This is a blog about Nigerian poems,poets and the art of writing poetry. It will explore the different schools of thought of writing poetry. Didactic versus artistic, Meaning versus word artistry etc. Enjoy and contribute.
POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 5 EPISODE 1 "GENESIS"
DEARLY BEFORGOTTEN (POEM OF THE MONTH) You were my darkness before the light My dusk before the dawn You were my seed before it grew My embryo before the bump You were the boy I made a man The girl time bled into a woman You are my ijapa turn muscle My thousands turn million
Dearly beforgotten, though this race is won And your embrace was a familiar one I am taking this moment to remember Yes I choose to fan those embers For indeed beforgotten, you gave me my present AND my future
But I see that look... That look in your eyes. Yes you, your eyes. As your brain goes to work behind those pondering eyes trying to decipher my intent. So I shall not stop yet till your curiosity is stuffed.
Even before inception, gathered around me, was a great crowd of witnesses. While I was yet a murky amoeba, they scanned and spooked me checking if I was... A he, a she or an it. Alone, a twins or a Siamese. They forced my still forming heart to play weak melodies to gladden their hearts.
From birth, they belabour me with yokes of expectations... Suck bobby only for 6months, then pap and cerealac, but don’t suck your thumb. Start crawling at one, walking at one and half, jumping and running at two. Oya say “dada" Oya say “mama" Oya say “bye-bye". One letter word, two letter words, three letter words to Z. One plus one, two plus two, three plus three ad infinitum. Go to church, when pastor says "praise the lord" you say "hayyeyuyah!". On and on they try to pound me into a perfect little doll.
From an amoeba to a grown man these witnesses do not dwindle, and the yoke of expectations gets heavier and heavier with each passing day. You dare not trip and tumble or they will be Disappointed Embarrassed Sad Cheated Deceived All of them!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fathers Mothers Siblings Wives Children Friends Pastors Teachers Bosses and a million others.
They all expect perfection. "Be this, don't be that" "No! No!! No!!!" "Not that way, this way". "Don't tell a lie...not even white" "Don't stare at booby or arse" And the cacophony keeps rising in my head "Be a player...NO...Be a good guy" "Drink...NO...Don't drink" "Smoke...NO...Don’t smoke" "Don't give head, but take head"
A vein bursts in my brain! Blah-Blah-Blah!!! Sharrap y’all...Just sharrap!
Let me be free to be human. Don't box me up in your mental cage while you roam free.
I am human! I am no divinity. I am not perfect neither will I ever be. Even the divine flaws sometimes or was Lucifer not once Heaven’s muse? I do not strive for perfection I strive to be human I strive to be better. That's all that I hope for.
I am human! Sometimes I’ll stoop low, kiss the green grass, make love to the brown earth and rise again stinking of shit! I am human! Sometimes I will so fall, fornicate and fuck-up. Why do your lips part? shut it before you catch a fly.
If I ever fall short of your expectations, I owe you no apologies. Deal with it! If to err is human and I am human, then I shall err God help you if you think I’m divine!
TEMITOPE JOSEPH ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, IT STARTS WITH A THOUGHTA thought flutters by A quick glance at the sky A magical glint in my eyes Uneasiness that won’t go away A feeling that something is at bay But it just trickles down the drain Damn…I need that thought to flutter by again
Two heads are better than one Isn’t it sad we actually have none Wise men say a stitch in time saves nine So they stitched from five to nine They stitched both yours and mine Senselessly stitching the wrong way They realized it and refused to say They tried to turn confusion into an illusion Hoping the needle would offer a solution While they offered the bald the latest hair softening lotion They offered the blind a free course on the effect of land pollution If that thought flutters by we just might avoid an implosion
To read we were told we had to learn our ABC’s But now there’s a bestseller written in Chinese Thousands of people hustle to go overseas They hustle to come back to the Nigerian dream What’s the point? What don’t we get? That damn thought hasn’t fluttered by yet
You look around and see all that is wrong I look around and see lyrics for a new song We might not be living the Nigerian dream We still don’t know how to speak Chinese The confused Stitchers now fight and bite We just sit back, relax and write For a thought just fluttered by again And this time I had my paper and pen
ERHIO,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, NOW IS THE BEGINNING I have often wondered All I have is what I have been told What I have read And what I have discovered As I grew older I noticed All my opinion is formed Mostly of what was handed to me
The norm is different It is a bit hard to swallow Go with the flow is mostly the feedback When the naked shamelessness Speak volumes of incomprehensible madness Of what the norm is Where most complain And do exactly same
I have often wondered The rush to learn Mostly what is useless for real life From the very day a new journey begins A road map is drawn The smartest and the richest Are they the first to make Heaven? I have often wondered
The beginning is the end in a ring As the cycle evolves Spiraling up or down I will not be fooled again I will make my choices from the beginning Now is the beginning
IFEANYI OKWOSHA January 2014 ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
LEST I FORGETThere was a time we felt good about luck If he can do it, you also can So you carried the can with the tick of your thumbs Then certain prices jumped Now he carries your curse At the expense of lost hopes You are still not looking at yourself, you might actually be a lost soul Albeit one of many In other words, there are millions like you, millions aplenty Lest I forget His is a head black and shiny like a fake rocket You might in the past have associated him with brilliance He deposited all of that in a sinking think-tank Now he yarns dust Often tries to come first by trying too hard Erections off the mouth often makes retards Lest I forget There’s a certain man, whose names spells a letter more than mockery Who through the pen displays thuggery And I know this might sound ugly but when written words x-rays you as crude then your thoughts are absent of food so while your boss once went without shoes you locked in a fight with wisdom and stupidity is advising you to abandon truce lest I forget the guy built up like a suspect whose tongue re-shaped his prospects he is just one reason why refusal to save should be termed as treason a stiff neck, thick voice, rude but polished demeanor means he can do more than just talk and abuse lest his heavy weight is just pumped up refuse he should lead the presidential guards lest I forget these few thoughts are not in jest your misdemeanors are so many you inspire forgetfulness your incompetence is legendary there’s not much polished grammar can do except if certain wives take lessons in proper pronunciations and compositions and I wouldn’t dare forget the beginning of the countdown y’all disaster clowns should soon be leaving crown…
AKEEM OYALOWOJanuary 8, 2014 ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,TALK ABOUT GIRLSLet's talk about girls And their dainty spells. Let's talk about them Like we talk of our priceless gem. Let's talk about the damsel- Whose heart was our lone cell.
