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| WINNER POEM OF THE MONTH - SOONEST NATHANIEL |
EUREKA! – (poem of the month)
My
mother holds regular debates with Newton
beneath
the apple tree.
Free
spirit
she
knew nothing about gravity;
she
won't be pulled to the earth,
her
children's ambitions were reason enough to defy dogma.
Life
had always tried to submerge her
wholly
or partially in mud, urine and feces;
but
she remembers there will always be an up thrust,
so
she displaces her fears and acts in the upward direction.
She
knew only the righteous blind with see the rising sun
at midnight.
So
she kept trying to inscribe spheres within cylinders,
kept
trying to make perfect circles of every given triangle.
Always
solving for the exact number of cattle
in
the herd of the sun,
always
counting the number of grains of sand
that
will fit inside the universe.
She
will say: "we must acquaint ourselves
with
the objects of our fears,
we
must look the worlds in their eyes
and
say to them 'do not disturb our circles'".
Mother
will always remind us
that
though our hopes dangle
like
the testicle of the pendulum clock,
still
there will be sweet-marah
from
the eyes of the crying rock.
The
day after her last debate with Newton,
I
decided to creatively forget to dress,
I
decided to consciously unmask myself.
That
day, I hung old skins in new shelves
and
ran into the streets shouting Eureka!
I
knew my mother had finally won the debate,
I
knew she had to leave for she was fulfilled,
she
was convinced that she had taught her children,
the
Archimedes of existence.
SOONEST
/////////////////////////
LEVITATE - (worthy of mention)
Rising fumes
On two lane roads
Creeping out
Of disgruntled dangling exhausts
Rising anger
At Bus stops
As fares rise
Exponentially
Rising joy
When dusty feet
Approach home
And loving hands
Reach for swollen feet
Rising envy
At stockened feet
In posh Lexus jeep
Always
Something rises
But today
Hope has risen
In the heart that
Sauntered across
A path uncertain
And got crushed
Hope unfurls
And curls around
This fragile heart
Today
Hope is risen
Kemibon
//////////////////////
MY PEN CRIES AND THE INK DRIES – (worthy of mention too)
On the surface of a land where milk and honey should flow
But its people suffer from the scarcity of petrol.
And joy sleeps as the land slips
Into the brink of a war that totally ravages a nation
A clash of ethnicity, religion, and an unanswered national question
Is Niger-Area just a collage of people-groups incompatible and
hurriedly married in a union doomed to fail?
Or is she an entity with a destiny for greater things whose challenges
will come to pass and whose present sufferings will fade?
My pen shifts as my thoughts drift
I find my solace from the Middle-east: "the greatest story ever told"
Where way back in the first century, a Man died to save our souls
So joy awakens as my mind is taken
For when the human race fell into suffering and pain
Jesus the Son of God came down to share likewise in the same
For us all, He went through the pains of earth and the horrors of hell
But His suffering and death is not the end of the story we tell
For at the end, Jesus did not just suffer and die, He is risen
And at the end, Nigeria does not just suffer and smile, she is risen
My pen tried to defy the Man crucified
But when I found that He rose in the midst of five hundred witnesses
Wait; FIVE HUNDRED witnesses? my doubts, they don't persist
Now joy stands upon this land
For regardless of your culture, background or religion
Jesus died for every man in all continents and every region
So, if between terrorism in the North and secession from the East,
Naija is bleeding
We will remember that between the crucifix and the heavenlies, the
human race is risen
And even if the national problems be risen like the fuel price
The Eagle becomes a Phoenix, out from the ashes, saying: "Still, I rise"
My pen speaks to end this piece:
Let every Nigerian from the four cardinal points look up to Him
For He gathers His descendants from the West, and brings them from the East
Saying to the North "Give them up!"
And to the South "Do not keep them back"
Do not hold them back, He says
"Let her come with her Hijab and yet come taste of the rugged Cross,
that's where her true dignity hides
Let them come with their Talismans and yet grip on the rugged Cross,
that's where the true power really lies
The Name of Jesus remains the same on every tongue regardless of the
language we come speaking
For whether Jesus is Yisa, Chukwu or Jesu; by His name Nigeria is risen!
