POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 10 EPISODE 08 HID

Larry Onokpite (in the middle) Winner Poem of the Month

DEAR ESEROPHE – POEM OF THE MONTH

Dear Eserophe,

At sunset yesterday, we received in the mailbox your letter dated eight months ago

There is no cell network here yet and our TV cable man kicked the “buckets”

And although a lot of crude oil is sucked from here, we are pretty much in stone age.

Last year, the youths got fed up with the low life here,

They hauled large logs at the junction to the oil drilling company site

While some of them protested there, others marched to the Chief's house

Hehe! The chief escaped the angry mob with some sort of pre-knowledge

Some say it is voodoo! But we all know there is always a Judas 

The youths smashed some of the house glass windows – injuring a child whose cot was near the window. 

Well, that child is the Chief's grandchild from his 16 year old daughter

The youths spontaneously decided to burn down the house.

They sprayed fuel around it and had gone to fetch a match box, when the police intercepted them with teargases

The police also tried to scare the group at the company’s junction too. But, just before they could open the tear gases, one of the youths ran towards them

I remembered his name until just now

But, he is the only one whose wife wears trousers

Anyway, when he neared the cops, he drew out his shiny sharp cutlass

And cut himself 3 times! 

Neat! There was not a single wound! The police disappeared!

The protest promised not to stop until a better life began here

The young women joined by cooking meals for the protesting men

On the ninth sunset of the protest

The youth leaders went into a conclave with the company heads and the chief

Professionally, the junction was cleared and cleaned!

Sucking of oil resumed immediately

A vague meeting was held inside the town hall the following sunset 

The youth leader with a heavy head nod from the Chief declared:

“Things are in the pipeline!”

It is six months now!

I am sure the pipeline’s head is not correct.

For only delivering the youth leader’s Mercedes Benz.

Larry Onokpite

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HIDE 

1.

How to take a joke :

You shrink back into your skin .

You stretch the lines of your lips 

To the corners of your cheek till it starts to hurt.

You shoot the bullet of pain behind your skull,

You wipe the blood with the tissues of your brain. 

You hide the scars behind the texture of your skin.

You swallow the joke ,

Even as it’s sharp edges pierces the insides of your chest.

You ignore the damage it is causing your lungs ,

You embrace the pain 

As you let out a laugh like a strangled hyena .

2.

How to handle body shaming :

You melt back into your body .

You hide in the space between skin and bones.

You pretend as if the words aren’t like swords.

You pretend as if the words aren’t monsters

Forever stuck in your mirrors .

You pretend as if your skinny frame does

Not have enough flesh to feel the dagger 

Of tongues pierce your skin.

As the words remain like hard balls

Bouncing off the walls of your mind

Each causing more damage to the already

Crumbling frame.

You try your best to drag your sanity away 

From the wreckage.

You hug your body tightly,

Reminding her that you are trying to love her,

You are trying to save her from this torment of words 

While pushing away the feeling of resentment you 

Feel towards her.

3.

How to avoid bullies:

You don’t .

They are all made of jokes 

And everyone else is funny.

Hauwa S. Abubakar

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FALLING STAR

When you see the star falling,
It is time to make a wish,
Stars are God's gift to beauty,
To shine in my darkened night,
And helping me see a little light
My sparkling star still hung,
My life has cause to shine,
I am the son of the cosmos,
The ruler of the skies,
I was born when nebula collapse.
I have made my path known,
A path I have chosen to follow,
I crumble, and collapse,
But this is not my destruction,
This is my birth.
Here wait I,
On the world's rim,
Stretching out hands,
To get hold of my star,
And make a wish.
Let me make my wish,
All I need is little encouragement,
To fulfill what's inside of me,
Finding what is deep in my heart,
And my falling star to twinkle my path.

Adeeso Adeyemi

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CARPE DIEM

Set this stage on stone, Let the numberless grains

Of sand witness for generations

The stamped soles of Angels and Men

Of their sagaciousness and low seasons

Of the Solemn songs in the mist

Unknown to the spiritless one

Who meddles in this perfect act;

Of times written in gold

If I may plead for our time again

Surely paths will cross in the loveliest

Of ways, indeed it shall!

