POEMS READ AT OUR LAST POETRY READING ON SEPTEMBER 14, 2023

 

WATCH ON YOUTUBE HERE

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BETRAYED

Once bound by blood, a trust did thrive,

In darkness, trust was torn apart, a friend deceived.

Robbers’ greed, a friendship marred,

Betrayal’s sting, forever scarred.

 

CI_Mayende

Uganda

 

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WHY I CAME

I came here to float on the plains where anchors are not seen

Here within ear shots of loud whispers and singed egos

I came here to land punches where bruises count as prep

I came here for the envy of friends

Who are reluctant to learn speaking in tongues, otherwise defined as french

I came here to ignore your stares

To fight fears,

Back to sources, where pure springs won’t spring from

Sublime less on cold truths and gaping faults

I came here to open vaults, where treasures spread beyond exclusive blood cults

I came here to show up

So that caretakers will own up

I came here to spread the message of fighting clans

Offsprings off the mark in mass exodus to foreign lands

We will be third abroad and second at home,

Since number one seems an exclusive preserve of foreigners

I came here to gloat about what was achieved and what is glaringly possible

A work that was left undone, no matter the hours devoted

We could not have our way, no matter how many of us voted

I came here to let the brothers know

Cool is the gang until we reveal the curtain’s soul

A towel should not drip before it cleans

We cannot say the soil is soiled, if the land is green

I came to here to nurture,

To start the departures from a vulture’s culture

Which rises with the need

To see a sea of bodies of bended knees

I don’t want to be friends with towers that won’t bend

I won’t be keen to be kin with them, if our values do not blend

If honor is not met with true colors

Where to our shock and horror

The hands which you labored to pick up

Stands up erect, to kick off

The game of slangs

Where baring fangs

Volunteered to carry the weight of fanning flames of hate,

In stark reverse of what and how you should be repaid…

 

Akeem Adetayo Oyalowo

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BROTHERS:

 

They were not the brothers

in the game of thrones,

the sons of fortune,

though they were sons of fortune;

 

not brothers in a river runs through it,

a classic which I have not quite seen

the point of, much like Finnegan's wake

or Ullysses where only the last page makes

any sense to me.

 

Not brothers like Sonny, Fredo and Michael

of the Corleone's nor Tom and Sid of the Sawyers.

They somewhat resonated with the Biblical Kane and Abel, reprised in Archer's

Kane and Abel.

 

The grapes of wrath;

the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,

the Sound and Fury- a Shakespearean trope exploited by Faulkner,

 

on to Biff and Happy in Death of a Salesman-

Millers magnum opus after the ostensibly shotgun marriage to Marilyn Monroe- Monroe not Manson!

 

There is no missing out on

the Brothers Karamazov,

Dostoyevsky's breakout,

though I prefer Crime and Punishment.

 

Neither my crime nor my punishment,

but Dostoyevsky's book which thankfully

was not as prolix as Tolstoy's war and peace

which should have been either War or Peace,

but not both together.

 

All that said Brothers must live together

with wisdom or perish separately as fools.

On that basis only is survival possible!

 

Brothers as accountants for one another,

checking pulses and judging emotions-

fiduciary, physician, psychiatrist!

 

Shaking hands to show broken barriers,

openness and vulnerability

 

Giving hugs-

bear hugs and not,

clasped hands between chests-hugs. 

 

Brother to brother

standing shoulder

to shoulder!

 

ANDREW WHYTE

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MAKING MY BED

In making my bed
I’ll want to tuck in the sheets
But I’m too jaded to be so perfect all the time
As a participant in the assembly of citizens
I observe as sojourners like me trudge on
Seeking
The elixir of life
An illusion
Or does it only seem so because our blindfolds are on
And we can’t see tomorrow?
Vanity calls out to me and it holds no joy
I am not moved by the pleasures of this world
And yet the pleasures are pleasing
Please lift this burden of goodness that I wear like a cloak
It is heavy and my path is filled with thorns
My brothers in arms understand
We walk a bloody road
And our destination, known but unknown
My songs are hallelujah
And Hosanna
While I’ll praise Him with the whole of my being
The imperfection of my essence never fails to ask questions
Those which my spirit answer with confidence
Alas the spirit will always be willing
And the flesh weak
If temptations do not take me now
Then maybe I will have a step in paradise
I’ll make my bed
I’ll make my bed               
In Ecclesiastes                   

Kemibon        

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TWO SIDES OF A COIN.

 

Like bread and butter,

We mingle and haller;

Life is for the living,

Together we hammer!

 

I sneeze, you stutter,

Together we hunger

For better or worse,

We journey on higher.

 

Tall, short, small, large,

Respect is rife,

In life as we strive

To grow in hype or strife.

 

We part to reassemble,

We laugh to rekindle,

The brotherly love we resemble,

Two sides of a coin; hommies! brothers!

