POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 5 EPISODE 11 "SUGAR:

OH! LOVE ME! LOVE ME!! LOVE ME!!! (WINNER POEM OF THE MONTH)

 

Love me by the break of dawn

My shy grace unfolding afore the sun

Love me in my innocence

Respecting the delicacy of my essence

Love me by the light of day

In my summery bloom like the rose of May

Love me when my eyes bright and alive

Tempt and allure you to make me your wife

As the sun reaches its zenith at the peak of noon

Love me like I mean to you the sun, stars and moon,

And though I become yours for better or worse

Love being in love with me without remorse

Love me when I swollen and ungainly

Nurture a second heartbeat, growing daily

And though already bearing likeness to a baby whale

Pout in constant craving for sweets and ginger ale

When raging hormones turn me into a shrew

Love me still like you don't have a clue

In my on-days and off-days and in-between days

Love me with passion like an inferno ablaze

Love me when there's not much to love about me

Forgiving my tantrums in times we disagree

When others tell you how I’ve become a bug

Politely ask them to go eat a frog

Oh! Love me more in my setting sun

When my skin, like a tree’s bark is cracked and torn

Though my flesh once firm is sagging and forlorn

Love me like you loved me in the early morn

And when my last breath should tempt to leave me, dearest friend

Oh love me, love me, love me, till my very end

As I have loved you from the break of dawn

And love you, I will still, till my breath is gone

Marilyn Maduka 

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And you are the sun

When it shines gently

For you I have songs

Compositions off the soul

You may find some of it on my tongue

But it’s better if you take everything as a whole

My head when its thinks

It thinks you are a queen

My heart when it dreams

It takes you along as if you are my twin

My friends when they tease

Your name comes off their tongues with ease

And when you appear

You are as the moon, pleasing gentleness

Yet your words when offered

Many others subtly witness

Intelligence, humor

Elegance instantly taking form

And you are the radiance

Smooth as the silk of the Arabian

You might dare to think my tongue is filled with fables

But may you first check what you are bringing to the table

For you, I have embarked on a journey

From which I will never be returning

One hand finds another

When working together

The burden becomes light

When with her you become calm, you would know you have found right

When in warmth’s desire, we may think the earth cold

When raking in ire, that’s when a soul with gentleness unfold

Bravely calming the fire, as it threatens to burn

Silently building empires, while tending the corn

Those who have something similar never told the world they have bliss

But kindly indulge me when I say, eternal joy is made of this…

June 8 2012

Akeem Adetayo Oyalowo

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  My CV

Just two sheets of paper

Neatly detailed all I have accomplished

A name, a birth right and a school qualification,

And years of which i have toiled that I called experiences,

Experiences borne out of exploitation

In my quest to survive economic hardship.

A factory, A cafe, A sales company, a banking work and others

With all these I still haven't been working smart,

That lack of smartness spells itself as hardship

For I am still to graple with what smartness meant in this present world.

Where men who work hard can't boast of a pad

For hardwork sometimes doesn't open doors for success.

I looked at those words again

Like a sailor glances through his spy glass

To confirm if truly there behold shore

Or this sea that i set sail has no end to its mane.

So I used the Time New Roman font

May be like the Romans I could capture more minds,

I punched hard at the typing keys

Wishing they could hear its loud pleas.

And made bold my grades

Lest in the interviewer's eyes it fades.

So I gave it a border and placed every word in a table,

Thinking it could hold every word from falling out of place,

Lo! before my eyes all that I have achieved sounds like  a fable

When disapproval was boldly written on his face,

For he still could not find that phrase

That could put his inkling in place.

So i need not be told My CV could not be my saving grace.

So I glanced once again through this microscopic lens called thought

Knowing fully well our lives have been wickedly placed in the jaws of certificates

And not in the soothing hands of what a man can offer.

I am waiting patiently for what tomorrow has in its coffer

While hoping this tide does not grow rougher.

