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| WINNER POEM OF THE MONTH - ANITA OGUNI |
SCENT BY SENT – (Poem of the month)
"I can still
smell the sent of your hair'' the crumpled weather-beaten brown paper screamed
at my coconut oil-laden oval-shaped face, wrapping me in memories I thought had
long found a new shelter.
You had always decked
out obstinacy like a worthy badge.
To you, the 'c' in
scent was as useless as a world where we lived as strangers
You stuck to leaving
it out,
and oh my, you were
hooked on that word like monkey to a banana.
oh, the memories.
What are you doing
today?
Does her 'sent' also
make you write a thousand verses in a split second?
What am I doing
today?
I am sending my heart
on errands that they might not return from
I am recollecting all
my recollections
I am memorizing these
waning memories
I am sending my heart
back to a time when the only thing that mattered was receiving slabs of your
love on brown-lined paper.
I am sending my heart
back to a time when my 'sent' always sent you to heaven and all the places like
it.
Anita Oguni
///////////////////////////////////////////////////
LETTER TO AN OPEN HEART – (worthy of mention)
Your heart will drain
itself of all its longings
When you turn around
and face the reality that all you thought you had placed in the deep recesses
are lies
An illusion
You’ll learn not to
blame the one you gave yourself to so yearningly
You’ll also learn not
to chastise yourself for being so trusting
So willing to give
So pliable
To dream of and be
moved by
Promises that were
laced with promises of promised lands of love
You will need reason
to wrench your heart of desires that have curled up within
Logic will stare you
down with disdain
Hope will turn its
back
and fate?
Fate was there all along
Mocking you
Throwing up its nose
at you
When your heart has
passed through this phase
When the familiar
purge is complete
Only one thing will
soothe you back to sanity
Faith
Kemi Bonuola
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
DO IT.
Sent.
The end result
of thought and action
An interaction
which grows in value
depending on the time
or need
of the given seed
Which flows back to the
volume of thought
An action that can't
be bought
Consideration is
becoming rare
Is it so hard to show
you care?
Send a picture
A memory that evokes
laughter and cheer
Not one that frees our
tears
as it captures the
last frame for eternal years.
Send a nice message
before the condolence
register appears
Send a bouquet
Not a wreath
Give someone a special
treat
A voice note to a
friend
Is much sweeter than a
dirge
Whatever it is you
send
Send it in time
Send it on time.
Send
it..Sending..Sent.
Celebrate life.
Erhieyovwe
////////////////////////////////////
BREAKFAST
I now live in the days
I was scared to prophesy about.
My truth is now an
ugly truth,
and this present house
has turned into a latrine of tiredness,
a depository of pain,
and a journal of falsified passion.
I now carry an
infirmity in my heart,
a diagnosis that was
never meant to be,
until you pounded a
fist into my rib cage,
crumbled the bones of
my security,
took my beating heart
in your palms
only for you to give
it a beating.
You served me
breakfast, breakfast in death.
I do not regret the
days of how I foolishly loved,
I only regret the
‘who’ I foolishly loved.
Till this grieving
moment, there’s a halo of misery on my head,
and a crown of
confusion,
well complemented with
a well-fitting blazer of agony.
You sent my heart to
the ER, rescued it yourself,
sent it back again,
took it back,
sent it back again,
and again, and again.
My “again” is the
nursing of your ego.
My heart keeps
cracking, it keeps shattering, it keeps splintering
even after it has
touched the floor, it still keeps breaking.
You are both king and
queen at this;
a royal figure of
insensitivity and pride,
The kind of
destructive pride that burns with fire and brimstone.
You are the cook of
hell,
consistently serving
dishes salted in pain.
However, please
remember,
there is still a bigger
devil waiting to serve you.
This food must go
round.
Gbogbo wa la ma je
breakfast!
Akinbulumo Samora
/////////////////////////////////////
TRANSMITTERS AND RECEIVERS
There was void
Before Light was
sent
To bring warmth and
movement
Morning arrives
To bring warm sunlight
after a cold night
The rainbow of
hope
That breaks forth
after a stormy weather
The warmth sent from
those windows
Breaking down
walls
Everyday a chapter
with blank pages
Filled with
decisions
That affect past,
present and future chapters
The waves will always
carry its stories of the seas
Every rock a story book
Every man a
page
His stylus is his
works
We are transmitters
and receivers
We write our stories
Ifeanyi Okwosha
////////////////////////////////////////
SENT
I have been sent with
a message
But this message is
not nke chinyere
I have been sent by my
past
With bespoke grudges
and hate that stinks to the heaven
Given the message to
serve hot to my brothers
THEY HATE US!
I have been told of
wars that were fought over nothing
And how the rumors of
war has been sown and must be reaped
I have been told to
tell my brothers that the scars still itch
That they must honor
that scar and a stitch in time saves nine
I have been shown
marks of betrayals by neighbors
Drawn with the
iridescent colors of anger
But . .
My brothers have shown
me more hate than my enemies
They have given me
more scars than I have been told about
I can’t find my
brothers to deliver the message
Because they are out
there digging my grave
I have found succor in
the hands of my “enemies”
Do we then throw the
dirty water away with the baby
CHISOM
Louthotz Poetry Reading Season 12 Episode 8Theme: ”JUNGLE”Venue: ORANGE ACADEMY, 3B Adesoye Street Mende, Maryland, Lagos, Nigeria