 

Akata Lucy

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AN INSEPARABLE BOND

(BROTHERS)

 

I have dwelt on dreams about one that exists.

Friendships, so strong, now play a gentle twist.

In diversity, we see the true creation of a bond.

Formed of a mindset as if forged from beyond.

The alignment of souls transformed in a trial.

In unison with a vision of a votarist‘s lifestyle

Spirits bottled buoyantly, bringing benediction.

Igniting inspirations of individual imaginations.

Our convictions consolidated so conveniently.

Creating a companionship of a steady identity.

Fuelling foundations for future fraternisation.

Understandings unearth an unbeatable union.

Within, we accept each others imperfections.

As opponents constrained to different nations.

A story composed with no thoughts of an end.

The best of all brothers are mostly best friends.

 

Richard Oyibo

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MY BROTHERS

To those who know what the ocean said

To those who whisper hope

To the window of widowers

To those who listen to the rains

Glean wisdom from the tales of the wind

You are my brothers

To those who cried in borrowed pains and cry borrowed tears

You are my brothers

To those who speak the tongues of the soul

And cajole lost destinies into the right path

Write on the mind the guide to the streams of happiness

To them and these alone are my brothers

To those whose anger is short like a short breath

like the one you take when your betrothed walks up the Isle

Short like a punch, Short like a short temper

You are my brothers

 

Chisom

OUR NEXT POETRY READING ON 9TH JUNE 2022

 

JOIN OUR NEXT READING HERE 

POEMS READ AT LOUDTHOTZ POETRY OPEN READING SEASON 12 EPISODE 6 - THESE TIMES

 

WINNER POEM OF THE MOTH - SOONEST NATHANIEL

First Gong – (poem of the month)

(for the rebels)

 

against our wish, we get on a journey no one knows,  

on our tongues the bitter taste of goodbye.

i begin the sojourn a boy forced into a man

on my mind the empty swing from which I was plucked;

it still goes to and fro awaiting the child in me,

the one who is long gone, the one who will never return.

 

i am Ijendu, man of dust seeking to give laughter full of bubbles

for all the troubles that plague the troubadours;

but there are logs of history that the child’s mind cannot axe.

they lie to say death still has power over youth.

single slave, I, incarcerated in many prisons; remember me?

doe-eyed kid standing with his mother in your street wearing the smile of graves.

 

you need not ask the ritual question, the three markings on my palms are answers.

i did not write this script, fate has a twisted mind, derives pleasure from our burdens;

life. so sweet. time. no more.

 

there was no time for closing ceremonies, no time to ask:

do the dead go hungry too? what currency do ghosts trade in?

now the dogs and the underdogs mope in resilience,

hungry but not angry; the body keeps rumbling in its blood,

ours is the gift of tears, the statues have refused to speak.

but to the arsonist and fire-fighters in hell my message is short

and my prayers are as vindictive as they burn.

 

may satan be the wicked’s only companion; no light. no cameras. action!

let noxious words grow wings fly about like scalar quantities

let me be safe with mathew and mark luking at john.

nene says every wrinkle tells a story but there are stories we should never tell

like how abali ingests ohuda and how hope flies away on ubochi’s wings.

the children do not nurse wild goose ambitions anymore,

things that matter have no weight and occupy space no more.

 

finally, the day has come, to exploit the goldmine

beneath the terra firma of human existence,

no faith in the lines of battles drawn, no god in these lines of poetry,

but with these mere words, a new generation will make god in their own image.

 

Soonest Nathaniel

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IT'S HAPPENING – (worthy of mention)

 

I remember the stories

Stories filled with warnings

Warnings our ancestors tried to give

Every proverb pregnant with meaning

Every story a vision received

Yet we have arrived

For these are 'The Times'

When a tortoise no longer considers it's shell a haven

When the fish can't trust the sea

When a slave ship seems like an escape route

Hmmm

The earth is enveloped in fear

Despair

Uncertainty

And suspicion abound

Trust has been murdered

Belief crippled

Mouths proclaim faith

Yet Hearts silently quake

These are the times described in books of old

Rumours and wars are our daily news

Killings and deaths the latest cruise

Evil is such a norm 

That people no longer squirm

Instead they proclaim

"It could have been worse"

Very dangerous times

Yet resigned to our corners

We lock our doors

Switch off our TVs

And like ostriches we hide

Refusing to stand

Refusing to change

Refusing to listen

Refusing to believe

That these times are real.

Call it whatever name you like

A bad egg will always smell 

Heaven will always be far from hell

These times are shady

Yet maybe my eyes have rose colored lenses

For I can see

Smiling faces

Parties

Celebrations

Commissionings

No remorse

No regard

Yet I can't see the golden calf

So maybe my view is torn in half

Maybe nothing is wrong

With what's going on

Maybe it's just me

Maybe.