And I will see you as you see me.

But still your trail will be hidden

And this fool will dance as once before

Because our eyes cannot see the ugliness

We carry in trays of sweet novenas

Now you leave me stacked with

Memories that hunts me deeply

Tears that drowns me wholly

Sleep that brushes my night so frailly

For I have lived through the eyes of an Angel

Let me breath this moment forever

Let this trench drink on even further

For even this solemn sky shall quiver

Of this beautiful grace that pierced even God

Given in this moment of love and loss

Alas! If the prophet cry loudly

To reveal this future of me before you

This noble fool will dance deaf

And I will again see you as you see me

For our days is More than a million years

Amar Basil

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HID

Two lovers seated on the balcony with melodies of the birds adding flavors to their conversation

The sounds of happiness were filled with the laughter of the lovebirds and the humans, you could barely

Differentiated.

The church bell bellowed with sounds of joy, as the couple walks in, hands entwined in ecstasy of hope

The parents danced and well-wishers harder, the euphoria of the moment could be cut with a knife

It was love!

The post on social media read; my joy and my keeper, the pictures were dipped with love sauce

The I-like-you-so-much was replied with oh, I am sorry, I have a girlfriend I really love. Scoffs!

Would anyone choose you, make you theirs, protect you, fight for you and finally hid you in the safety of

their love. You asked, pondered, slept, dreamt and woke up to reality of loving yourself more till you

await no more.

It was love!

Beejay!

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JUMP

This is me

Wanting you

Wanting to jump into your arms

Like a cat

I want to move in delightful circles

Until I find a comfortable spot

Where I’ll stay in peaceful contentment

This is me

Wishing for you to be old

Wishing that I was younger so it would make sense

This is me

Falling for you

Falling like fools do

Falling like a dislodged chicken feather 

This is me

Counting

Counting the days

Till I see you again

So we can sit in the far left corner of my beige couch

And talk

Talking is easy with you

So I count the days

This is me

Gazing

Not at stars

But at your perfectly shaped

Red lips

Especially

When you hide a smile

After that sweet sounding laughter

that pull up memories of one I used to dance with

dancing under the stars to the music of the night

This is me

Wondering

Wondering how incredibly beautiful it is (would be)

To love you

Kemibon

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HIDDEN STORIES (NAKED STORIES)

Tell me a story that is hidden within this reality

I see the story in your sparkling eyes

I can feel the depth from the texture of your tone

Your gestures

The modulation of your voice

Reaches a crescendo and fizzles out

Tell me a story of love

Of triumph

A sad story that brings back good memories

Tell me that story that is hidden within the story

Tell me that story were so many truths were told to cover a lie

Tell that story were a man dies several times to feel alive

Just tell me!

Tell me!

Those unreal stories you will only find in reality

Let them have the colour of water

Let it remind us of where we are coming from

Always tell it the way it is

Stripped of all covering

Naked

Ifeanyi Okwosha

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HIDDEN ECSTASY

The fantasy of ecstasy

Is the fountain of deep void

Covered with blindfold

Unforeseen by its depth

With clutched fist

With strength to strike

Punches thrown landing heavy blows

Mischievously smiling at its victim

Ecstasy hidden in disguise of want

Covering its victim with blindfold

Blowing hot and cold

Bringing happiness short lived

Leaving in its trail doubts

Counter the punches of ecstasy

With the punches of reality

Hidden underneath is fear

Fear to let go

Fear of exposure

Fear to live

Under the blindfold lies the strength to uncover

The hidden treasure buried underneath

Begging for freedom to live

Lack of self will causing more pain, more joy and happiness

Toying with emotions ready to explode for want of action

Gathering storm along the way

Dancing to the song of the depraved

With smiles out of this world

Let go of ecstasy and live again

Chika Nnamani

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HID

Pains do not always hover in plain sight,
They are shrouded in morning rituals of cucumber and carrots scented-baths,
Obscured by flowery smiles and perfect teeth,
Concealed beneath dark-tinted glasses,
Disguised in Chanel suits and Gucci bags,
Masked in huge brown eyes, perfect hairdo and exquisite makeovers,
Covered in rose-coloured skins and manicured fingers.
Camouflaged in silence, show of strength and straight-faced demeanour,
Unseen in hangouts and a thousand friends,
Veiled by many 'I'm very fine, thank yous'. 


