POEMS READ AT THE LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 7 EPISODE 11 BOILING

WINNER POEM OF THE MONTH

MY WORDS ARE FIRE - (winner poem of the month)

My words are fire

So when I speak

I seem to emit fumes

Passion that becomes currency

Giving my rants and ramblings value

My words are fire

All I did was whisper into her ears

And warmed her heart

She opened up her soul

And consumed all of my pride

But as I began to speak louder

I burnt her from the inside out

 

My words are fire

When I pray

I heat up heaven to a boiling point

Making even angels weep

Only their saltless tears

Can cool my flaming tongue

If the words I speak

Makes anyone uncomfortable

It’s really not my fault

So I make no apologies

 My words are fire

And I also carry the scars

Burnt marks and ashes of dead skin

Fire burns and consumes

Fire cleanses and purifies

Fire keeps us warm

Fire is both death and life

My words are fire

-- 

OLAMIDE J SANTOS

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INTENSITY

Matter is slowly cooking to a boil

The refreshing scent of a new born day tickles the nose

The early morning dew on petals and trees glistens brightly

Looks, oblivious of the epoch

Daily experiences

Like labour pain

Gives birth to a new day

Like the joy of a mother

Seeing the child of her labour healthy

Or the bleak look of loss or challenge

As we welcome each unfolding day

Rekindling hope and hopelessness

Love and hate

Kindness and wickedness

Each day brings new beginnings and ends

In the unfolding future of yesterday’s labour

As we sow and reap

Giving birth to new twist and turns

Knotting

Loosening

Every debt to pay

And to receive

In joy or sorrow

In this intense heat

A thought is a race

A race which begins every millisecond

We decide to live or die

In this season of haste

Haste will soon become slow

To a word yet unborn

It is still warming up

When it boils at the end

We will meet at the beginning

IFEANYI OKWOSHA

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LESS TALK

Less talk

Please less talk

The old, the young

The weak and the strong

Less talk

I know you are tired

And have lost hope

Thinking of how to cope

Let not your mind seek the rope

Please, less talk

Less talk

Less bring to the table

Bowls of our troubles

And cups filled with our woes

Less talk of what divides us

And what binds us as brothers

Less talk

Before the stream of words get dry

We have a lot to discuss

So less talk

Less talk of why our young ones are depressed

And our old ones are dreaming of a quick entry to the world beyond.

What happened to the unity we proclaim?

What happened to the dignity in our name?

Come every one

Our meeting is going to be swift and brief

Come bring your tools of grief

At the end you shall go home in relief.

Come you who has been despised

You who sleeps without a dream

Come everyone this is not the time to scream.

Price of food has gone up

Our men have been rendered impotent

With no source of livelihood

Our children can’t go to school

Their parents can’t afford to send them.

Come less talk, less talk

Of how best we can make things work.

This is a gathering of tribes

And of men with different vibes

Willing to see things change for good

Bring your bags of ideas

And fill your sacks

With grains of hope

On which we shall feed upon

Just less talk everyone

Before the day is gone.

AYINLA MUYIDEEN

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‘AT HUNDRED DEGREES CELSIUS’

The truth would come out one day.

Let me tell you who you are whenever you are angry.

You sound like the thunder from the 8th century

your words then carry warmth like the past tense of heat.

There is this continuity that is radiant.

There must be something about this your fury.

Like the temperature of the tasteless fluid in a kettle,

like the rage; like the storm.

Your anger has its life,

its path, gateway, range, linage and what more but strife?

I wonder if you ever feel joy in this your turbulence;

I don’t blame your frenzy indignation temper all at once.

Your sight at this point is blistering. Torrid for any man’s heart.

But you are beautiful, though touching you makes me melt.

Your shadow, even the thought of you

leave the mark of the effects of the war between water and fire.

Heat always wins. It then puts a scar that stays.

You are the tar in my veins.

Let me compare thee to the tempest of the sea;

You are you even when you are still.

What heat causes your upheaval?

What shadow stains this so called “beauty of you”?

What is your calm? I want to be it.

Let me be your humility. The freezer of the boiling water.

PANEL.

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                                                         A BOILING VESUVIUS

The Poet who wrote that the Poet lied

Wrote a Boiling Caracas

Not at that time a carcass which it has now become

Or a boiling over Economic Vesuvius which it now is.

Now that Chavez is dead

And Maduro can hardly hold it together

Like Somalia’s Barre

Or Romania’s Ceausescu

Or the Civil Lawyer from Belgrade

Who degenerated to butchery.

Like Tito, the Granddaddy of them all

Like all the African grand old men

Who learnt too late that you can never take it with you.

Ask Desire, who become the Leopard who does

Or never does something or other

Ask our own Uncle whose attempt was foiled

Ask Uncle Robert who appears to have succeeded

The liquid black Gold is common as sand

And priced as cheaply

We have reached boiling point

Attained critical mass

And ready for a quantum leap

That takes us over the boiling, roiling Ocean!

ANDREW WHYTE

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HAY

The old man sits down to chew his cashew
As the reds battle the blues
He however had no clue
All he knew
Was that there was barely any dew
No birds sang or even flew
Even the hens didn't argue
It was as if the world stood still
Watching the battle for The Hill

Would she clinch it?
Or would he triumph?

They both dance to the voters drum beats
All eyes on the score sheets
Smiles are rare
Tempers flare
Steaming anticipation
Busy TV stations
Gradually the red flag rose
The blues defeated yet composed
The world watched on
The boiling had just begun
But while millions were still in a daze
The old man got up to check his maize
These are turbulent days



ERHIO

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MY HEART

Here is my heart take all

it’s yours to have

Even if it is the last bit/beat

You can have it all not in halves

Ola nma m

Ola edo m

Ogara ije anya ato na uzo m

Ogobe oyibo m

Idi uto!

Here, here it is

My itinerant love

I brought it here for you

A willing captive

Ola nma m

Ola edo m

Ogara ije anya ato na uzo m

Ogobe oyibo m

Idi uto!

Yes I beat my chest

Say it loud on the hills of Oruku

I am glad to be wrapped around your little finger

This son  of Oruku is sound and well on your little finger

Ola nma m

Ola edo m

Ogara ije anya ato na uzo m

Ogobe oyibo m

Idi uto!

When I look into your soul searching eyes

See the smile try to leave your face but fail

It leaves my blood boiling where I lie

And makes all around pale

Ola nma m

Ola edo m

Ogara ije anya ato na uzo m

Ogobe oyibo m

Idi uto!

Here today I bless the day that brought you forth

Bless the day that brought you forth for my eyes

Bless the God that brought the day you said you are mine

Bless the space you stay that keeps you as mine

Ola nma m

Ola edo m

Ogara ije anya ato na uzo m

Ogobe oyibo m

Idi uto!

CHISOM

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BUBBLES

The promises

in my children's eyes

have been replaced

by a history of hate,

stones boil in the hearts of the disappointed.

The sun goes down

and tradition ends, 

I watch them

consume their cultures,

the world has been fed poison.

My daughter paints

on her pillowcases,

ink splattered all over her shabby bed,

by the corner, a doll is looking for her head.

History is inverted.

Brilliant obituaries ask questions,

my daughter is thirsty for answers,

but my mind is a well welling unwittingly;

I'm trying to re boot my memory,

I want to be ready

For when this city

Begins to have sex with itself.

SOONEST

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BLANK

As an open ocean so blank
Sat the maiden so crank

Am told she sang an octave
A good soul searching octave

Oh how this made her groan
With mind twice blown

There she sat, a boiling stone
Ready for a comic zone

CHRIS 'N' JOHN