LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 14 EPISODE 2 BENT EVENT

Louthotz Poetry Reading Season 14 Episode 2

 

Theme: ”BENT”

Venue: ON ZOOM CLICK HERE 

Date: Feb 9, 2023

 Time: 6:30pm – 8.30pm

If you are a poet or a lover of poetry, turn up, and let's enjoy an evening of poetic bliss together at Loudthotz Open Reading. Feel free to share with anyone you know who might be interested. 

Loudthotz is an Open Poetry Reading platform where poets and lovers of poetry gather every second Thursday of the month to read, listen, critique, and review poems and enjoy an evening of poetic bliss.

HOW LOUDTHOTZ WORK 1. If you are a poet and want to read your poem during the open reading, send your poem on the theme of the month to loudthotz@gmail.com. 2. If you are a lover of poetry and just want to listen and enjoy an evening of poetic bliss, feel free to attend the open reading. 3. During the open reading, all poems are displayed on a big screen one after the other for the authors of each of the poems to read or perform. 3. During the open reading, all poems are displayed on a big screen one after the other for the authors of each of the poems to read or perform. 4. After the reading, the poem is reviewed, and critiqued by the audience and the author is called upon to talk about his/her poem. 5. After all poems have been read or performed, the best poem of the night is selected and the winner is presented with a prize. 6. At the end of the year, all poems read or performed during the monthly open reading are collated and published as an anthology for the year. 7. if you won’t be available and you still want your work to be read and included in the anthology make a payment of 1k here https://paystack.com/pay/preading contact us here 07064384235 ATTENDANCE IS FREE

POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 13 EPISODE 4 - GREED

 

WINNER POEM OF THE MONTH

LIMITLESS SKIES – POEM OF THE MONTH

You may choose not to agree or see

The thin line between need and greed

You may think its mean

To consider needs as greed

Or the needy greedy

But it is somewhat tough

To know when it's enough

To know when to stop

When to hop on to the train of contentment

And leave the basement

That fine moment

You realize

You already have the prize

It's not about being frugal

Or placing straw on a camel

But at that moment

Needs dwindle

Dangling carrots get ignored

There's suddenly a limit to more

Debits become credits

Baskets become buckets

Cracked eggs make omelets

Rags get turned into puppets 

To see the thin line between need and greed

First picture how some seeds 

Birth weeds.

 

 

Erhio

 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

THESE CREEDS OF MEN

The unborn thoughts threaten our sanity

The air is thick with them

All the senses feel the tension

Every opportunity shows its fruit

As we plunge ever deeper into normalizing insanity

 

These creeds of men

Made by men

For men and their vices

They affirm it is in His honour

And lead only to Him

To give credence to their authority

 

The creed of men chose the thief

Their kind over the innocent

And still do the same today

The form changes

They change their cloak

They think they are wiser

As they head south

 

In creeds vast desert

There will always be an oasis

 

Ifeanyi Okwosha     

////////////////////////////////////////

*HUMANE HYPOCRISY*

A menace, a spiritual disaster.

Which human dwells in.

It is above conquest they say,

while it depletes humanity.

 

Fallen nations, Innocent deaths,

as a human find satisfaction

in his brother's asset.

Meanwhile, he has got millions of it.

 

Brothers of Joseph,

of the same blood and gene,

forsook their genuiness,

and embraced greed as a companion.

 

Actions birth reactions.

Greed birth conflicts with no resolutions.

A rich man in a mansion,

killed his poor friend over a land.

 

It is a form of passion,

as it drives its host crazy.

He drives hard to satisfy

the intuitions of the devil in the guise of exuberance.

 

Its cure sinks into Earth every second,

as humans fail to recognize its significance.

Even when they claim to have search its four poles

to no avail. Humane hypocrisy; a stale tale.

 

–JesusOfLagos

Akanle Jesus Abdullah

 

/////////////////////////////////////////

BANDAGE 

I'm a man with damaged soul 

Breathing with a worse heart

Like old furniture 

Bless with the clearest biggest eye 

And unable to see the world 

When I have sealed in life prison 

Like caging birds 

 

Tapeworm termites and invisible wicked insects 

Were turning my body to their perfect home like Rome 

And bones to playing toy 

As the stunning moon insisted to frying me like suyar meat 

Life too playing me like soccer football 

 

Pundit

Yusuf Adisa

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

LETTER TO MY FELLOW BLUE BUTTERFLIES

 this poem is water; 

an open letter

to the fellow blue butterflies

that fly on my head.

it's a letter; a poem

that soliloquies, &

reads the notes on our grief. 

dear fellow chained blue butterflies,

i read in the book

written by the fingers

of our grandfathers

that all the boys 

in our city were meant

to write memoirs;

memoirs on how they

enjoyed the wind

of our fatherland. but here 

we're, reading the red notes

that resemble my father's blood. 

