POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 7 EPISODE 9 LONGING

FEED ME – (poem of the month)

My soul is hungry 
And for this i long:
Your passion hot and spicy, 
Like Ghana shito on my Nigerian tongue.

Your love is a staple dish,
Grant this famished man a dying wish.
Let me unfoil your fears like husks of 
Delicious dorkunu,
And water Down your doubts with gulps 
Of sweet otinshinu.

Woman you taste like ewe poetry,
Each verse served with tomato gravy;
Your recipe is a soothing therapy,
Sate my hunger, heal my malady.

Oh feed me.
Feed me with your grace,
Grant me in your heart an eternal place,
And robust my lean spirit shall be.

Feed me with faith,
A hope for the beggar at the beautiful gate,
Give me peace;
A moment with you, a thousand years of bliss.

Feed me with your love,
That manna falling from above.
Give me your all for I am empty,
Let me eat on the table made by my enemy.

Please feed me,
Like the gentle heaven feeds roaring sea.
Grant me the honour, be my wife;
I crave for you, my bread of life.
INCREASE NATHANIEL

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FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Down the aisle she waltz, fluttering,

Radiant and ageless in white, dazzling.

Cast in beauty and innocence suffused,

And a face brimming brilliantly with smiles

That sets the sun into a jealous scorn,

The jewel of the town glided in grace

 With the confidence of a gurgling brook

 Displaying the knowledge of the path.

 Towards the priest and the grandiose altar

 Her charm ravaged like a joyful plague.

Prayers of heartfelt concern surged

From the congregation seated at the pews

 Billowing in pity as she walked up the path

 Worn out by the sole of her Cinderella shoes;

 “That she yanks off the white, blemished pale

  By the passing hands of time and frequent trips,

   Never again to walk the aisle except for communion.”

   The priest welcomed with a familiar smile

   And a kindred heart with the congregation.

Reception called and merriment rolled in.

Beer, like a river on the loose, flowed.

Wine, with it legendary subtle slyness

 And gladdening taste crept down,

 Delighting the tongue and belly on its cascading course.

 Delicacies with its fleets of flavour and aroma

 Cajoled the nostrils and palates into forgetfulness.

  The mind, lost and robbed of pious reasons,

  The tongue, lost in the sense of purpose,

   Both drowned in the pool of beer and wine.

   A belch is uttered in a lame attempt at redemption,

Prayers condemned beneath the weight of the delicacies.

They await another time, and another chance,

When their mouths would be called to service

ADETOBA

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WANTING DESIRE

All my life, I wanted desire

Longed for it; lunged for it

Like Marys bleeding heart

Pascal’s God shaped vacuum

The tree comprising the Kingdom

Creating a haven for the birds of the air

The Kingdom of God as a seed

Knowing that in the coming is life

The coming of desire which itself is a synonym

For the longing that brings transgression

Let no one blame God for their temptations

God has no shadow

No turning; no Parallage

He is constant as the star that He made

His longing is of a different colour

It does not draw off to sin, lust or love

It loves the joy of our espousal

Noting that time was when we followed

Him to the desert

Becoming an anthromorph

Expressing His love, longing, desire

In words less than divine.

Coming full circle to us

Learning, earning, yearning

Longing, desiring, hoping

Wanting, needing, expecting

Following Maslow or Freud

Adler or Jung

Themselves metaphors seeking explanation

In worlds of their own construct

Giving vent rather to a world without God

Minus the primal urge that is longing

Longing after divinity

Divine explanation

Divine expiation

An experimental, experimenting world

Where the final marking in red is spelt

In Qoheleths words, vanity; all vanity.

Far off from the innocent longing for a woman

The completing, bone connecting woman

For a man, the bone into body man

The longing for fulfilments and achievements

Sanctioned and sanctified; satisfying!

Ending with wanting desire

Which is a tree of life

Providing cover for the nations

Much like poetry of a certain kind.

ANDREW WHYTE

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LONGING

I want you

I need you

I crave for you

I mustn’t

I shouldn’t

I really shouldn’t

It will show with time

An inch there, a centimeter there

Then comes the guilt

Not quite like the psychotic disorders of the run-way girls

That drives them to anorexic, bulimic frenzies

Why must it be so?