MUYIDEEN ANYINLA

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PAPER TRAIL                

Thirsty                                                          

The tongue of a preacher man                                           

Warning

Calling

At the market square

From the book of conducts quoting

No Bible in hand

Just a paper

Rumples of newspaper

Feisty

The voice of a preacher man

Cursing

Blurting

At a papers stand

From the constitution quoting

No Koran in hand

Just a paper

Copy of yesterday’s paper

Hasty

The call of opposition

Huffy

Disgruntled

From the minority stand of the lower chamber

Issuing a writ of summons

No law book in hand

Just thinking about a paper

Ballot paper

That voice hasty

Gains a switch at the turn of tides

After the ballots are cast

Grunts in gainful occupation

Granulating cubes of sugar

The sweetness gets him singing

Allelujah!

Over oval shaped speakers

Ahuja

Somewhere at Abuja

The thirsty tongue

The feisty voice

All preacher men

Stay lacerated by cracks of hunger

As another voice gets hasty

At the lower chamber                                                           

At Abuja                                                                                   Chukwuemeka  Nov. 13^th 2014.

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P is for Preparation

she was prepped for it

this dance and display

of pretty. nice.sweet

gayly arranged in pink

and colors bright

she smiled at strangers

who cooed at her sweetness

so it was that she rose

throguh the ranks of prettysweet

her gowns were flared and her

shoes dainty with bows

she was prepped to curtsey

and carry her shoulders a certain way

legs were to be placed one after the other

like the panther and all other cats in that

family.

the familiar guest and his son

soon visited more often

she was prepped to smile a certain way

pour the tea just right and sit with hands off the dining table

she was prepped to impress

degrees of lessons went in

to this one

until finally it paid off

she was seen off on a

day before christmas

she wasn't prepped

for the sting of the hand

that now delivered

slaps

nor for the pain when he demanded

for the sweetness of her thighs

she was a talented writer

a lady of beautiful words

spun only on pages of a dairy kept

in secrecy

it wasn't until her last

that the words tumbled out

no one was prepped for the depth of her

beauty. it was never sought or requested of her, the preparations began for her interment

when at last she lay

beauty untapped she

it was written

here lies Mrs. so and so

as though that was all she ever stood for.

 Kemibon.

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SWEET NOVEMBER

I remember it was last July

When happiness became a passerby

And joy joined sorrows alumni`

We said our goodbyes

But the threads I just couldn’t untie

The tears I just couldn’t cry

And the future I just couldn’t buy

And as true friends never lie

True memories also never die

I remember you loved to say to me

“Shopping is hard-work till it becomes a spree”

“A car is cuter when you gift wrap the keys”

My reply was always “Oh please...Spare me”

But now I don’t want to be spared from you cute eyes

Your home made pork pies

Your outrageously colored neckties

Your heart warming lullabies

Oh! You were one adventurous firefly

A true born Gemini

My only true ally

Now it’s November

Our sweet November

And once again …..I remember.

Erhio

November 2014

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SWEET LOVE

Genuine gifts sometimes come

In unwanted packages

As the most beautiful is cocooned

And reluctantly accepted

Feelings and calculations are edged out,

To where they belong

The fiercest furnace

Will only cool the heat within

Like the warmth you get only in Siberia

When that sweet discovery is made

The explanation

Will only be understood without words

Among kindred spirits

Words lack the power to describe it

And will only dim it

Like the luster of a diamond

Drops from this fountain of purest joy

Experienced within these timeless moments,

Could this be the experiencing near heaven’s gate?

Consumed by this sweet love

I dare not stir 

For this moment will last for eternity

Ifeanyi Okwosha                       November 2014

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THE MIDNIGHT SUN NEVER SETS

Stop the sun,
I want to go home;
Been to Venus and back,
But after all the roads had led to nowhere,
And the prodigal is run out of time;
Then going home becomes grail,
what do you give a man who has had everything?

The joke is always on us,
We tiny grains
That can change the course of history.
I love to know my true color
In the eyes of my friend,
But you tell me
Who you want me to be,
And say;
'I wish no chains upon you.'
Your beauty drives men mad,
And your faith push them hard;
your strength seems stronger than mine,
But do you believe what you're saying?

You cross too fast,
While I wait
For the lights to change;
I say waltz with me,
But you say:
'you and those dreaming eyes of yours.'
I know the colors of wishes,
So it kept me wondering,
When were you gonna go my way?

