POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 7 EPISODE 3 - THIS DAY

E MU NUMBA – poem of the month

E mu Numba

Pick your number

Right in your dream

Or from the whispers

Of the mad woman who lives

Sane by the garbage heap.

E mu numba

The young and old

Whose riches have been foretold

By numbers in red and blue

Crucified on the walls of the lotto shops

And on large crimson screens.

E mu numba

Those naira notes swallowing machines

Only defecate ribbons of papers

With the destiny of woes in print

Naira by naira keeps disappearing

While new numbers keep appearing

Can’t you see you are going mad

Starving foolishly on fad?

You now ask what numbers people see in their dreams

What time people’s appointments were fixed

And what number the mad woman by the road bellowed

They are jacking your pot while you keep dreaming of a jackpot.

E mu numba

Brother pick yours too

Like it were some diamond stone

Or some investment notes

Since your father passed it on to you

So you should be proud passing it on to your kids.

O ya r-e-s-i

Baba o ni k-a-l-o-k-a-l-o

Get more water to fill the basket

While you starve your children

Feed the machine with your savings

And wait foolishly for your cravings.

Houses are bought over

On every conspicuous corners

To summon people like you

That dream of riches

From the betting houses

To offer to it your loyalty of lasting penury.

How much have you made?

What bond binds you to this altar?

To sell of your innocence and humility

While you keep returning with more offerings.

Remember when the devil gives you a hen

Be ready to slaughter an elephant at his den

Ayinla Muyideen Adeleke

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I HAVE A DREAM

Today I pick up my gun again

To fight the same battles my fathers fought

Today I wake up again

To the nauseating sight

That the darkness of my skin

Still shadows the brightness of the burning sun

Till this day I still wake up

To tell my son the same tragic tales

My forefathers told their sons

About how it is not a crime to be black

Till this day I still go to sleep

And dream of the infamous trial of tears

Harbouring in my mind the Seminoles worst fears

I still see the “Black Panther Fist” in my dreams

Held up in the air – high

Standing defiant even to the most high

I still close my eyes

And in the darkness see soldiers being bleached

After keeping Britain’s walls from being breached

I still step on the blood of my kins on streets

Yet unable to wash the stains off my feet

For fear of forgetting their remarkable feats

For fear of forgetting what they died for

For fear of acknowledging the fact

That the darkness of our skin

Is enough reason to earn us a bullet in the head

Till this day,

I still close my eyes and have dreams

Putting on the peculiar black beret of Ernesto Che Guevara

Atop the patted afro of Malcolm X

In my dreams,

I still stand on the same podium upon which Martin Luther King was shot

Till this day I still slumber off and hear voices

“I have a dream

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

“I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.”

“I don’t care if I fall as long as long as someone else picks up my gun and keeps shooting”

“Cruel leaders are replaced only to have new leaders turn cruel”

“You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you’ll never imprison my mind”

But these are not my dreams

These are the dreams of those

Whose lives are now footprint on the path to freedom

These are the dreams of

Al Hajji Malik El Shabazz, Patrice Lumumba, Stephen Bantu Biko

Thomas Sankara, Harry and Harrieta moore, Ruben Um Nyobe

Walter Rodney, Martin Luther King, Ernesto Che Guevara

The seeds of these dreams were watered by their blood

It’s trunks and branches moulded with their bones

I have a dream

I have a dream

That I would never dream the same dreams

That my fathers dreamt

I have a dream

I have a dream that no single drop of blood will be shed no more

No single live would be dropped anymore

For the same dreams my fathers died for

I have a dream that one day

My son can look at his dark skin

And sees that it shines brighter that the radiance of the sun

I have a dream, that one day

My black son would hold his white friend

And the only thing they both see is two humans holding each other

I have a dream that one day

The naira would cease being the dollars errand boy

I have a dream that I would not die dreaming these dreams

But live to watch it become a reality outside of the TV screen

I have a dream and I believe

Because at the end of even the darkest tunnel

There is brightness

The fiercest windstorms

Snapping tree trunks

And lifting roof bunks

Is always succeeded by the warm smile of the shining sun

Because it is on the day the night is blackest

That the stars shine the brightest

It is at the point the night is darkest

That brightness is closest

For until there is no single man with a dream

Only then can we say we have truly lost

Because in the words of a man with a dream

We have a reason to keep fighting

Because in the words of a man with a dream

We find a reason to keep the torch of struggle burning

Because in the words of a man with a dream

We find hope and peace

I have a dream

This is our hope, and this is the faith that we hold on to.