& i asked the standing moon

of our galvanized homes. i asked 

the gallivanting sun on the men

who swallowed our land. all silent, 

afraid of being taken by rough

men. & the fearless stars

escaped the imminent sky

and said motherland’s eaten 

by the men we hanker to 

have our heads touched

by their cruel hands. 

dear pained fellow blue butterflies, 

it's now the beginning of the end;

the drum’s to be beaten, again.

remember, it's our fingerprints

that can give them another breath

that might rain us an acid rain, again.

Salim Yakubu Akko

 

//////////////////////////////////////////

GREED

 

Saw a mad man smiling today,

There was a swagger about his feet’s,

He must have found treasure.

 

What kind of treasure?

An hidden buffet?

In cellophane bags

His treasure unfolds 

 

Grey headed bread,

Crippled sardines,

Lazy fruits 

Stuffs 

 

Saw a normal man today.

There was a drag on his step

Two daughters, Side by side 

He must have lost treasure

 

What kind of treasure?

A bundle of fame?

In cellophane bags,

His treasure missing 

 

Leaves from trees

trees called banks 

Can’t take note

Currency’s fool 

 

Blind to podium,

Olympic stands,

Of both treasures

by his side

 

Who is really 

really Mad?

 

 

AlexDeScribe 

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

GREED

She is that woman in charge

Serving party jollof and meat

"Yes it's finished" she yells

But goes home with a black nylon

Enough to feed a community.

 

She is that woman in black

Soaking in loud tears for the loss

"He was such a good man" she cries

But reddens her lips with his blood

To amass  wealth, she killed him.

 

She is that woman in the office

Sitting in the heart of the governor

"You'll be richer" she whispers

Projects undone; hospitals dilapidated

Corruption blew a kiss to embezzlement.

 

She's that woman in church

Watching over the tithes and offerings

"Falsify figures" she suggests

Even God, Himself understands this

You eat from where you work.

Esther Okekwuo (REHTSE)

/////////////////////////////////////

GREED:

 

Pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth, these seven in addition to their close cousins, sadness and vainglory.

 

But the one under consideration is greed.

 

A thing which drove Marlowe's Faustus, amidst all the confusions and contusions of life, learning and literature.

 

A subset of which is, making many endless books, which weigh down the psyche and the collective unconscious.

 

A doctrine of good greed as propounded by the Gekko of Wall Street and Ayn Rand's Virtuous Selfishness, which results in isolation and suicide for the rich and envy and murder for the poor.

 

At least, Dostoyevsky's peroration in the Brothers Karamazov drives that belief.

 

Greed is good by some reckoning, because it can serve some beneficial purpose in the context of motivation and inspiration;

 

making the push for better, bigger and faster  social and economic outcomes.

 than they have.

 

But greed is not good.

It is tripled with avarice and lusty epithumia.

 

Altruism is better, but has little or no sex appeal; no drive, no oomph nor charisma.

 

Declare your Jihad on greed and all it's relatives, seen and unseen, and then you can fully unleash all of your light, if I understand all that Al Ghazali is saying.

 

Greed is a torrent which overturns the good of life and derails the trains of advancement and development.

 

ANDREW WHYTE

///////////////////////////////////

MEN DO CRY

 

Men do cry

For I know what the eyes of a father

Looks like

When they see

The shallow graves

Of their sons

Dug by greed

Greed is a lazy worker

With sparkling lights

And flurry sounds

But often dies before

The lights shine the brightest

Greed strips a man

Make him stretch out his hands like palm fronds

Swaying to every stranger

Gaunt eyes like the eyes of poverty

Non-descript

Empty

 

Chisom

 

POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 11 EPISODE 08 - GIVEN

 

GIRL!!  - Poem of the month

 This one is a memo for my girls ‘em! 

The sky is falling, Girl, 

Let’s hold hands while catching it. 

Happiness isn’t a given, Girl, 

It’s your job to hack it. 

