Ten Things That Make Me Happy

Ten Things That Make Me Really Happy.

Before I go on, I say welcome to my mind. For the next thirty days, you will be exposed to my many sides. Enjoy the ride.

Picking ten things that make me really happy might be pretty enlightening for me myself. Let's see what today's challenge holds for us.

1) My Family: Right, everyone loves family, and finds happiness with them. I am h
appy when I'm with my family. They give me life, and make me feel special. I'm kind of like the comedian of the house, so added attention.

2) My Twin Brother: He is supposed to be part of my family right? I singled him out cos we have been together all our lives. Same primary, secondary school and OAU. Having a twin brother is kind of like having a readymade best friend. He's not in Ife otm, and it just dawned on me how much stability his presence brings.

3) Black Coffee: This is a codename. Disclosing the identity of this individual is not in the best interest of all parties involved. The real ones should be able to crack the code. Black coffee has been a constant in my life for a few years now. Everything about this person makes me happy.

4) Music: Everybody knows this. Music is my life. Music is the way to get to me. I remember a certain lady saying ''I want to keep you away from music '' . My spirit man marked her off the prospects list immediately. I love Afrobeats, I love Fela, I love Brymo, I love Burna Boy, I love Tomi Thomas.

5) Football: I used to be a really good player.  I was more or less an attacking midfielder or winger. My eyesight, school and lack of fitness made me stop playing. I still play once in a while. I watch football regularly, I'm a fan of the PL.

6) Arsenal: I love Arsenal Football Club. I've been a fan for close to eight years, supporting through the tears and struggles. A new dawn is coming.

7) Writing: I enjoy writing. Poems, stories, blogposts and articles. Writing has been part of me since I was a kid. I still have a long way to go in improving my skills tho. Everyone says the talent is there.

8) Good Food: I love good food. Maybe cos I do not eat out much, I prefer homemade meals. Prolly, I'll start to eat out more in the new year to see what I've been missing or not.

9) My Friends: A lady once remarked that I have friends that cut across every class of individuals. I realised the power of friendship very early on. My friends have to be the best people ever. Shoutout to you guys, if you get to see this. Y'all are real ones.

10) White: I love white so much. It is probably my best colour. There's something about the way it stands out and makes everything look perfect. I love white buildings and clothing.

Brown shoes also make me happy. Keep that in mind for the 27th.

BUS

I've only ever been on a bus once. All my life I have been chauffeured around. I wouldn't say I don't find it convenient but I don't always get the freedom to board a bus. Today was freedom day. I got on the bus with so much fuss and trouble. Mum also got in with me but I waved her back. "I'll be fine", I said, My cousin, Jimi, would be waiting for me at my destination. All would go well. I settled in quite well, making sure to place my legs well in order to avoid discomfort. It felt strange having people rub against me, but it wasn't much of a big deal. I loved the human connection. The bus was moving at a considerably normal speed, however I couldn't stop my heart from beating fast. It felt nice, seeing the trees as we swept by them. The view was so appealing, trees rising high into the skies, it was a welcome development. So tired was I of seeing masts and tall buildings. The air rushing in brushed my face, I was a little uncomfortable but I enjoyed it, the fresh air much different from an air conditioner. Soon, the driver was yelling bus-stops. Such a hoarse voice should have started me but I somehow liked the rhythm with which he called out the bus stops. "Coker Estate" he yelled, " O wa ooo" I said with joy; copying passengers that had alighted. He got down from the bus, and went around to the trunk while I sat patiently. He carefully brought down my wheelchair and helped me into it. Jimi was waiting around the corner, choosing not to come assist me. I wheeled to where he was standing, smiling with unrestrained joy. " You finally took a bus after all these years " Jimi remarked. " Yes, I slayed my demon." I replied.


-Olabode Taiwo.


                               

Death By Life

Here is a piece from Oyesanya Mosopefoluwa. It is mind blowing stuff. Read to the end. His write ups would also be posted here from time to time.




They called it the Coward's way out
Ade had never claimed to be brave
It seemed to be the only way out
Of this dreary void that was his existence

Plagued with fiscal holes and physical woes
He owed a banker, the cancer owned him
Robbing Peter only to get duped by Paul
His body broken from this never-ending ordeal

He was alone
Cut off from family and friends
The prodigal son who forgot his way home
Doomed to suffer in solitude

The time was near
Ade's sun was about to burn out
Death was soon to be his new way of life
It seemed easier than drowning in the cesspool that was his life

Crossing over the railing
His heart pulsing in tune to the crashing of the foreboding waves
Breathing in his last as he jumped
Ade went meekly into the dark night
and embraced the dying of his light.


P.S: While the events in this piece may denote suicide, I am in no way encouraging, excusing or defending suicide. It is my belief that it is mostly a grievously permanent solution to an oftentimes temporary problem. I just attempted a key-hole view into what probably goes on in the mind of people who attempt or commit suicide.

@Mosopefoluwa_

Chronicles Of Willy - Episode 5

 This is Episode 5. Let's see how Willy got out of the cell.