AJIBOLA HABEEB

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THE COVER

It’s the day before the new week

The week that ushers in your wedding day

And you have forgotten to book table covers

But you are oblivious of this

Because you think your decorator has it covered

It’s unusual of you to forget anything

Since you have a to-do list

And the first thing on your to-do list

Is a note to check your to-do lists

Just an extra precaution

Being the organized one of your siblings

Taking right after your father

It is two days before your wedding day

You have checked off every thing

On your list including table covers

You even convince yourself that

They will come in orange and white

That’s how meticulous you are

One of the reasons why you

Still have your job

It’s the day before your wedding

You are driving to the wedding venue

Whistling softly to yourself

Ticking off things to do

Like get your nails fixed

And remind the artist

That you don’t want heavy

Make-up.

Your phone rings and it’s the man

The man who proposed

Your man

The one to whom you will soon be joined

Forever

The smile that involuntarily warmed

Your face momentarily freezes

Table covers?

 It’s been covered you say

You would later wonder if the man

Hid under the cover of scolding you

About the table covers

To show you that you are in fact

Imperfect

A fact you never disputed

But which he repeatedly gloated over

The day before your wedding

Now as you cover his large hands

With your small fragile ones

And recite your vows

Your eyes dance around the hall

Seeking faces and hidden thoughts

You curse the decorator for not telling you

That you didn’t pay for table covers

After all,

Who wanted uncovered tables anyway?

You wonder if the failure to have table covers

Was a sign of your future dis-abilities as a wife

You wonder if something as small yet significant

As a table cover

That simple piece of cloth that hides away the

Shame of worn tables

Would haunt you

And if it does, for how many

Of the days in forever.

KEMIBON

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I wish I could touch

I wish I could touch you once more
In the quiet moment we share
In the time ,our love we cherish so much
To this day,we were made for each other
In God's arm,we were tiny pencils
Of this special day we will be one
In our heart,we were like shining light
Up in the middle of the earth and sky
We were like beautiful ornament
Nobody could seperate our love
Because we were made for each other
Right in my arms,I felt the dust
As I touched you,we felt the dust
From this moment,we fend to live
In the darkest hour,we were praised
When oceans could feel our tears
We were adored and cherished for love
So much more,we were dear to love
To love ourselves without blemish
Where hopes and destines are unveiled
I could touch you just the way you are
At this time of our lost found love
I was there to love you once again
From the bottom of my heart felt
I wish to love and cherish you
In human's eye,we will married couples
Of this special day,we will be blessed
In our heart, we were like water beam
Up in the middle of the depth and shore
We were like beautiful mermaids
Nobody could recognise our origin
Because we were created for each other
Right in my arms,I felt the water
As I touched the helm of his garment
From this moments,we made for the waters
In the shallowest mood,we were mixed
When the oasis could not contend our joy
We were barred from the Crimson's tomb
From this day on ,we were good for love

UBONABASI EKPO

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CLICHES

Man
I look around these days
Wondering how much our sins weigh
Wondering if we have similar DNA
Wondering if this is all just foreplay
Friday to Sunday
Sinners ardently pray
Monday to Friday
Our government decays
Its all like a display on Broadway
The people listen to deejays
Lyrical essays about feet of clay
While at midday
Our strongest fly to the USA
To the UK, SA and even Bombay
What's with this maze
Why are we living in ashtrays?
Where's all the hope of yesterday?
Man
If Disco's controlled daylight
We'd have 24hours of night
They'll probably take away our sight
A political gunfight, dogfight, cockfight
Who cares? Just give us light
And keep your tales by moonlight
Outside they put on streetlights
Inside we use torch-lights
The average Lagos mans plight
(Abeg oh I'm not trying to incite
Na poem I dey recite!!)
Man
Imagine the world as it should be
No one fighting for supremacy
No armies
Or clashing communities
Just a global city
Peaceful and free
Paul & Stevie
Sang of Ebony and Ivory
Living in perfect harmony
Sounds like a fiction movie
Mental injury
Forgive me
For thinking abnormally
Poetry seems to be intoxicating me
Man
We can spend all day
Preaching 'change your ways'
Or writing lovely essays
Or inspiring screenplays
We keep hope on a tray
Hope on full display
Hoping that one day
Yes... one day...
That... special day
Man
This day
Silence pays..
Everything else is just a cliché.