Frustration
Fractures
Bones,
Turns copper blue;
But you can't understand this,
Till u have seen diamonds dissolving.
Drag me down,
Seems that's your fire.
You say 'let your head hang low,'
But I'm no quiet kid by design;
So I won't run from the gun,
Even in the dark.

Ever so keen
On impressions,
So for you I knocked down walls,
But you wanted more.
Thus,
The fortune teller
And the future
Both say;
'Run!'

Top falls down,
Time has come
For a wise farewell;
I kiss the ground goodbye,
Can't help you anymore.
Its the eleventh hour
Of the blackest day,
So with a heavy heart
I watch them burn.
Sweet love,
Love of a diamond,
Sunflower,
Wind and bouquet;
They all fade away.

But
My bitter lips
Still hold sweet secrets,
I'm not giving it all away,
For there are thieves all around.
They see rocks,
These dreaming eyes of mine;
I see them faraway
And I'm ready to walk the distance.
It won't be long
Till I sing November song.

You can sit
In judas' chair,
Feeling all better
As you do your favorite thing;
crown me clown-master.
Watching me walk away
helplessly.
But this time,
I'm walking to the city in the skies,
Home of magic nights;
There
Where the diamonds are halos.
And the next time you see me,
I'll be man on the moon;
There in that city
Where the midnight sun never sets...    

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AND YOU ARE

( . . . to my wife Gloria)

If souls are made of stars

No star with yours can be at par

Sinistral fate the day I met you played it right

You preening like a cygnet

Spreading your pavonine smile

Got me froze in time just in time

To wake me up to love

You lifted me up to juvenescent feelings

And your love deiform by nature

Made me bloom like a fine clowder of kittens

And you are to me like treasures of heaven

And you are a sweet dream alife

All that I asked and more you are

CHISOM

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NEW POETRY VIDEO FROM THE MOST INTERESTING POETS IN NIGERIA WHO READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING

Five new videos on our youtube channel, please watch, comment and subscribe 
1. http://youtu.be/uvioe9x5aJc 
2. http://youtu.be/gCPUogIMV6A 
3. http://youtu.be/8JmSd4yqXog 
4. http://youtu.be/V1Jk_X-0mFs 
5. http://youtu.be/oIp-TsTh3fw 

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YOU ARE INVITED AND IT IS FREE!!! FOR LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEPTEMBER 2014 EDITION AT ORANGE ACADEMY LAGOS

JOIN US ON 11TH SEPTEMBER, 2014 AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 5 EPISODE 9 'NEED" COME LISTEN TO SOME OF THE MOST INTERESTING POETS IN NIGERIA.

TIME: 6.30PM

VENUE: ORANGE ACADEMY, 3B ADESOYE STREET MENDE, MARYLAND LAGOS

YOU CAN SEND IN A WORK TO LOUDTHOTZ@GMAIL.COM TO READ AT THE EVENT.

DEDICATING OUR NEXT POETRY READING TO MAYA ANGELOU

The Loudthotz Poetry Open Reading will be holding on June 12th, 2014 at Orange Academy 3b Adesoye street Mende, Maryland Lagos. The time is 6.30pm to 8.30pm. The theme of the reading is BEWARE. If you would love to read your poem on that day please send to loudthotz@gmail.com

SUCCESSFUL POETRY 1: BASIC NOTES by Prof. Emmanuel Oluwaseun Dairo

SUCCESSFUL POETRY 1: BASIC NOTES by Prof. Emmanuel Oluwaseun Dairo

I'm Prof. [KIS added this] Emmanuel Oluwaseun Dairo and I'll be giving basic lectures on the various things poets need to have in mind in order to write poems that succeed in their primary mission of getting the reader invested.
This class will be conducted in simple language in order to aid easy comprehension by everyone.

Here, we shan’t indulge in some complicated treatise on what makes a poem successful. Rather, our focus is on how poets can infuse their creations with that feel of originality, freshness and relatability to make their works stand the test of time – and of criticism.

In this lesson, we look at some basic things poets must consider before and during the penning process. For one to make poems that succeed, understanding of the intangibles we shall treat below is of utmost necessity.
Let me first freely admit that there is nothing new under the sun – or the moon for that matter.

