December.

Mixed by the magic,
of blue and green.
Earth’s grandeur pours down,
beauty unseen.

Leaves rustle,
the grass dances gay.
Today’s Springs ambushes
death’s gateway.

Through passing time,
through changing resting places.
Replacing songs,
familiar faded faces.

I depart from my old skin,
under the majestic trees I’ll lay
as Earth’s clay canvas

By Bruised Melodies

Highlights

Are you among the group who thinks certain months comes with certain blessings?

This poem eulogies how embellished the atmosphere in which the month of December was created.

And how its rebirth forces all odds of life to keep it flourishing “through passing time” and a transfer of newness to him whenever he meets the presence of the month.

Ambassadors of Poverty

 1

Ambassadors of poverty are                    The corrupt masters of the economy   With their head abroad                                   And anus at home                                      Patriots in reverse order            Determined merchants of loot            Who boost the economy of the colonial order                                                                  To impoverish brothers and sisters at home

Ambassadors of poverty are the ‘saviors’ of the people                                              Office loafers in the guise of workers. Barons of incompetence                        With kleptomaniac fingers                      And suckling filaments                                   Position occupants and enemies of service                                                                    Locked in corrosive war of corruption       With their people’s treasury                          And killing their future

By  Philip Udeh. 

Where are you?

WHERE ARE YOU?

In real life,

everyone is social.

loves going out,

has a lot of friends,

Can’t stop talking,

Cool

Fashionable.

 then you go online

and read blogs.

Suddenly everyone is shy,

Quiet

Introverted,

nerdy,

loves reading

Where are those people in real life?

#New Voice

Poemspeak

​Letter to a Ghost. By Robert Okaji

Had I not dreamed your death, I would have praised this day.
Your name rests in a wooden box on a desk

in a room far away and twice as old as we were then.
My penance in this phase: to continue.

I gather words close and refrain from admissions.
The clock on the wall seldom chimes,

like one whose vows circumvent convenience, or
a shade allowing the barest sliver of light

through the window. That tock preceding
a long silence. Snow blanketing the mounded earth.

Your scent never lingers past sleep, where you remain.
At last I no longer covet those sheets you’ve shared.

Your name rests in a box. I gather words and refrain.

Personal development

​THE GIRL.

             Was I THROWN TO this EARTH to   VANISH AND FALL? NO! 

FROM the womb, I  came Home. I came Here,  not to be REJECTED

I am a fragile and innocent child-  yes!. But I have a woman in ME capable of camouflaging into violet shadow. 

My LIFE is my KINGDOM. Beneath my huge dark eyes I gaze to QUEEN it within my wandy way

 My  RED TONGUE was not just made to  taste the left over from the gutters to make me frail

 It WILL TASTE the delicacy of this soil

My lips was not put to my face to be kissed by some man. It has an aim. It has a VOICE

My heart was not moulded to breath shallow from the trauma of sexual violence

I SHALL Use it to sing in a rhythm that I ALONE UNDERSTAND

This FINGERS of mine are not meant to tire in trying to catch my  dreams which seems disperse in billowing clouds of local kitchen smokes and foreign explosives.

 I have a VISSION,i have a PLACE here and it is not UNKNOWN 

In my HORMONE is BLACK, RED AND WHITE BLOOD AND POWER

Yes, my nick name is Flower but

A BLOOMING one with PRIDE worse than Barbados

#girlchilddeclaration

By Hadizat I.S Bello
  

POEM

​The mind is an air.

A traveller

Spreading and stopping

At every junction.  

                         Sometimes it runs in flashes

Back.  N forth like speed of light

It waves such that you can’t see what your mind is thinking, you can only hear it. Perhaps listen to it.

You can’t tell what direction the air goes. You can’t control it. You can’t control your mind. You can only stop a your self from acting upon what your the other part of your mind doesn’t want. Beacause the mind is in spaces and parts. 

 You can bring back your memories but you can’t bring back your mind. When it moves to a thought, in miliseconds, you want to stop it from thinking towards that certain direction. But the truth is the deed has been done- the thought had been thought.  You can never earase. It will reechoe, it will flash back sooner or later

Mind is so – thinks in  multiplex network raging from moment to moment.

Moment 1 :  you’re that person the world is looking for
Moment 2: you want to let go of everything and be in love with life, people, animals, breath, air, rivers, glasses, colours, stones, shadows, roses, rays, recipes furniture, art, give love even when its not returned.

Moment 3: space is now all you need.

Because you have loved too much life and too much people.

One thing is all you need:you. Your own space to be free. As if being free is the only way out of thinking.

 But you know, you thought wrong.Space made you think more…Your mind went even deeper. Telling your head”Trust no one”So you didn’t.

Moment 4: you become hopeless. All the believe you had in yourself seem to have vainished. You start feeling you need someone who would love you. Because you have loved a lot. Love made you trust. You’ve trusted so much, now you needthought of what to say.

Moment 5: you are now able to see past what you have previously thought. You are now able to know how to detatch that horibble thing you couldn’t really control thinking about  from what you will rather be happy thinking. 

The 4 moments of thought are just air they keep coming. You have nothing to do about it. You can only hear or listen.If you don’t, you only struggle to bottle up your thoughts. Like bottling up air. Is it possible? No. It I’ll explode.

 The mind is an air.

        PoetriHadizat

POEM

​       Fake Clads

Minna found the loss of her breath

In the sleepry hands of a hopeful Leader.

        —–

          /

Tell Tiara to talk that to Trump

Oh Obasanjo, Obsess the Royalties of Phonetics with your ‘kini’

        /

This side is oven

Naira’s heart is broken

         —–

//

Milky chicks of White house

Why are your crying stars tearsing black hands?

The Cows are getting too fat grazing under dark sun and hot rain, 

Their legs are too tintire to walk , they could fly but their wings are strongly weak like the Bald eagle with wings rein 

Throwback the pictures Of ” jolly just come” …remind
Who broke the mirror ?Who transcloned us to Johny walker?

If  straight is not straight

and the day remains Skyly and gay


If a woman is wo!-Man

and man is wo!-man
and the rocks meet

Enchanted rock

And Aso rock

Who are the Buffalos that scattered the pride of thier skirt’s territory? When will the lost be found and things rearrange, and blood bond reaffirm and naked things closed?

//

Lets see if those days will come

Those days, food wink and rockcrack

Hit, And gnash and yet spits a child

Fire was the child named 

The Fire cooking for the love of this world.

         PoetriHadizat

POEM

You will come back to me.

Home.   

      After you have danced along

the busy road.

And made big friends

who made it to the otherside

…I am here, on  Happy street

Stepping, and counting on the pebbles 

Of our past heyllo

And from The other side

They make you happier 

It’s only for now.

When your stem return

It will be because of them

You would  have left them

Because they mean well

But not deep not sweet

As me, i was your root

You will come back to me

To restart where you halt

  you wanted comforts

I would have given it to you

Perhaps it would have made you stay

But I didn’t 

     You left me

You would have done same

If I gave you your want

     I know you miss me

Sometimes deny

You smoke this thought into the

Fire of your bitterness

But this I know.   I

Feel your presence

In your absence

I hear your voice

In your speechlessness

I percieve the odour of urine on your cold toes. -You have been walking on the bits of air-  you froze yourself to no control
       I remember all the sincere things and feelings meant

  You will come home

It doesn’t matter

if I will not be there to welcome you.

You will come back to me.

Home.