If you could read expressions and eye stories, 

You'd see the tear-stained pillows before the morning rituals, 

The glassiness underneath the flowery smiles,

Bulgy eyes under tinted eyes glasses,
Weary shoulders hunched inside that suit,
Shaky manicured fingers,
The panic attacks hidden by silence.

You'd see that beneath the 'I'm very fine',
Someone is already cracking,
Maybe beyond salvation.

Priscilla 

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WHO HID MY MOTHER?

My mother gloriously tumbling in honest thunder,

She whirls an Israel heart to every daughter,

In two shakes of a lamb’s tail 

Does each scarlet child of Rehoboam chase a tail.

All tribes refuse the mortise in silk disaster,

Let me resonate Absalom daughters that unity is a master.

A ‘night voice’ is everywhere,

Kick your legs to orchestrate success.

The fathers of leathery protocols lost their essence

Of old boots donkey years ago.

If mother’s birth denied our fingers equality,

Nookles are the humble desperation of silk equality.

Collapsing tears drown my pen days

As I dig why lion independence bacame glory days. 

Dragons of documents dangerously drag desires on red road.

Thunder is a cramped road.(Matthew 7:13, 14)

A ‘night voice’ is everywhere,

Kick your legs to orchestrate success.

The fathers of leathery protocols lost their essence

Of old boots donkey years ago.

Come on plain thunder !

Let me be plain as power,

Bureaucracy hid my mother.

-Ajakaye Rashidat Olamidayo.

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HIDES OF JUVENILE THOUGHTS ‘

The predecessors of feet humility

Observantly mourn the cophinus circa gloop piano

Over old loyal drums.

Without more ado,

We watered breath on the wee small hours,

Diddling and brief nightmares saw whittled Cannan of civilization

Yet we were taught to tough.

The world is your oyster

But using the straw of Job’s patience

Maintains the spring of wine longest.

Some Eli bones blame the screen

That hit its operator on Lagos’ road.

Civilization or thought of their world?

Young thoughts hid screams of the hills.

Alhaja Ajakaye Simiatu Olanrewaju.

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HID

Hide these truths they hurt a lot

Spare my light the horrors of your darkness

You hid your truths in the chasm that is your soul

Took me a while to find them

Blood of my soul save me from these truths

Tell me these truths are lies

Let them be hid further don’t open the lid

Let your lies lead your truths astray

Let them not find me, let them not heed my calls

Let these truth drown in the miry pits of your soul

Let them from me be hid forever.

Chisom

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MAPLEWOOD

Here, the lips fail 

      to relay all that the eyes have witnessed, 

          so we store some memories beneath the bones,

             and our bodies begin to learn how to pray 

              to a new god that leaves us fat and trapped in debts.

I am a man 

   learning his partner’s true identity,

       learning my love 

                 is a two-edged Gillette blade 

                        cutting passion both ways.

      

Learning how sometimes 

    the moans on her lips at midnight

         are prayers in devotion to an absent lover.

           

Learning that forever is the day after the altar,

  and the tears as she read her creed that day, 

                was in fear of a late dawning reality
                    that this union might be a life jail term.

I am a man 

  about to jump off the cliff of his ego,

       I have just learnt of a generation aborted, 

                   offered at the altar of exuberance;

                        dreams crushed beneath the poundings
                                         of a pestle carved from pride.                                      Dreams squashed into paste 

                                                  in mortars of melancholia.

I have just learnt of paste 

   made from mashed flesh & blood 

           mixed with lanolin-based creams

                      just to keep clay from decay; 

                        the fantasy of remaining ageless.

I am the man 

    pacing about his apartment, 

        remembering how empty the rooms were

                when I and my young lover rushed in,

                      body surging with Adrenalin and passion.

I am remembering 

        how all we had then 

             was a mat for prayers and love making;

                the walls replay to me every argument we had,                                and I bow my head in shame.