No matter how interesting and novel your piece seems to be, chances are it has already been written about by some

one else at some place during some time in history; and it will probably be treated on by poets at a future date.
This is because our experiences are ours only in terms of time and space and situation; otherwise, experiences are universal.

Thus the writer who writes on loss or death or love only adds his individual perspective to the innumerable body of works and thoughts already written on those subjects.

The question then arises: how can the poet stand out among the crowd?
Here, we shall look at some of the ways by which a poet may imbue his poetry with an authentic feel.

1. Know Thyself First.
Humans are possessed of different attributes and characteristics and each person has his own default predilections which may or may not be similar to those of the next person.
Some are naturally withdrawn, others are outgoing by nature; some are creatures of great feeling, others of great sense; some are rational, others sentimental; some have as yet no knowledge of any fruit, others have eaten the apple many times over.
Whatever the case, each person’s peculiar experiences, knowledge attributes come together to define his general attitude to things -- what is referred to as VOICE in literary theory.
Whenever one engages in poetry, it is important to know where one is starting from – every flight of fancy must begin from a visible airstrip; for, self-awareness is the launchpad for the imagination.

2. Follow your mood not the crowd!
Poets are creatures of feeling, poetry then is bred of feeling. It follows then that each person’s poetry should be bred of each person’s feeling, not of what everyone else seems to be writing about. In African literature for example, there is this general expectation that everyone should write on social and political issues else he isn’t an authentic African writer. This need not be so. Poetry is wide enough to accommodate the social crusader and the romantic, the moralist and the pleasure seeker. Write what you like, what you feel like writing, not what the public expects. Osagie Fervency writes mostly on romantic themes simply because that is where he is most comfortable. KIS is a social crusader by choice and that predilection reflects in most of his writings. Whenever a prominent figure dies, there is a flood of eulogies.
If you don’t feel like writing one, then don’t!
Be led by feeling, not trends. It is feeling that animates the poem and the percipient critic would easily note the lack of life in a poem not bred of feeling.

3. Use words well.
If you want to paint a picture of ordinary life, employing bombastic and grandiloquent vocabulary will do your poem little service and even less good.
On the other hand, romantic poetry demands words that are sensual in effect. This is an extremely important point: your choice of words needs to be contextually relevant.
Nightingales and snow, for example, have no business in a poem about Nigeria – neither do British dialectal diction. (Do I hear some groans from those who write like Shakespeare? Well, you all should petition God to move Nigeria to a temperate climate).

The tools of the poet’s trade are words, and what powerful tools they are! When used well, they can bring tears to a lover’s eyes, fear to a tyrant’s breast and a whole nation to its knees.

But when used wrongly? Aww, let’s not even go there – just get critic insurance because you’ll need it.

4. Use vocabulary you can handle.
Let’s all admit we would like to use flashy and high-sounding words in our poems if we can. But the reality is that not everyone can handle grand diction.

Poetry is less about flamboyant language than about exciting the reader’s senses. All words can be used to poetic effect but not all kinds of words are appropriate in all kinds of poetry (even this lecture uses simple words – it is a plain tutorial not some grand academic treatise).

If you don’t know how to string big words together to achieve poetic effect then by all means use simple words else your big-grammarred poem will be sentenced to death by gruesome critical destruction at the hands of no-nonsense critics like Jesse Unoh and Senator Ihenyen. Evil geniuses, both of them.

5. Put fresh spins on archetypes.
There are some archetypes that are so common in poetry that only a fresh perspective saves them from becoming stale whenever they are used nowadays. These include the idea of life as a journey, death as the end. Another is the depiction of Nigeria’s wealth as the national cake.
Now, suppose you want to pen a poem about life’s journey, rather than use the common portrait of a journey by foot or car/bus/trailer, you could be more imaginative and use other things that move from one place to another. You could use a plane, a space mission, keke napep, etc. or simply create your own vehicle.
Another strategy is to change the environment of travel. For instance, you could remove your metaphorical car from the road and place it in the high-pressure situation of a race track.
There is this old elevator in my faculty of six floors. Now, I could use that elevator’s journey from the ground floor to the top floor as a metaphor for life’s journey. That’s one way to change both vehicle and environment.
Do that and I’ll be your fan.