Tolu Daniel
On the surface of a land where milk and honey should flow
But its people suffer from the scarcity of petrol.
And joy sleeps as the land slips
Into the brink of a war that totally ravages a nation
A clash of ethnicity, religion, and an unanswered national question
Is Niger-Area just a collage of people-groups incompatible and
hurriedly married in a union doomed to fail?
Or is she an entity with a destiny for greater things whose challenges
will come to pass and whose present sufferings will fade?
My pen shifts as my thoughts drift
I find my solace from the Middle-east: "the greatest story ever told"
Where way back in the first century, a Man died to save our souls
So joy awakens as my mind is taken
For when the human race fell into suffering and pain
Jesus the Son of God came down to share likewise in the same
For us all, He went through the pains of earth and the horrors of hell
But His suffering and death is not the end of the story we tell
For at the end, Jesus did not just suffer and die, He is risen
And at the end, Nigeria does not just suffer and smile, she is risen
My pen tried to defy the Man crucified
But when I found that He rose in the midst of five hundred witnesses
Wait; FIVE HUNDRED witnesses? my doubts, they don't persist
Now joy stands upon this land
For regardless of your culture, background or religion
Jesus died for every man in all continents and every region
So, if between terrorism in the North and secession from the East,
Naija is bleeding
We will remember that between the crucifix and the heavenlies, the
human race is risen
And even if the national problems be risen like the fuel price
The Eagle becomes a Phoenix, out from the ashes, saying: "Still, I rise"
My pen speaks to end this piece:
Let every Nigerian from the four cardinal points look up to Him
For He gathers His descendants from the West, and brings them from the East
Saying to the North "Give them up!"
And to the South "Do not keep them back"
Do not hold them back, He says
"Let her come with her Hijab and yet come taste of the rugged Cross,
that's where her true dignity hides
Let them come with their Talismans and yet grip on the rugged Cross,
that's where the true power really lies
The Name of Jesus remains the same on every tongue regardless of the
language we come speaking
For whether Jesus is Yisa, Chukwu or Jesu; by His name Nigeria is risen!
Tolu Daniel
/////////////////////////////////////////
CLIMAX
When you
are the protagonist in your own story
Its easy to always be the hero
Even nero wasn't a villain
Nor would hitler if he'd won.
This is the climax
the calm before the storm
Every 365 days ends in a 31st
The dreamers have risen, again
It is justice that we do not pen our lives
Because even the leftist who bash capitalism
Would capitalize on this
We are all the same. Dreamers
I learnt to stop day dreaming by accepting my nightmares
I've learnt the only difference between an hospital and hotel is state
of its residents
I've learnt that a falling star was never raised
I've learnt that Hope is the opiate on which religion thrives.
Im learning that my country is most hopeless because we have replaced
common sense with religion.
Religion!
Why was Jesus betrayed with a kiss
Why does the sun rise in the east
Yet it remains darkened by terror
Violent blood shed and unspeakable horrors
Before I get lost in my words
Give me my cross
And show me my Judas
Lead me on Golgotha's path
If that is the price of greatness
I will break banks
Flooding rivers with bitter tears
Its easy to always be the hero
Even nero wasn't a villain
Nor would hitler if he'd won.
This is the climax
the calm before the storm
Every 365 days ends in a 31st
The dreamers have risen, again
It is justice that we do not pen our lives
Because even the leftist who bash capitalism
Would capitalize on this
We are all the same. Dreamers
I learnt to stop day dreaming by accepting my nightmares
I've learnt the only difference between an hospital and hotel is state
of its residents
I've learnt that a falling star was never raised
I've learnt that Hope is the opiate on which religion thrives.
Im learning that my country is most hopeless because we have replaced
common sense with religion.
Religion!