I notice how big the cobwebs in my bedroom have become,

I am wondering what the spiders stole from us

I think they built their homes from the threads 

that made up the fabric of our affection.

Seinabo Sey croons her ‘Hard Time’, 

and I realize I have woken up too late,

an eternity has eluded me; 

but this is not the saddest part;

what grieves me most 

is not her rapture.

I am more distraught that she thinks 

I am deeper in love with perfection

I am broken that she believes 

all I longed is to pass judgment.

If only she knew 

  that my existence did and still depends

        on the unusual magic of her imperfections. 

Soonest Nathaniel

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FROM THE WINDOWS

From the windows of a rehabilitating cell

I see my shadows, my being in hell

Walking like a solitary ghost in the dawn

I feel like a shell from which the nut’s gone.

Hard liquor has holidayed in my liver

Leaving me with cerebral fever

And shaking me to high shiver

This, does make me quiver.

And when the needle had engaged my vein

I saw how my life has been in vain

How I had sought peace in green bottle

But bottled the peace in the bottle.

From fitly smoke wraps

Down to daughter Eve’s laps

Caught me like traps

Over the life of curious rats.

In the alcoves of my lowly soul

I did resolve to deep sole

Never to live like a mole

Whose lives remain in empty hole.

But, my nurse tells me:

In the meeting of pressure and pleasure

You must have a strong will as a measure

If you must protect a pride that you treasure

You must retire your hormones from leisure.

The hormones are too wild to learn

Even to be gentle while the senses yearn

Bu this, a lord must squash

And too, slash and smash.

From this window of mine

I heard my nurse’s voice that’s benign

Dropping like dew on my parched tongue

And watering the estuaries of my hidden mind.

Ikechukwu Ogbu

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STANDING IN MY OWN SQUARE

So I am here

And I am fully aware

Yet my awareness is sitting cross-legged on a rocking chair

It's not like I don't care

But my care is resting on the armchair

Staring at the nightmare

That is now realities present share

So I don't partake in that affair

That doesn't mean I am hiding here

Isn't my square in full glare?

Besides I listen to folktales

Old wives tales

And societal wails

There's no joy to gain

As more than enough pain

Makes the rounds everywhere

This nightmare is quite clear

I just refuse to disturb my opinions nap

Or borrow an orators speaking cap

I may or may not have time to spare

But there's no hiding involved here

I'm just a horn not ready to blare.

Erhio

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HID:

You are a city set on a hill

You are the salt of the Earth

You are the light of the world

You are a candle on top of the

table

You are the house of the Lord

which is on top of the mountain

What you pray in secret will be

answered in the open

What you do in the dark will be

exposed in the light; exposed by

the light.

Your sins will find you out

You are a head and shoulders man

You cannot be hid

You are a very public sinner

You bring out the God flavour

and taste of

the world

You bring out the kaleidoscopic dimensions of the divinity.

You stick out like the cliched sore thumb

You are a peripatetic, peripoesis; a movable and yet peculiar person

You are the spot of palm oil in the center of the piece of white cloth.

It's important to note that you are a spot,

a pinprick and not a smudge

You don't have to play the notice me or I die

game of the low self esteemed slay queen;

the "olosho" who kills nothing but

her self respect

You are a point of reference; a point

of contact for all that is virtuous and valuable

You have not lost your saltness and so will not be used as water and mud absorbent, though you have lost your saltiness of speech in the interest of the seasoning of grace

You are not crouched under a table

or scrunched into a cupboard- your light, that is.

But you shine

You do good

People see it, see you

and give the glory where it is due

You carry on with business as usual because you have no ego induced concern as to who gets credit for what.

You have not edged God out!

You are as in-spirited as ever

You are as in-Goded as ever

You are working extra hard at transcending your own formation

You feel the fear and do it all

You are a feeler who thinks

A thinker who feels

You are a talker who listens

A listener who talks

You enjoy silence and stillness

You enjoy community and fellowship

You are a bundle

of contrasts without conflict,

confusion and contradiction

You cannot be hid!

Andrew Whyte