6. Learn to compress your thoughts.
 Poetry isn’t just about expressing yourself, it is also about compressing that expression in a way that encourages the reader to dig for the meaning behind the lines. That’s the reason a line of poetry is usually shorter than a line of prose.
Obviously, the level of packaging varies from poet to poet and poem to poem, but some unwrapping is still a necessity if your penning is to be regarded as poetry.
If you have nothing to compress, kindly send the article to Punch or YNaija. Don’t k-leg it into lines of poetry.

7. Some topics are better felt than imagined.
Senator Ihenyen’s new collection Stranger in the Mirror of my Life is about the various facets of the HIV/AIDS pandemic, especially in Nigeria.
The author spent actual time visiting scores of AIDS victims, listening to their stories, witnessing their sufferings, empathising and sympathising with them rather than simply imagining their woes.
As a result, readers with HIV will find his poems very relatable and readers without HIV will find them believable.
If you want to write about flood victims, go visit some flood victims; if you want to write on rape, go talk to rape victims etc etc. for these kinds of subjects, research is as important as the imagination

That'll be all for now. We shall continue in same vein when we next assemble here.
Please feel free to drop your comments, questions and. suggestions in the comments section. Also read and share.


 Thank You.

POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 5 EPISODE 1 "GENESIS"

DEARLY BEFORGOTTEN  (POEM OF THE MONTH)
You were my darkness before the light
My dusk before the dawn
You were my seed before it grew
My embryo before the bump
You were the boy I made a man
The girl time bled into a woman
You are my ijapa turn muscle
My thousands turn million

Dearly beforgotten, though this race is won
And your embrace was a familiar one
I am taking this moment to remember
Yes I choose to fan those embers
For indeed beforgotten, you gave me my present AND my future

DOLAPO POOPOLAThe Virgin Poet ©2013
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I AM HUMAN!
Please allow me introduce myself…
I Am Human!
I guess that should say it all,
and end this freaking poem.

But I see that look...
That look in your eyes.
Yes you, your eyes.
As your brain goes to work
behind those pondering eyes
trying to decipher my intent.
So I shall not stop yet
till your curiosity is stuffed.

Even before inception,
gathered around me,
was a great crowd of witnesses.
While I was yet a murky amoeba,
they scanned and spooked me
checking if I was...
A he, a she or an it.
Alone, a twins or a Siamese.
They forced my still forming heart
to play weak melodies
to gladden their hearts.

From birth,
they belabour me
with yokes of expectations...
Suck bobby only for 6months,
then pap and cerealac,
but don’t suck your thumb.
Start crawling at one,
walking at one and half,
jumping and running at two.
Oya say “dada"
Oya say “mama"
Oya say “bye-bye".
One letter word,
two letter words,
three letter words to Z.
One plus one,
two plus two,
three plus three ad infinitum.
Go to church,
when pastor says "praise the lord"
you say "hayyeyuyah!".
On and on they try to pound me
into a perfect little doll.

From an amoeba to a grown man
these witnesses do not dwindle,
and the yoke of expectations
gets heavier and heavier
with each passing day.
You dare not trip and tumble
or they will be
Disappointed
Embarrassed
Sad
Cheated
Deceived
All of them!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fathers
Mothers
Siblings
Wives
Children
Friends
Pastors
Teachers
Bosses
and a million others.

They all expect perfection.
"Be this, don't be that"
"No! No!! No!!!"
"Not that way, this way".
"Don't tell a lie...not even white"
"Don't stare at booby or arse"
And the cacophony keeps rising in my head
"Be a player...NO...Be a good guy"
"Drink...NO...Don't drink"
"Smoke...NO...Don’t smoke"
"Don't give head, but take head"

A vein bursts in my brain!
Blah-Blah-Blah!!!
Sharrap y’all...Just sharrap!

Let me be free to be human.
Don't box me up
in your mental cage
while you roam free.

I am human!
I am no divinity.
I am not perfect
neither will I ever be.
Even the divine flaws sometimes
or was Lucifer not once
Heaven’s muse?
I do not strive for perfection
I strive to be human
I strive to be better.
That's all that I hope for.

I am human!
Sometimes I’ll stoop low,
kiss the green grass,
make love to the brown earth
and rise again stinking of shit!
I am human!
Sometimes I will so
fall, fornicate and fuck-up.
Why do your lips part?
shut it before you catch a fly.