These times...hmmm

 

Erhio

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THE CLOCK IS TICKING

The clock is ticking
The hour of twelve is here
Tick, tock, tick, tock it goes
Glasses are shattering
Walls are caving in
The earth is quaking

Sorrows, panicking, fears, deaths
Uncertainty, unforeseen threats, heavy clouds everywhere
Humanity on the verge of total collapse

Tempers are rising
People seeking justice
Cry of wants
Cry of needs
We see everyday
Grateful hearts are less and less
Giant strides are gone
Replaced with anger, causes and bitterness

The land is bleeding
Rights trampled on
Shamelessness is now our face
Insatiable wants our partner
Good deeds are now laughable
Minds are filled with evil

Lift up your heads my people
Lift up your hearts
The journey to freedom comes with equity
Loneliness will remain if change is not embraced
It is a long road to freedom
Walk we must or perish we shall
Choose the best walk
Freedom or death
The clock is ticking
Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Chika Nnamani

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THESE TIMES

 

The Family, the Man, the Pen,

Owe to fellows,

Basking in the sojourn of now,

Set for history,

Tongues manifold,

The posterity of fairness

 

The Man looked at the family in the face saying

“You who represent my societal nucleus

You who represent my past

As gift for the present

A candidate for a pleasant future

Have lived so long! So long!!

In the city of speculations”

“You who gave me my first innocent smile,

You who in many instances,

Gave me my first set of loved ones

Shall be the slave of hearsay no more

 

The Family replied the man

“You whom the Creator gave me as fruit

Divinely endowed, thou are,

Yet thou had sowed a seed not

Wallowing in the temporal safety of rumours

Had planted not in the fertile soil of reality”

 

The Man wielding the shield of admonishment

Looked at the Pen in the eyes

Saying

“You whose power in scribbled ink lies

Had let the temporal lines of hearsay

Become thy ephemeral copies of reality

Have you ever considered the side effects?

On the civil populace,

 on service men and service women alike?

Let the narrow path of truth be thy road”

If the Family, the Man and the Pen are fallible,

When will their perceptions be one?

 

Olumide Soyemi

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THIS TIMES

 

In these days of haste 

Survival is in the genes of every living molecule

Groveling underground searching for happiness

Heaven becomes an illusion

Darkness have evaded daylight

And the air around us is thick with its scent 

As we make our future in every moment

 

Every grain of corn is multiplied

So is every thought 

Every word and deed

That is Nature

The nature of things

Things that changes

Indicating the constancy of change

 

The clarity of our blindness is amazing

We see so clearly that we are blinded

Blinded by our desired vices

We choose 

And yes we pray

And by faith we wait for the hand ever rejected

 

Ifeanyi Okwosha  

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CLOSURE 

 

It doesn’t always bring comfort

What it brings is clarity

And this will bring relief

 

But comfort?

 

You find comfort in different things

 

It can come in the lyrics of a song

That type of song that starts to play on your car radio when you are barely listening, driving mindlessly and contemplating your heart’s content 

Until one line pulls you in and you feel some calm creeping into your bones

 

Comfort can come while you are standing in awe at the beach

Staring at the blue of the sky 

how it meets the blue of the shimmering ocean 

Such harmony 

how the waves caress the shore pulling in the white sand 

Over and over again

Relentlessly 

With out fail

Like a covenant

 

You may find comfort 

In the smile of a friend whose warmth seeps into your heart and spreads understanding love

 

 

Comfort may come to you at dawn

When your whispered prayers are answered in the quiet still voice of the spirit

 

You may find it in the precious lines of a book

That one you bought years ago but never got around to read 

 

Sometimes comfort comes in silent, sudden tears. The type that mirrors the truth of your heart’s grief, that washes down your face without shame

 

Closure isn’t always welcome because then you have to kiss hope goodbye

 

Yet

sometimes you need closure so that you don’t turn to a pillar of salt  just because you can’t help looking back. 

 

Kemibon

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THESE TIMES

These are halcyon times

The best of times and the

worst of times as Dickens

would have it.

 

Times in which families were happy

or miserable in their varied and different

ways

 

Times which are not so much lineal

but circular and morphed into waves

and particles and the smallest units

of life and existence

 

In these times two contradictory thoughts lounge together, wearing appropriate hats

and smoking exotic cigars 

 

Things like

love and hate;

fear and faith;

peace and turmoil

or peace in turmoil;

breaking and binding

 

And many other contrasts

that qoheleth, the ecclesiast

reflected upon.

 

These are times that

look like the other times,

 

Like there has been no cessation

of time from

1918 to 2018 and following 

 

Same anti maskers;

same billionaire bogeyman;

same anti science such as it is,

 

though then it was the aspirin,

aspiring to be a covering for the mark.

 

Same conspiracies.

Same theories. 

 

These times

Those times

Same time

So sad!

 

ANDREW WHYTE

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