Why was Jesus betrayed with a kiss
Why does the sun rise in the east
Yet it remains darkened by terror
Violent blood shed and unspeakable horrors
Before I get lost in my words
Give me my cross
And show me my Judas
Lead me on Golgotha's path
If that is the price of greatness
I will break banks
Flooding rivers with bitter tears
Olamide Santos
/////////////////////////////////////////////////
‘RISEN’
We have
asked what yet is to be raised.
We have seen
Heroes and Villains,
We have
heard about Angels and Demons,
We have
heard cries of Happiness and Sadness,
We have
heard of solutions yet problems persists,
We know of
security and insecurity,
We know of
Peace and War,
We know of
Joy and Pain,
We know of
the Good and the Evil in Men,
We know of
Relief and Disaster,
We know of
the term appropriation and misappropriation,
Don’t you?
Or should I
remind you of what has risen…
Broken
promises,
Whistles
blown,
Septic tanks
used as cash vaults,
Storage
tanks storing currencies instead of water,
Funds
missing,
Long queues
in stations,
Bombs in
market squares,
Kidnappings,
Hunger in
the streets,
Kids roaming
streets with trays on their heads,
Cement
screeded floor used as chairs and desks in schools,
Oh! Should I
go on..!
Huhn!
I heard a
musician once said that the pen steals more than the gun,
Authority
stealing pass society,
“No
agreement today, no agreement tomorrow…
No agreement
today, no agreement tomorrow…
Argument,
argument, argue…
Arguments,
argument, argue…
Everybody
dem argue…
No wonder na
stalemate”!
Hush! Be
quiet!!
Trouble dey sleep u wan go wake am!
Hmmm!
Whether we plant flowers or weeds,
The Choice is ours, they both grow!!
Asapen
/////////////////////////////
ROLL THE DICE
A child grows up with no father or mother
No one to care for her or hug her
Yet she achieves her dreams
It simply means
That child has risen
A child grows up with no father or mother
No one to care for her or hug her
Yet she achieves her dreams
It simply means
That child has risen
A man without arms feeds himself with his feet
Paints masterpieces with his teeth
Continuously refuses to admit defeat
He definitely has risen!
Paints masterpieces with his teeth
Continuously refuses to admit defeat
He definitely has risen!
A woman who has lost her hearing
Doesn't waste time complaining and comparing
Instead she sings for others to hear
Sweet melodies loud and clear
She too has risen!
Doesn't waste time complaining and comparing
Instead she sings for others to hear
Sweet melodies loud and clear
She too has risen!
Calmly swimming turbulent seas
Happiness is the magic key
The sun shines through the rain
Whether during pleasure or pain
So push me hard, over and over again
I stumble...I fall...and then
In full blast I rise
Happiness is the magic key
The sun shines through the rain
Whether during pleasure or pain
So push me hard, over and over again
I stumble...I fall...and then
In full blast I rise
I have risen!
For I'm a circular prism
I've marked all my horizons
Now place your limitations in prison
Open your eyes and be free
Roll the dice
And rise with me!
For I'm a circular prism
I've marked all my horizons
Now place your limitations in prison
Open your eyes and be free
Roll the dice
And rise with me!
Erhio
///////////////////////////////
ASEYORI ROSE
WITH ME
Aseyori is Sisi, my sister’s car engine that has refused to die
She does not want an open marriage; she wants you to just be
faithful
She is an independent woman, that woman Destiny’s Child wants us
to be
Because rich would look great on us
Hello Survivors
Hi
She wears her lip red as rose petals drenched in rain
Because she has been born over and over again
That simple world citizen
I met Aseyori that day I decided to kick my mother’s stomach
She smiled the moment my mother held her stomach
Knowing I was alive
I saw her the day Father danced in his Agbada after I had told him
I passed my secondary school exams
She call my name every time friends and family
Showed their ever comforting love for me
Aseyori raised me
Kubo met Aseyori by the ocean
He cried out for his mother the moment he sensed her presence
Aseyori seemed cold to Kubo
To him she was good on page but lesser in person
He was wrong
Aseyori was his tears and guard when life gave him lemons
And all he hoped for was failure
She taught him lemonade
Kaptain Africa is Aseyori’s friend
Would you believe that?