If I ever fall short of your expectations,
I owe you no apologies.
Deal with it!
If to err is human
and I am human,
then I shall err
God help you
if you think I’m divine!

TEMITOPE JOSEPH
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IT STARTS WITH A THOUGHTA thought flutters by
A quick glance at the sky
A magical glint in my eyes
Uneasiness that won’t go away
A feeling that something is at bay
But it just trickles down the drain
Damn…I need that thought to flutter by again

Two heads are better than one
Isn’t it sad we actually have none
Wise men say a stitch in time saves nine
So they stitched from five to nine
They stitched both yours and mine
Senselessly stitching the wrong way
They realized it and refused to say
They tried to turn confusion into an illusion
Hoping the needle would offer a solution
While they offered the bald the latest hair softening lotion
They offered the blind a free course on the effect of land pollution
If that thought flutters by we just might avoid an implosion

To read we were told we had to learn our ABC’s
But now there’s a bestseller written in Chinese
Thousands of people hustle to go overseas
They hustle to come back to the Nigerian dream
What’s the point? What don’t we get?
That damn thought hasn’t fluttered by yet

You look around and see all that is wrong
I look around and see lyrics for a new song
We might not be living the Nigerian dream
We still don’t know how to speak Chinese
The confused Stitchers now fight and bite
We just sit back, relax and write
For a thought just fluttered by again
And this time I had my paper and pen

ERHIO,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
NOW IS THE BEGINNING
I have often wondered
All I have is what I have been told
What I have read
And what I have discovered
As I grew older I noticed
All my opinion is formed
Mostly of what was handed to me

The norm is different
It is a bit hard to swallow
Go with the flow is mostly the feedback
When the naked shamelessness
Speak volumes of incomprehensible madness
Of what the norm is
Where most complain
And do exactly same

I have often wondered
The rush to learn
Mostly what is useless for real life
From the very day a new journey begins
A road map is drawn
The smartest and the richest
Are they the first to make Heaven?
I have often wondered

The beginning is the end in a ring
As the cycle evolves
Spiraling up or down
I will not be fooled again
I will make my choices from the beginning
Now is the beginning


IFEANYI OKWOSHA                              January 2014
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LEST I FORGETThere was a time we felt good about luck
If he can do it, you also can
So you carried the can with the tick of your thumbs
Then certain prices jumped
Now he carries your curse
At the expense of lost hopes
You are still not looking at yourself, you might actually be a lost soul
Albeit one of many
In other words, there are millions like you, millions aplenty
Lest I forget
His is a head black and shiny like a fake rocket
You might in the past have associated him with brilliance
He deposited all of that in a sinking think-tank
Now he yarns dust
Often tries to come first by trying too hard
Erections off the mouth often makes retards
Lest I forget
There’s a certain man, whose names spells a letter more than mockery
Who through the pen displays thuggery
And I know this might sound ugly
but when written words x-rays you as crude
then your thoughts are absent of food
so while your boss once went without shoes
you locked in a fight with wisdom and stupidity is advising you to abandon truce
lest I forget
the guy built up like a suspect
whose tongue re-shaped his prospects
he is just one reason
why refusal to save should be termed as treason
a stiff neck, thick voice, rude but polished demeanor
means he can do more than just talk and abuse
lest his heavy weight is just pumped up refuse
he should lead the presidential guards
lest I forget
these few thoughts are not in jest
your misdemeanors are so many
you inspire forgetfulness
your incompetence is legendary
there’s not much polished grammar can do
except if certain wives take lessons in proper pronunciations and compositions
and I wouldn’t dare forget
the beginning of the countdown
y’all disaster clowns should soon be leaving crown…

AKEEM OYALOWOJanuary 8, 2014
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,TALK ABOUT GIRLSLet's talk about girls And their dainty spells. Let's talk about them Like we talk of our priceless gem. Let's talk about the damsel- Whose heart was our lone cell.

We will talk up in our dorm and their subject our moment's rum Getting our lungs filled with love's fantasies Basking in the aura of feminine charm Every words said a healing balm.

Let's talk about girls And their undaunted love Let's talk about beauty Entwined in masculine duty.