ERHIO

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SILENCE

I can hear the sweet sound of silence

As I peep into wisdom’s gate within

Listening with an open mind and soul

Resisting the temptation to speak

To learn to speak more with few words

Golden silence has given birth to ruby words of wisdom

Planting and watering ideas

I can feel the powerful strength of silence

Like raging storm

It grows

Cooked by time

To fill the pot of wisdom

If I see silence

What will his mantle be?

If I look at his countenance

What will it be filled with?

Who has seen silence?

If you see silence

Then you will describe it without words

Ifeanyi Okwosha        

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                                                                            THIS DAY

This day we believe God for our daily bread

Though cake and cream will be nice.

That after all is what Marie Antoinette is reported to have told

The less than genteel poor!

She had to die

No question, though we question the use of the guillotine

As excessively cruel and unusual punishment

This is the day God has made

The day when we must pay attention even if we are too broke to do so

This day when and in which we resolve to be glad

Inspite of all the indications to the contrary

Glad not with the gladness of pontificating fools

But in the hope that the ship of state will come home

And our leaders will quit faffing around

And take their fingers out and find a way through the morass

Moses did it. Eventually.

Though he like Martin did not get there

Never mind not fearing death and the importance of longevity

As the cliché goes- not duration but donation

China did it!

Changed spots; became chameleonic

Leopard changed its spots

Snake sloughed off its skin

Millions lifted out of generational poverty

Choose you this day whom you will serve

Always this day, to day and in the moment

The moment where all the New Age Guru’s encourage us to live

Seizing the time; Carpe Diem and redeeming our days

Praying with Moses that we will be enabled to ascribe axial value

To our time and times

That we might ultimately apply wisdom to our hearts and other parts

This day which is Christmas and Easter and every celebration

Rolled in to one

A creation of your view of this day or any other

Supply and demand; seeking and finding

Seed time and harvest; sowing and reaping

Giving and getting; to have and to hold

Planting and harvesting; laughing and mourning

This Day, the Newspaper has all that and more

And reports them as the news of this day

This Day- new and news!

ANDREW WHYTE

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AUJOURD'HUI

Scales are crushed under the weight of lost battles

Weight hoisted on the mind of a rooted soldier is more pressing

Than a boulder on a shoulder

Failed attempts at recycling leaves the mind with a gash

Deep sitting lesion not needing an aid

No drug

No Band-Aid

Grass-blades have gone blunt in Athens

And now they stage a protest

Baring roots separating from the soil when her health is failing

She goes the extra mile without taking a stride

Hands them divorce papers

Unearthed fibers lay dried-up in the scorch of the sun

Mocked by the gullies of cracked feet

Sojourners of circumstance

Palmyra

Ramadi

Ankara

Feet bearing marks of hardship

Throng Airports and Stadia

Bearing no balls

Only tales of hardships and dropped bombs

And Athenian greeneries protest the invasion

The blunting of blades

Lacking the care of whetting stone dentistry

We watch greenery stand their ground for combat

Incurring casualties

At the hands of cracked feet and arid soil

Wounded soldiers

Formation of green blades

Platoons losing soldiers by the noon

Losing courage by the moon

Blunt blades tell tales

Of horror and green blood

Mouths filled with gall sets the teeth on edge

Athenian grasslands are hissing

At the missing a policy limb

Project pro-grass

A Prosthetics policy

The genius of Abuja

The repopulation of endangered grasses

From the purchase of grasses from Brazil

For privileged bovines

The oath of secrecy

A pledge not to divulge the truth

That miserable pest always eating away at the fabric

Of their opacity

And the killing of complaining ants with a sledge

The upholding of their magician’s mystique

Throwing up a handful of stones to cause change on a Richter scale

A dozen baskets of bread

To feed the poor and needy of yesterday

To retrieve by force the funds fed to vaults in France

From this day forwards

Today!