She got balance and law
Try watching another fight your battles for you
She is Grace and fulfillment
In one hot dog wrap
Aseyori watches you grow for a fee
Living love, beyond your perceptions
Because life is a book
And you are made to listen
Someone said searching for Aseyori
Seemed like chasing shadows
Please move on
For she is not empty and dark
Neither does she cause you to feel
Irrelevant adrenaline moving through your veins
Oh man’s selfish desires
Maslow sensed her presence
So he said there are levels to reach her
But she is everywhere
Even when everything seems physiological
To wake up on the poetic side of life
Standing on words and letters of Grace
Winning the right way
Aseyori planned my life
When it was time, I met Aseyori after my body spent
Was laid into the earth
It had gotten worn after war
Aseyori rose with me
She rose with me
and
Aseyori walked with me to the sun that refreshes
And the meadow that blooms to my next stop.
Abiola Bonuola
//////////////////////////////////////
IN THIS DARK
PLACE
In this dark place
The mother: words
Fathered by thoughts
Gave birth to these children: actions
Many were aborted
Some died prematurely
The ones living created this reality
This reality is not only read in the pages of a novel
Penned by morbid imaginations
Shocking shock to check its meaning
How is it possible that hell is almost fully filled?
As earth threatens to take its place
In this dark place
The pulse beat of hope is louder
Every second, counts
Not more or less
Exact for all
Actions are words birthed by thoughts
In this dark place
There is life
There is light
There is love
There is justice
There is joy
There is empathy
There is kindness
Kindle it!
Ifeanyi
Okwosha
/////////////////////////////////////
RISEN, A PHALLIC ENSEMBLE
Stanza 1
He is a wondering minstrel,
Intent on ministering his misdeeds,
He is a truant,
With a wench for a mother,
Yet, fate is beguiled by his piety
He dies a coward's death,
And, like a Shakespeare's sigh,
Is risen to
Torment asinine virgins
He is a wondering minstrel,
Intent on ministering his misdeeds,
He is a truant,
With a wench for a mother,
Yet, fate is beguiled by his piety
He dies a coward's death,
And, like a Shakespeare's sigh,
Is risen to
Torment asinine virgins
Stanza 2
He writes epitaphs to his inglorious
Wayfares,
A memoir sewn with dead men's chests,
And bought with decaying virgin's guilts,
He drinks to the misery of saints,
He fondles his phallic,
And cusses the gods who envy
His pride,
He blesses his path of riotous acrimony,
For in this, he found his true self,
He had died to fate's cupid arrow,
But, now, is Risen,
To offer a wreath to femme fatales
He writes epitaphs to his inglorious
Wayfares,
A memoir sewn with dead men's chests,
And bought with decaying virgin's guilts,
He drinks to the misery of saints,
He fondles his phallic,
And cusses the gods who envy
His pride,
He blesses his path of riotous acrimony,
For in this, he found his true self,
He had died to fate's cupid arrow,
But, now, is Risen,
To offer a wreath to femme fatales
Stanza 3
He sighs a wretched sigh of joy,
He caresses his phallus with
The art of a lover's artistry,
Michelangelo would envy,
He feels no guilt now,
Didn't the good book flatter the phallic?
Men were gods whose mortality died
On Virgin's prides ,
And like the Phoenix,
They rise,
Throbbing with esoteric hunger,
Pushing against the Infamous depravity,
Then an eureka of ecstatic symphony,
Ricocheting off the silent walls,
A testament to his phallus' s medley,
He died that day,
But ,..
Will be Risen ...
Maybe in Hell 's haven tomorrow.
He sighs a wretched sigh of joy,
He caresses his phallus with
The art of a lover's artistry,
Michelangelo would envy,
He feels no guilt now,
Didn't the good book flatter the phallic?