Let's talk about the girl As we hallucinate of our wedding bell. Talk of how she makes you smile And how she drives you nut for a while

We are young and prime A talk about her isn't a crime. When the day seems tense And you seems to have lost some sense Talk about the girl you love Whose arm is your resting place.

Let's talk about girls Her dark hair and sparkling teeth The smoothness of her skin- And the dimple up her chin.

Talk, before someone else does Implore this moment to her or through the door she goes. Tell us of how to love you fall And how on bended knees you proposed it all.

Talk about girls Talk about the love she bore. Talk about girls, Talk about her love the more and more.
MUYIDEEN
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
A WORD FOR NOW AND THENAsk not how last year has gone
Ask not how this year must go
Make your plans and pray to God
That this year be nice and sweet

If any plans this year you make
Let it be for humanity's sake
Put all feuds inside to death
Bury it deep inside your earth

Let this oath into your heart
That your art your heart must speak
Don't you care for fame or gain
Nor for good rhymes in verse

Let your words grow deep within
Forge it till it shines and gleam
That when sown in ears to hear
With grateful hearts we cheer your name

Let generations praise their gods always
That such your soul was born to be
Such a world your words do spin
Of dark or lovely sights boldly sewn
CHISOM,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,                                             THIS IS NOT A SONG OF SORROW
He had sons to fire the gun
Daughters to wail when his mouth was closed.
The affairs of this world were not like chameleon feces into which he stepped.
When he cleaned it, it went.
He sat on the front row with the eminent.
He went beyond and was not forgotten.
The rain did not beat him.
The sun did not burn him.
The firewood of this world was for him.
Because he took heart and gathered it.
Inspite of some difficulties the world was good for him.
He travelled and many times came back.
Came back covered with accolades.
Inspite of all the evidence to the contrary his great household still stands.
The tree on which he leaned is standing.
And the trees in the fence are termite resistant.
Things have not fallen apart.
The center though rather shaky is holding.
Your people will find a certain measure of ease because the arrow of God
Comes with a tail of white feathers acting as a flag of truce.
And true men and women of the people will arise
To move the beloved nation forward.
And on the anthills of both the savannah and the desert the vestiges of good governance will be established.
We live in hope.
And our counsel to the soul brothers is to beware.
Brothers do not quarrel.
And even the girls at war have called a truce in the interest of the country that is.
And the answer you gave to the trouble with Nigeria is still the starting point of all our discourse.
By your lives and your words you both let the light in.
We are glad that you passed this way.
ANDREW ODE,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
LET ME TAKE YOU TO THE BEGINNING
Before Bob
and Whitney
Before the weed
got the best of Marley
When Eve turned
leaves into Bikinis
An act that
equals feats
performed
by
Houdini
Let me take you to the beginning
 Before Jobs
Ate
The
Apple
That caused
Cancer
Before Zukerberg
Invented
his weapon
of mass distraction
Before CNN
Became
The tool
For creating
Mass hysteria
And Twitter
Became the Magic Mirror
For
Self Delusion
Let me take you to the beginning
Before
I began
Reading
This
Poem
AJIBOLA,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
WHAT KINDWhat kind of life is this for a child?
Neglected like a cob without a corn on an asphalt full of potholes of staggered hopes.
 Living like a derelict
Even though he's been fed from a woman's hand this morning.
 Playing pawn to peddlers with purple face.
 He's the crab down the food chain, slipping
God's happy leaves into pockets of the children of the most high.

I'm just the eyes behind the louvers of a project Window.                           
Snitching, committing a crime on the street -writing a poem about this infant peddler who has been misled like a sheep with a skunky herdman.

Imagine all have seen and penned down could be chopped and shoved into paint tubes.                             
And squeezed out in colours on a palette.                                                 
Take a canvas, paint a perfect picture, step aside.                               
Critique the details, blend the strokes, step aside ,put a frame and hang it on the wall of a gallery            
with flocking art heads committing lookery, muttering under their breaths 'it's cool, its beautiful.
 I love the colours'.                                              
 Forgetting the part of the child           
 forgetting it's a plague, abuse and shame to the social order.

So what kind of society will let a child like this slip from her back?

HAVALANCHE