Power is never bestowed, Girl, 

You’ve got to grab it. 

Oh! I’m so tired of being stereotyped, Girl, 

You aint even started. 

Let’s just dance around these issues because Girl, 

The world isn’t ready. 

You are too loud, too strong willed, delusional, 

Don’t know your place, Girl, 

There is nothing new! 

 

The Message 

This message is clearly not of love, but Girl, 

I love to preach it! 

Oh, Feminism is bitter but Girl, 

It fights your battles 

Equality is the norm, but Girl 

They love to twist it 

They selling equity but Girl, 

No equilibrium. 

you love to work, love to clean, love to boss, 

love to love, love to serve, Girl just go do it. 

365 days, be kinging and queening, Girl,  

However you like it. 

And what’s more Girl, 

I love to see it! 

LOLADE OYE AJAYI

/////////////////////

Give Back My Soul & Take My Body

in this one, my mother is a back pain;

the reason I can't lay to bed since three fortnights 

 

she places her age-old cauldron over

my head—the fire

 

burning wild in blue flame. she never asked

why I disappeared in a scene of combustion

 

folded with waves of various wavelengths

stashed at a migraines fingertips

 

this is what we give; my mother and I

that we give to make peace

 

she has all the answers hung by the

dusty corners of her boudoir

 

look! look again!

this is what she gives; my mother

 

that she gives to make peace

to blink my tears away

 

to turn the telly off of those who watch as grief

envelopes an innocent body like a

 

cocoon does a budding butterfly

this is what i give; i a butterfly

 

learning how not to do what i do best; to fly

to make do with the laundry ongoing in my head

 

Olaitan Humble

 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////

Queen of Philippines 

 

Queen of Philippines 

She is to me like pink

Sweet, blush

 

When my eyes rest on her fresh bloom 

I feel a tug in my heart 

Love 

 

So perfect, this gift of nature. 

 

Kemibon 

///////////////////////////////////

GIVEN

 

'What's on your mind?'

fleets of cars?

Or sheets of scars?

 

What's on your mind?

darkness and luxury?

Or sadness and fury?

 

What's on your mind?

dark fantasies?

Or stark miseries?

 

Your mind? Or our mind?

What is there to find?

Or are we all blind?

 

Whatever it is on our mind

Is either given to us

Or given by us.

 

Chima Daniel

//////////////////////////////////

GIVEN: POETRY

 

Gifted are these words

To fingers that scribed them,

Gifted are these words

To voices that speak them,

Gifted shall it be

To minds buried

Beneath landlocked sand grains.

 

They shall become your beam of light,

Healer of your soul.

 

Poetry is your messiah,

A pot of ink,

The burnt offering to gods,

The day and night

Watchers of your soul.

 

Your mind shall see the light,

You shall be free.

 

Kolade Olawale Kabir Àdèlé 

 

////////////////////

TO DOMINATE IN A CONTEST

Our deepest phobia,

Is not we are going to quibble.

 

Our deepest phobia,

Is no we are going to quite.

 

Our deepest phobia,

Is to concentrate on our mission.

 

We have professor,

Who am I, to brilliant, talented,

Who am I, not to be?

 

We were born to manifest the glory of God,

That is within us.

 

Why are we misusing it?

Those women are the glory of God,

But we destroy the life story,

Just for 5 minutes enjoyment,

And forever sorrow.

 

We have let our own light dark,

Because we follow our heart desires,

Not care for others,

We off the glory light,

And turn the entire life on darkness,

Because of our stupidity.

They have turned our girls to windows,

Because they rape them and lift them.

 

They destroy the life our future wife,

And spoil tomorrow.

 

They are not Man,

But Animal,

Those who did not follow the will of God.

 

They shall not be forgive,

Who so ever commit such a crime,

 

Rape in our community,

Is nothing but produce bad children to our community.

 

Say no to Rape!

A real man never Rape.

Say no to Rape.

 

 Dhikirullahi, Olayiwolah, Tatanbara.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The Journey

As he wandered through the forest of his thoughts

Almost blinded by the storm of his emotions

He stumbled against his insecurities

Sweated from the heat of his fears

Staggered under the weight of his goals

Yet

He could hear

The silent whisperer

Whispering hope

Whispering a way

Whispering Light

The silent words gripping his heart

Yet he stumbled on

He felt  glances pricking his skin

As he picked up another rock

To him it was a trophy

Telling how far he had come

To him it was needed

And so he stumbled on

Refusing to let go

Refusing to listen

Refusing to take what was being given

The silent whisperer whispered on

Knowing the wayfarer could hear

Yet he  just stumbled on

Keeping on his blindfold

Holding tight his rocks

Grumbling under the weight

He journeyed on

Till he was late.