Men were gods whose mortality died
On Virgin's prides ,
And like the Phoenix,
They rise,
Throbbing with esoteric hunger,
Pushing against the Infamous depravity,
Then an eureka of ecstatic symphony,
Ricocheting off the silent walls,
A testament to his phallus' s medley,
He died that day,
But ,..
Will be Risen ...
Maybe in Hell 's haven tomorrow.
©Teddy Ugonna
Richard
////////////////////////////
RUMBLE IN THE SKY...
Don't expect
the rain, it won't come!
Call your
gods
Appease the
deity
Shout to the
mountains
It will
still be another effort in futility.
Our evil
thoughts and deeds are converging to hit us
And this
time there will be no shielding.
What shall
we then do, if truly there is no escape?
Do we heed
the Sun?
Or hid from
the Sun?
Do we take
this fall gracefully?
And accept
that the end of Man is here?
Guided by
fear, we gave ourselves to vague faith
While the
peddlers keep a vogue appearance
Haven't we
seen
The footpath
of the other wayfarers?
Children
crying, afraid of the dark. Adults fearing the Light.
Haven't we
seen
The cracks
on the wall?
Bodies’
splatted about. Evidence of man's negligence to man.
Haven't we
had
Enough of
the puff and the coloured liquors?
Sons of
perdition
Daughters of
Jezebel
Whose trade
in stock clouded with vices.
The King's
tribesmen are at it again
Shepard boys
with bloodthirsty sheep
Herdsmen or
headmen?
Conquered
forest
Conquered
soul
Our maidens
held in captivity
Days to
weeks, weeks to months
Months to
years and few returned vile and empty.
How do we
discern the King's mind from his men's counsel?
Mounting
promises of better days
Mounting
actions of fierce famine ahead.
Crowded
market
Groaning
faces
For the
buyer, for the seller
Every visit
shrinks the table.
Is it that
our wares has lost its values or our values has lost its wares?
Even the risen
Sun
Bought the
change
Harsh on
skin, telling on health, tough on purse
What shall
we call this change?
A blessing
or a curse?
Shall we now
wish for the days of old in the new?
Or take Men
of old away from the new?
Either way
We that will
turn the tide are not yet ready.
-Amami H.
/////////////////
RISEN
We rise from the grasp of mediocrity
By preparing for the unexpected
By expecting everything
A distinction without a definite difference.
We rise from the mire of poverty
Look we’ve made our own glass slippers
Hoping for the strike of that midnight
That will bring our fantasy to reality
We rise from great and grievous mistakes
So respect us like the dead
Talk good things about us
Heck lie about us
Yes make nice lies about us
We rise from bad memories that drown
We cling to them as if they define us
But indeed they don’t, our future does
Our fate lies gently in our hands
Yet we wait like the Jews wait for their messiah
Chisom
//////////////////
RISEN
Matzo, Roti. Tortilla and the wafer( not to be confused with the
"waver/waiver" sold on Nigerian roads
These are species of "breads" which have not risen
Because missing the essentials.
Christ is risen because the essential words were spoken
The essential muscles utilized.
Risen- a case study in essentialism not the essential commodity
scenario prevalent in Venezuela and which we
experienced in conflation
with our present Mussolini.
A fate averted because of platforms previously erected.
Risen like the yellow sun, the red crescent and even the other
half of the sun
Like Japan, like ISIL, like Biafra.
The essence removed and now mostly matzo, roti, tortilla and the
wafer
All significant but somewhat deflated- not rising; not risen
Just there- a constant reminder of the consequences of life
without yeast.
To rise we must have yeast in ourselves, in our bread, in our
lives.
The yeast of Hirohito's words
Of Hitlers dynamism
Of Mussolini's carriage
Of God's resurrection power
Of ISIL's dogma
Buhari's sternly deceptive vitae
There must be some yeast that makes us
know that we too have risen like the phoenix from whatever hole or
dunghill that was dug
for or built for us.
I must stop here as these words keep having yeast in themselves
When we have risen beyond limits we get back to death,
not living tissue but tumours needing not only deflation but
traumatic excision-
the story of all the flags that have risen against the common
weal!
ANDREW WHYTE
