

our own demons

my greed wrecks like a bull in a porcelain shop

As the weak mouth succumbs

To the strength of the eyes

like a man who married many wives

Whose heart perchs on many lives

My tongue flirts with many grubs

As we celebrate this festival of death

CHISOM

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CONVERSATION WITH SELF

Will I for once and always be that which at the end is the wise?

For all its worth, is the price attached

When will my heart guide my head?

And my heart and head guided by my infallible intuition

Let the truth be told,

Somewhere inside if not dead, the grain and chaff is separated

I have listened and decided not to be confused

But I dare say, often time I deceive myself

For knowingly I yield to my weaknesses

I sow and reap, that I know

Aye how beclouded and stupid I was and still am,

For I sow not the best for my worst enemy,

Myself obviously

For the harvest will be multiple of the seed

How I try in every possible way to find the easiest short cut out of a realization,

That nothing is lost and must find its origin

Like a blazing flame knowing that the night is near

I make choices with my thoughts, words and actions

For the sleep of the lukewarm becomes eternal,

A slip into nothingness

I converse and search in places not outside but within

For I need to get to places I have been before and forgotten

And the places I left unconscious to hopefully return conscious

This will be the beginning

Ifeanyi Okwosha July 2013

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KAKAMEGA AND OTHER PLACES

Kakamega- where I first discovered that poverty had a peculiar smell

The Greyhound bus station in Jackson, Mississippi

Where I saw the ugly underbelly of the American dream.

Mumias where the people were victims of the sugar produced in the area.

Atlanta, Georgia which I did not see as I was housebound

No car, no movement

Birmingham, Alabama seen from the window of the Greyhound

All tiled roofs and stucco buildings

At least that is what they appeared like

Martin Luther king’s homestead

Yakima, Washington small town of big contrasts

East side, West side

Drug dens, drive by shootings

Big middle class dwellings

Amphetamine capital of the state or so it seemed

Yazoo city, Mississippi famed for Zig Ziglar and the redhead

Glen Allen, Mississippi- big house, slave quarters

Drug heads and welfare queens

All reminiscent of Mississippi burning- the movie

Places- geography is destiny or so it has been said

Machakos, Thika, Kericho, Nakuru, Kisumu,

Busia- Kenya and Uganda, Nairobi

Places- leaving implants and imprints

Determining destinies and direction!

ANDREW ODE

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LAGOS

Busty and chaotic

Beautiful and bold

Daring and motivating

A contrast in the mind of most

Everyone always in a rush

Rush honestly for nowhere

For all time is killed on the road

Yet another day births a similar routine

All in pursuit of nothing in particular

Nothing for the most

For some are wise

Wise enough to lie in wait

Waiting to show you how to be wise

Likewise,

Others lie in wait

Waiting to show you how foolish you are

A reasonable few

Wait to tell you how to go

Often never letting go of you

A beautiful place it is

Funny enough

Where the educated

Hustle to serve the Un-Educated

Oh! Lagos

Ilu ogbon

To ba duro ko sora

Shine your eyes

Too many things are happening at the same time

Ma sun lo

A land purported to be recessing into ruins

Yet remains the rallying point of innovation

Home to the cleanest environment

Yet the dirtiest have their abode within

You lost the captainship to another land

Yet the ruler cannot go without your consent

You rule,

Directly or indirectly

Deny that as they may

Do you not know that if we shut this land out the nation will crumble?

Oh Lagos!

Your force of attraction is so high

That he that hates you keeps coming to you

Eko ooooooo

Ilu ogbon.