How can something so loved

Be so bad to have

As often as I like

It’s an old wife’s tale

It’s not grounded on proper science

Or is it?

It’s all so confusing

Then…….

CNN settles it

Or was it BBC

It doesn’t matter

I heard it, I watched in glee

There it is, Yippee!

I can desire you

I can have you

I should, regularly, they say

To remove an inch there and a centimeter there

What is regular?

Once a day?

Twice a day?

Once a week?

It doesn’t matter

I will define my own “regular”

I will have you as regularly as I want

Without any apology, shame or guilt.

FUNMI EYEOYIBO

///////////////////////////////

WHEN I GROW OLD AND FEEBLE

And my limbs are weak

And my hair grey

With wrinkles around my neck

And my thoughts finally in search of a place to rest

My mind has known not an iota of rest since

Since the first time I came to terms with the reality of death

Every wink of my eye a pointer

Pointer to the direction

Always some place above the ground

Up and up went my eyes

Never for once looking to the ground

I remember once in my youth

When the woman who happened to be my vessel to this earthly plane

Called upon me to watch my pride

It not only stunned me

but sparked off a surge of reality

What pride could she be talking about

That I will only lie on rugs or mattress

Not to caress my ego

For I know the world would say so

But for the reality of pains

That follows such humility

Call it what you may

May I not find reasons to change my resolve

For my resting place must be well above ground

My longings are forever to those places on high.

ILUPEJU ADEBAYO

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RAVENS MIRACLE

I opened my heart

Where lies my brook?

Where are thou my Raven?

Our land is in FAMINE

Almost like that of the Israelites

I cried with millions

Wept for an ailing nation

Tubers of yam makes us yawn

Tomatoes puts us all in comatose

Bag of rice in crises

Garri soaking becomes a trend

I longed

I craved

For my Ravens miracle

I opened my heart again

Where lies my brook?

Where are thou my Raven

Raven miracle I seek

Elijah was treated to a royalty by Raven

Fetching him balance diet daily even in famine

He then drinks in a special brooks

Why not me God!!! I want my Raven miracle

Raven!!! Elijahs Raven

Raven !!! My own Raven

The creature with a shiny black feathers

Weird, mythical ...scary yet emit miracle

Smart, evil in disguise ... smells dark omen

Yet fetched Elijah three square meal

Largest in the crow family of birds

I opened again but not my heart

This time it is my mouth of hunger

Where lies my brook?

Where are thou my Raven?

Raven miracle I seek

My voice became stronger for Him to hear

He is my shepherd I shall not want

Even as young lions lack

And suffers hunger in anger

I shouted I shall not want

I receive by faith the word

And I started chewing

Pretending to be an Elijah

Behold, food was on my table

I found myself devouring chicken in full

On a table full of varieties of food to maw

But no one else was eating

They all looked hungry and fagged out

I got a disdainful eyeing...

I heard them hissing profusely

Yes, it was like that table prepared before David

The same table God prepared before his enemy

I got their message

They weren’t my friends

But there was more to go round

Why become selfish ...greedy

I beckoned to them without uttering a word

They swamped on me ... on the food

Then, someone tapped me on a long chair

Those bed-bug infested chairs ...

Brother Stephen... why are you snoring?

We are through with the service

Remember that fasting continues tomorrow

And bring along your Prophet offerings

The Lord be with you

The white-bearded man bid me bye

My mouth was still ajar

Finding expression for my thought

I opened my mouth again

Where lies my brook?

Where are thou my Raven

Ravens miracle I seek

The man came back with a stern look

His white beard stood akimbo

Bro. Stephen, lets I forget, next time

Please don’t finish all your chicken oooo

And stop shouting please...

Your Raven miracle you’ve eaten

Go home... for others are still trying to connect

It dawned on me painfully

Maybe I shouldn’t have beckoned to them to join me

Maybe...I would still be devouring the chicken alone

As I walk pass others on the mountain,

Many still longing for more from the fountain

Some still snoring on church mats

Communing with other bed-bugs and rats

One man was beckoning with his hands in his sleep

I ran towards him and held his hand

No, don’t call others I shouted

He woke up anyways

And dealt me a heavy slap

Why would you wake me up

My other cheek got adorned with another slap

Just like a proverbial Jesus Christ

I was signing a contract with some white men

And you held my pen and my hand

Again, my mouth was ajar

Expressionless... yet thoughtless

My heels took on me

Though still longing for my Raven’s miracle

But no more from Elijah ... for I am Bro. Stephen

Alayande Stephen T.