Today!

If they do not understand accented English

The French

Lagarde will be help with a translation

A whisper to the ears of François

Aujourd'hui

EMEKA “DEUS” NJOKU

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THAT NIGHT

He was angry.

She knew.

He sat by the fire,

Looking at anything but her,

Thinking why…

She stood by the wall,

Pretending to not,

Watch him closely.

He had not looked,

He did not understand,

Why she was too tired,

To make him smile tonight,

With a bowl of editan soup,

In his hands.

Moan!

It was time.

Time for another secret,

Some other “water” to be broken.

Moan  Again!

She had been waiting.

Waiting for five hours,

Thinking of him,

Knowing he would soon arrive.

He looked back,

Finally noticing her soft cries.

The way she looked,

Made him think.

He had forgotten,

There had been baskets.

Baskets of what?

He couldn’t recall.

He hurried to her baskets,

He saw the wrappers and tiny clothes.

He looked back at her and said,

“Let us get you to the midwife”

She fumbled with a smile.

“He might just be sensitive after all”,

She thought, all the way to the clinic.

ABIOLA BONUOLA

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A STRANGER’S WELCOME

Hello, hello Stranger! It’s your first day here

What tales of a distant time and clime do you bear?

Over you, I have on many nights my watch kept.

While you, in the womb, for three quarters of a year slept.

Your rude awakening came on the wings of this early morn

Amidst the birth pangs and joyful tears, you were born

The sound of your cry awoke in me what I knew not abound

Upon this day: I am lost, I am found!

Your eyes closed, you are so small cradled in my arms

You have disarmed my defenses with your witless charms

Everyone is in a frenzy and with teary eyes, they peer

At the welcomed stranger, you sunny child of good cheer

You have given, and are, a gift, and made of me a father

The gravity of which overwhelms me; myself, I cannot gather

The sound of your cry awoke in me what I knew not abound

Upon this day: I am lost, I am found!

I shall shield you from the throes of the world, while I can

But for a brief while, for you must learn to love all you can

Know that to love is to know joy and to know sorrow

That living is in the now, and not yesterday nor tomorrow

Tomorrow promises strength, greatness, hope and bravery

Today, Stranger, you are pale skinned and fragile; your memory blurry

The sound of your cry awoke in me what I knew not abound

Upon this day: I am lost, I am found!

I shall guide your steps through life’s journey in ways manifold

And weave good thoughts into a garment to drive out the cold

Ya! Ibni Irfan

Ana uheebuka katheeran

IFEANYI MBAH

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THE FORGOTTEN

On this day,

Thunder remembers

An abandoned town,

there

where

It snows all summer.

These days

No one remembers

The dance steps

To songs of the season,

The world is ill,

She suffers from future syndrome.

The living

Saddle themselves

with keeping the corpses quiet,

They say letting go

Is a form of love;

My mother loves books,

Particularly those that are gone out of print.

She says

There was a river

Flowing south-westward

To join that another flowing south 

of four brothers pass;

It lost all its tributaries,

So the river died of thirst.

We too die of thirst,

we share our mother’s health,

Always trying to live it again;

We see the robed world

Through god's naked eyes.

At the prayer ground,

We look up at the rolling sky

Seeking for the seventh proof.

So tomorrow’s people get stuck,

Struggling to grope on loss,

Holding on to the memory

Of a yesterday

That never was,

That never will be.

We are fighting to keep our sanity,

We are fighting to prove our existence

Soonest Nathaniel

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ALL THE THINGS . . .

All the things that make us human

All the things that explains us as humans

The sadness from loved ones

The happiness from an enemy’s fall

The uncertainty of love

The certainty of hate

The laughter at the end of an anger

The hurt that defines us forever

All the things that make us human

The doubts that crush our dreams

The surprises that make us cry

Makes us laugh makes us fear

The fear that cripples

The fear that clouds us

The clouds that form rain

Then blocks us from seeing

The blocks of life we cannot lift

That makes countless suffering fit

That makes life’s beat a death beat

All the things that make us human

Washed away by fear . . .