Ilupeju

July 2013

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HOT SPOT

I am not as popular as Billie Jean

Nor as prominent as Englands Queen

But looking at all the places I have been

All the landmarks of history I have seen

Mixing with the Creme de la creme

Most times in my sweatshirt and jeans

I have had my own fair share of the scene

The world at my feet, my cup filled to the brim

Back in the days when I was still a tiny tot

When Lagos was very humid and very hot

London was considered the favourite holiday spot

So Central Station and Heathrow became my cots

Now all we hear of is three thousand pounds

Nigerians don't like the way that figure sounds

Now Paris made us turn all prim and proper

Crockery and Silverware no room for brass or copper

The French loved to dine with a lot of table wine

Though I must say I thought finger foods were just fine

The Eiffel tower, Champs-Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe

What more could mans eyes want

The fashion scene is one I never understood

I kinda loved the dress sense of those living in the hood

Yeah I was one of those who dreamt of the American dream

I found out later that the United States was not what it seems

The Statue of Liberty actually looked a bit tired to me

So I went to the Museum of Modern Art to see what I could see

Finally decided that if you really wanted to be happy and see real art

Take a trip to the Rockefeller Center or better still Central Park

Now China almost became a bit of a bore

Identification processes made my eyes sore

But I learnt that once you didn't get into any fights

You could find delight in their historical sights

The Great wall of China...eat well and go there before one

The Terracotta Army...pray if they wake up you're long gone

Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong, Tibet

Places you can never ever forget

Now in Italy was the Leaning Tower of Pisa

And Mexico had the Riviera Maya and Chichen Itza

I could go on and on and on about Spain

But offer me Hawaii and am definitely on that plane

Not going to South Africa didn't feel quite right

It turned out the Sun City Resort was a glorious sight

But you know what they say...there's no place like home

The only place in the world you can eat out and crack bones

Yeah you could say Lagos is still a bit humid and very hot

And its a crazy place to be but definitely my favourite spot

Obodo Erhio July 2013

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DANCE OF A MASQUERADE

There at the market place

Onlookers gathered singing the masquerade’s praise.

A visible ghost about to get loose-

Held by its companion, from fleeing like a wandering goose.

The masquerade yearns to dance

Swaying like a drunkard it needs this one chance.

Bells hung on its cloak

Cane in hand seeking a ferocious stroke.

Gloves strapped to the hand

Gins poured as libation for the gods of the land.

Cane drums banging rhythmically loud

Acrobatic flips to amuse the crowd.

The atmosphere was livid

Revealing steps so staunch and sordid.

Soon whips like rain were loosen

As the masquerade’s companions get crimson.

Hats or caps are being despised,

Whips were used on those chastised.

Ara Orun; a progeny of the heaven

Veiled by its cloak from mortal haven.

Grumbling incantations strange to our hearings,

Offerings first before the masquerade find its bearings.

Songs accompany the wailing drum-

As the air was doused with burukutu the black man’s rum.

Jolting back and front towards the musing crowd

As the song grows eerie loud.

The masquerade sways like a possessed

Shouting to the crowd; “you are blessed.”

Buttocks gracing the sky,

Hands spread like a bird ready to fly.

Is this man or spirit-

Whose charm had enslaved the street?

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REFUGEE

The starlit night gave nothing away

It was the way he walked that

Caught my eye

Stealthily

Mother was regaling us with a story

Of daddy’s award dinner

He was the star of the night

She said

His suit cut to the skin

He was to give a speech

On the success of his reign

As the Chairman of the company

He made me so proud

Said mother

Just as I was thinking

That he was walking closer and closer

To our minivan

Stuck in traffic

On the bridge

Mother’s laughter tinkled

The glass shattered

To The baseball bat’s

Not so friendly pat

It turns out

All he wanted was

A warm bed at night

And food

And maybe a shirt or two?

Why didn’t he ask nicely?

Mother’s broken lip

My swollen cheek

Are the marks of a refugee’s rage.

He sought refuge in our resources

But he didn’t thank us for it

And his rage grows

He’s a refugee

Fleeing from the terrors of the street

He’s a refugee

Can you see him everywhere?

We harbor them here

They come in droves

They are refugees

He will be back

They come

To take more than

We can give.

Kemi bon

JULY'S PEOPLE

If only you saw this place,

the moment before the house-gun went-off

and life became one death race;

there was no place like it.

You needed to see the town

and the country lovers,

trailing Friday's footprints;

O! You would have loved to come again tomorrow.

Once upon a time,

just before

the jump,

the loot

and other stories;

there was an occassion for loving,

but all that now lays six feet of the country.

It was before the lying-days,

before ours became a world of strangers.

Then,

when

our dirty linens were not for publication;

the world wanted to hear my son's story.

Not of sooty escapades on the mines,

nor of life times under apartheid;

but of the Burger's daughter,

and a sport of nature.

There was something out there

for July's people.

'Twas not just the essential gestures

of politics and places.

But that was till we harkened

to the subtle soft voice of the serpent;

yea, till we met the wily face-to-face,

and enrolled in his correspondence course,

to keep our idle selves busy;

and say something for the time being.

But who would have remembered,

that Beethoven was one-sixteenth black?

Maybe just a few of us,

the black interpreters;

we who after the first cycle

became the conservationists.

And these days

some would say to us,

'Please go get-a-life',

claiming that we are in a new era;

and we will often reply,

what new era would that be?

SOONEST NATHANIEL

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MY FATHER'S WAY

I warned her

Several times, I did, Sir

But she didn't listen

So I gave her a lesson

The way my father

Dishes it out to my mother

OKU-OLA PAUL ABIOLA (pauldesimple)

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ALMIGHTY’S FORMULA (POEM OF THE MONTH JULY 2013)