We will talk up in our dorm and their subject our moment's rum Getting our lungs filled with love's fantasies Basking in the aura of feminine charm Every words said a healing balm.
Let's talk about girls And their undaunted love Let's talk about beauty Entwined in masculine duty.
Let's talk about the girl As we hallucinate of our wedding bell. Talk of how she makes you smile And how she drives you nut for a while
We are young and prime A talk about her isn't a crime. When the day seems tense And you seems to have lost some sense Talk about the girl you love Whose arm is your resting place.
Let's talk about girls Her dark hair and sparkling teeth The smoothness of her skin- And the dimple up her chin.
Talk, before someone else does Implore this moment to her or through the door she goes. Tell us of how to love you fall And how on bended knees you proposed it all.
Talk about girls Talk about the love she bore. Talk about girls, Talk about her love the more and more. MUYIDEEN ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, A WORD FOR NOW AND THENAsk not how last year has gone Ask not how this year must go Make your plans and pray to God That this year be nice and sweet
If any plans this year you make Let it be for humanity's sake Put all feuds inside to death Bury it deep inside your earth
Let this oath into your heart That your art your heart must speak Don't you care for fame or gain Nor for good rhymes in verse
Let your words grow deep within Forge it till it shines and gleam That when sown in ears to hear With grateful hearts we cheer your name
Let generations praise their gods always That such your soul was born to be Such a world your words do spin Of dark or lovely sights boldly sewn CHISOM,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, THIS IS NOT A SONG OF SORROW He had sons to fire the gun Daughters to wail when his mouth was closed. The affairs of this world were not like chameleon feces into which he stepped. When he cleaned it, it went. He sat on the front row with the eminent. He went beyond and was not forgotten. The rain did not beat him. The sun did not burn him. The firewood of this world was for him. Because he took heart and gathered it. Inspite of some difficulties the world was good for him. He travelled and many times came back. Came back covered with accolades. Inspite of all the evidence to the contrary his great household still stands. The tree on which he leaned is standing. And the trees in the fence are termite resistant. Things have not fallen apart. The center though rather shaky is holding. Your people will find a certain measure of ease because the arrow of God Comes with a tail of white feathers acting as a flag of truce. And true men and women of the people will arise To move the beloved nation forward. And on the anthills of both the savannah and the desert the vestiges of good governance will be established. We live in hope. And our counsel to the soul brothers is to beware. Brothers do not quarrel. And even the girls at war have called a truce in the interest of the country that is. And the answer you gave to the trouble with Nigeria is still the starting point of all our discourse. By your lives and your words you both let the light in. We are glad that you passed this way. ANDREW ODE,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, LET ME TAKE YOU TO THE BEGINNING Before Bob and Whitney Before the weed got the best of Marley When Eve turned leaves into Bikinis An act that equals feats performed by Houdini Let me take you to the beginning Before Jobs Ate The Apple That caused Cancer Before Zukerberg Invented his weapon of mass distraction Before CNN Became The tool For creating Mass hysteria And Twitter Became the Magic Mirror For Self Delusion Let me take you to the beginning Before I began Reading This Poem AJIBOLA,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, WHAT KINDWhat kind of life is this for a child? Neglected like a cob without a corn on an asphalt full of potholes of staggered hopes. Living like a derelict Even though he's been fed from a woman's hand this morning. Playing pawn to peddlers with purple face. He's the crab down the food chain, slipping God's happy leaves into pockets of the children of the most high.
I'm just the eyes behind the louvers of a project Window. Snitching, committing a crime on the street -writing a poem about this infant peddler who has been misled like a sheep with a skunky herdman.
Imagine all have seen and penned down could be chopped and shoved into paint tubes. And squeezed out in colours on a palette. Take a canvas, paint a perfect picture, step aside. Critique the details, blend the strokes, step aside ,put a frame and hang it on the wall of a gallery with flocking art heads committing lookery, muttering under their breaths 'it's cool, its beautiful. I love the colours'. Forgetting the part of the child forgetting it's a plague, abuse and shame to the social order.
So what kind of society will let a child like this slip from her back?
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