That makes this day

The only day to live

CHISOM

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GENESYNOPSIS

-

Once earth, undefiled

Water, air, light, hemmed

In one harmony

Peaceful, scenery

Life, lifeless, condensed

Pieced, undivided

Ahmed A. Hassan

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STAND YOUR GROUND

It is about a magic spell

The very spot where happiness dwells

Approaching the end of the beginning

And realizing had this been a game

That you are definitely winning

It is about being calm

It is about silence

Even when you are asked to bear arms

You know it is about your charm

Content defining sweetness

It is about evidence

Words of the recipient

The minute details of a continuing experience

Say it softly

So that it lands gently

Say it and be firm

Tell them about the harvests in your farm

Say it with your eyes

Discovery of dimples which used to love to hide

Show them where you stand

And the very being who stands beside

Say yes with your soul

And all contrary things from without wont gain a foothold

This is about time

What has begun, and what continues

What is already in the purse, and what continues to accrue in revenue

This is like the springs

Purpose, pace and direction

You may also observe it to be pure

It is consistent, it is why we are sure

This is about the heiress, the princess

And the excesses of joy

Treasure found in conversation

The chemistry,

Of flows without ebb

Of getting to a scary place

But not needing help

This is the moment you are about to be born

When all of a mind’s lights, comes on

When life becomes ready for your dreams

This is what it is about

Time to move ahead

Time to stop circumambulating a roundabout

When the street becomes broad

When the past becomes a fraud

And the future becomes revelation

This is the moment to face the traffic

And wait for the lights to be green

This is when you stand your ground!

Akeem Adetayo Oyalowo

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THIS DAY

Let's sink grudge ship
Like the Romans' Carthaginian fleet.
Let's name honour in public
As the Jews
Thisday
You evolved from the big heart stream
Hitting men with one-hundred thousand turns
From your waterside town;
Brandishing your colourful self
Edging over the cell
Arise
Your tale bearer
Made you proud
Through light wires,
You hit the sky
In the culture and style
Of the Black Nation
But for Private Eye tales
Again
Your ship sank
Not like the Roman fleet
But for wages and goods
Your ship sank
Unlike Bishop Berlanga's Galapagos exhibition
You cleared out to extinction.

Chris N. John

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THE FISHERMEN

(e.g of found poem as written by Dr. Andrew Ode Eyeoyibo. A found poem is a poem made up entirely or 95% from another written source)

We were fishermen

Omi- Ala was a dreadful river.

Father was an eagle

Ikenna was a python

Ikenna was undergoing a metamorphosis

Abulu was a madman

Those the gods have chosen to destroy, they inflict with madness

Mother was a falconer

Turning and turning in the widening gyre, the falcon cannot hear the falconer

Locusts were forerunners

Ikenna was a sparrow

Boja was a fungus

Spiders were beasts of grief

When a mother is hungry, she says:

Roast something for my children that they may eat

Obembe was a search dog

The one who discovered things

Who knew things and examined them

Hatred is a leech

The thing that sticks to a person’s skin

That feeds off them and drains the sap out of one’s spirit

It changes a person

It does not leave until it has sucked the last drop of peace from them

But Abulu was a leviathan

A thing not easily killed

Hope was a tadpole

The thing you caught and brought home with you in a can

The thing which despite being kept in the right water, soon died

My brother and I were roosters

The creatures that crow to wake people

Announcing the end of nights like natural alarm clocks

And the awakening of the dawn

Who in return for their services must be slain for man’s consumption

Benjamin was a moth

The fragile thing with wings, who basks in light

But who soon loses its wings and falls to the ground

David and Nkem were egrets

Wool white birds that appear after a storm

Wings unspotted, lives unscathed

And this is a sort of poem, made up almost entirely

From the opening lines of the fifteen chapters of Chigozie Obioma’s book

And serves as some kind of homage to the luminosity of the writing

The book carries the same title as this made up poem

They were meant to be fishermen of good dreams

Unrelenting, menacing juggernauts in pursuit of fish

He meant them to be fishers of men.