 

 

Erhio

///////////////////////

A Call for Prayer 

 

That

the purity of the sky

shine through the heart of man.

Now! And ever!

 

That

the soil forgive man's many

trespasses and soil not our toils

but the unwholesome ones.

Now! And ever!

 

That

the sea and oceans see beyond

man's many afflictions

and seek not retribution

at our doorsteps.

Now! And ever!

 

That

the rocks, hills,

trees and valleys bears

with man more than a little longer.

Now! And ever!

 

That

man's unheeding ills

against the flying-diving-crawling neighbours

and the cousins on two and four

turn surely but quickly on man.

Now! And ever!

 

That

no known and unknown

tongue, creed and colour

shall n'ever subdue the humanity in man.

Now! And ever!

 

And that,

humanity shall n'ever come to amity desecrating nature.

Now! And ever!

 

-Amami H.

///////////////////////////

BROKEN TOGETHER

They sailed on and on

As the wind blew ashes of a painful separation

Which the elements absorbed like a sponge

The void that was created on this ship

Which set sail a long time ago

Hoping was like a mirage

A waking dream to a sleeping reality

 

Ashore it was a calm wind and weather

When they set sail

Now the tidal waves of emotions

Have cast them rudderless and birthed a blurry destination

The sail is climaxing

Into a swan song, a dirge

All mingled in one

Yet as far as the stars are in adorning the robe of the night sky

To this blue speck

 

The pain became painless

For pain could not bear the pain they habour

It will kill a billion and more

But its roots lie in that that cannot die

For even in death it lives

 

They sail on and on

The anchor is still very much on deck

 

As day turns its pages to weeks, months and years

Within a prison of the physically free

 

Ifeanyi Okwosha

//////////////////////////////////

For Brianna – Part 1 – A gift

They say bowed heads can’t hold a crown

With my head bowed in humility

You are the most beautiful crown I can ever wear

When you were given, there was worship because

You are the church I am the congregation

I think I was put on this earth to find love

But I found you, you are better than love.

Bri

 

Chisom

////////////////////////////////

GIVEN 1:

 

Things that are assumed

and expected.

 

Philosophical, mathematical underpinnings;

 

Prepackaged judgements that make scientific enquiry possible; that allow for philosophical formulations.

 

Without them, there is no

basis for determining what is.

 

The things that produce outliers beyond the pallid self- aggrandizing claims of self-making and pulling up by the bootstraps.

 

As if without boots and straps

any pulling can take place.

 

Understanding that if this is,

then that will be, without shock 

and horror or even awe.

 

Much like Van Til's presuppositionalism- things so self evident like equality and freedom, that denial no matter how finessed must be deliberate.

A deliberation attracting swift vilification.

 

The basis of the simplicity that

is at the other side that is the complexity of our lives.

 

Creating a starting point

without which nothing starts.

Ex Nihilo is not a part of the cocktail.

 

A word used in scientific theory

and hijacked by all the other fields of study( much as they did with Paradigms and their shifts, an engineering/ physics word coopted and absorbed into management speak)- philosophy, theology.

 

Even life itself is a given.

And that is where we leave it!

 

GIVEN 2:

 

To whom much is given,

much is expected.

From whom much

Is taken, much is expended-

Much rationalization, much explication to create a balm

for the troubled soul.

 

Many books.

Much learning.

Of which there is no end;

which makes diviners mad;

which is a weariness to the same traumatizing  traumatized- by oppression- soul!

 

They took, they were  most certainly not given.

 

They took Native American lands by dripping blood on the trail of tears; by tearing out hearts

and burying them at wounded knee.

 

They took Congo, sight unseen

and never seen- the holocaust practitioner who never saw the land, but built up his land with it's treasures.

 

They took African lands and told

us quic quid plantatur solo solo cedit and told us res ipsa loquitor.

They took

They stole

They were not given.

 

Now, there are others- who want our sovereign souls by guarantee.

This time not by force, but by financial stealth and clout.

The difference this time- they

are both taking and being given.

 

ANDREW WHYTE