21st, August, 2016

A Story from the Sunday Service

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THAT LAZY BREEZY DAY

Labrador

At the door

Tapping insistence into the child

On the other side

Wooing expectation

With a wily tongue sticking out in allurement

And a whimper

A yearn for attention

Returned by a child in diaper

Standing at the door

On ringed limbs

Away from the table

Learning the trade

Of walking

And talking

Mumbling a response

To a friend shut out

Insistence acquired

He lets out a yell

Rattling the door to give way

Labrador lets out a yelp

Tapping the door to give way

She walks away from the dish

On the table

Grabs the minor in a diaper

And opens the door

To the Labrador

And the

Tiny

Wishing

Honey brewer

Draped in black and gold

Irritated by the wait

To taste the jam

Packed with nectar

The wait

For a palm and a paw

To express friendship

In a hug

And bam!

It hit her

For a waste of a moment

That vacuum made

In the space of time

Haaaah!

A bee’s sense of justice

Weird.

Chukwuemeka. September 8, 2016

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I BELIEVE 

In the rhythm of every poem

In the meanings embedded in every word

In the string of every bead and euphoria screams

In the crack of voices, the voices of soulful songs, songs of pain, tears, love and joys

I believe

In the tale found in the stories, relayed with mastered gestures and dropping jaws

In the strings of sweat and stamping of feet, to the dance and twist of joints

. . .In response to dried skin to spiritual beats

I believe in strokes, Splash, Splash of pigments and colours

In the reality and surrealism that capture more than pictures and tales more than real life

I believe

In the clicks of shutters that preserve memories we'll forever cherish

In the audacity we wear and the long strides we take in them

In the serenity and standstillism that comes with it

In the transformation and formation it commands.

I believe in arts.  .  .in life

MARY ELIYE

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THE RAINS

When the first sons of Oruku gathered

Plenty like when soap is lathered

Many like the dots on a leopard

The only thoughts in their heart layered

The only beats their heart garnered

Is the time of the rains

Yesterday ijenmuo spat on Oruku

That yesterday is now three moons

Yet no rains

The sons of Oruku  gathered

Faced ijenmuo and lost their courage

Ijenmuo is not man, ijenmuo is feared

His sons’ death came unprepared

Now Oruku must face his famous insidious temper

Twelve moons and counting

Oruku still panting

From the spit of ijenmuo

Still longing for the rains

The hardship of ijenmuos spit

Now tears secrets free

Blood flow blood flow

The sons of Oruku must bow

For the wrenching retribution of Ijenmuo

If they must see the rains again.

CHISOM

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BUILD MY GALLOWS

The signs
are everywhere
everyone
can see them
except me
because
they are written
all over
me.
I have been weighed
in the balance.

The wanton
scribbles
beautiful blasphemies
with blood
on the wall,
the seer's mind fails him.
He can't interpret,
He can't understand
again,
the language of memory.

He is drunk
with the wine of novelties
served from gourds
made from the skulls
of prophets
before him.
The sons
will do the time
for their father's crime;
their tomorrow
died yesterday.
The light
is gone out,
cursed are they
who are led
by their shadows.

 

But I’ll rather be led

by shadows

into

the meadows

where uncertainty

certainly waits.

 

For

like a Christ

longing to die

to save a world

that craves not to live,

so I long for you.

If only

to touch

the helm

of your garment,

and fall off the tapered-edge

of this flat earth.

 

They say

love

must be

given time

to ferment,

this wine is ready,

I have served the best first.

So tonight we drink

from the eyes

of the broken man.

 

Today

I found

a long rope

to hang

myself;

so tomorrow,

I only want you 

to build my gallows.

 

There is a city
in the eye of the needle
only the poor
like myself
can go in.
Watch
how I tread,
through the desert,
of course,
without a Carmel.

SOONEST