         The music in my ears was unpleasant; the buzz of mosquitoes. I got on my feet, sleeping in this condition is not in anyway conducive. Femi was sleeping comfortably. I am not surprised as he has been an Awo boy since part 1. I decided to sit close to Femi's leg and just look till morning. Leaning against the wall, I folded my knees to my face and put my head on it. " How far" I heard a voice call from behind me. It was one of the inmates, he was looking at me. He seemingly has been up all the while. "I dey alright" I replied. "Come here make we talk" he said, " This place dey okay" I said. " I no dey paga you joor " He retorted. I moved closer to him and he grabbed me by the ass. I made to run and he let go and laughed hysterically. "Ole oshi, siddon my guy, make we yarn". I sat with him but in my mind, I was cussing "Who be your guy? No wonder, na because we gather dey cell now". "Wetin you dey do for here?" He asked. "I'm here because the cops suspected my friend of internet fraud" I said. "Una be G boys?" He asked excitedly. "No we are not". "Dey mumu yourself there. Anyhow my name is Jidons" He said. His English was slightly accented but it was okay enough. I thought about lying about my name but I thought he might have heard it when I and Femi were talking, so I told him. It was to be that we'd talk all night.
         Jidons didn't tell me his real name. He however told me a whole lot about himself. He was an indigene of Ile-Ife and his father was a well respected man in the community. He always gave his dad trouble through his involvement in selling and reselling land and also in various fights around the community. It was rumoured that Jidons was responsible for the death of one Ife youth killed during a street carnival. He however confided in me that he didn't kill him. He told me about a lot of his escapades and at some point, I began to wonder why he was telling me all of it. I wasn't to wonder for so long. After about an hour of discussing, he stopped and said "I just like you, that is why I tell you all this thing o. I wish say I fit dey school like you but my head no fit carry book, so I am impressed that you are in school and you no commot". I sat there starstruck. It was not like I was a mighty scholar or anything and as such, his words touched me deeply. An awkward silence fell and then I asked "What brought you here this time?". He chuckled and said "I slap my Papa small wife, na him the man call police say make they come put me here for two days". I didn't bother asking what could have transpired between him and his stepmother. I was dozing off already when he asked "You be Chelsea fan?" "Yes I am". "Take my number abeg,zero-eight-zero-two-four-one-eight-two-zero-two-eight. Just dey call me make we dey watch ball together". I didn't hear his next words as I slumped into sleep.
         I woke up to the sound of the door being opened. The tall officer who arrested us, called out "Where those two boys?". We got on our feet and moved out. He gave us our belongings. Smiling maliciously, he asked, "Have you learnt your lesson?". We got out, the broad daylight almost blinding me. Femi and I didn't speak a word to each other. I had forgotten to bid Jidons farewell. It wasn't like I was looking forward to seeing him again. I had memorised his number anyways. The officers had taken the little change we had, so we had to trek from Moore to Mayfair junction. It was difficult walking because of my sore toes and I had to stop at intervals to rest. We begged for our bus fare from a guy, and headed straight into school. I got to my room in Faj and my roommates looked at me like they had just seen a ghost. Bartholomew and Jide embraced me and asked where I had been. "It's a long story" I said. "Lemme just rest first". I lay down on my bed. Bartholomew had wet it as usual but I didn't mind. I slept four straight hours despite the noise of my roommates. When I woke up, I cooked beans in my very special way.Gbadebo and Mr Julius were waiting with plates in their hands when my beans was ready and I had to give them. After eating, I decided to chill in the room, phone in hand and smile on my face. Jide was as usual playing Small Doctor's music; I didn't mind. I was even nodding my head to the beat. I was chatting with Mystic again; what a better way to relax after a night behind bars. She was more polite this time and soon enough, she gave me her number. Our chat moved to WhatsApp, and it was easier to communicate that way. Her name was Kikelomo Adeniyi. She was a student of International Relations, in her 2nd year; a member of RCF as well. She lived in Acquifer hall in Maintenance. Everything on point. I couldn't believe my luck. I also told her the little I could about myself; no, I didn't tell her I spent the last night in a cell. I was so cautious with the kind of questions I asked because I didn't want to ruin the whole thing. Soon, it was time for me to go out to read. We ended the chat and I asked if I could see her on Monday. She replied "Why not?" and my joy knew no bounds. We agreed 4pm would be okay, at sport complex; the land of yellow railings. My reading was so sweet that night with the thought of Monday constantly bringing joy to my heart. Monday would be Mystic day.



Do you think his first date would be a successful one or would he flop it? Share your thoughts.

See you next Friday.
 

Chronicles Of Willy - Episode 4

We at otwrites.blogspot. com are sorry for the break in transmission of the series. It was all in a bid to serve you better. The series is back so sit back and enjoy.

  My toes felt funny, rough like the soles in harmattan period. It rubbed roughly against my Ankara covercloth and I could feel its coarse surface. Something was up, I turned on my bed and tried to lift my leg up to view. "What an idiot I am". I sat upright and inspected my leg. I didn't play football the day before or hit my leg on a stone, so I didn't understand why my toes felt sore. The surface looked to have been peeled off, and patches of blood were visible here and there. I wondered what could be the cause. I tried to stand up, and then it registered. Faj rats!
     I had to wear a pair of sandals to class, my "rat-eaten" toes were too sore to be fitted into any shoes. Today, I declared a global war on rats in the guise of 9/11. Since it was a Friday, (two days after working in my uncle's office) it was okay to wear casuals which fitted with my sandals. My only class at 1pm didn't hold because the lecturer had to cut his hair; such nonchalance. I met Femi at the venue and we left together and went off campus to Mayfair. He wanted to get clothes from a guy named Shigo around the Ori Olokun roundabout.

We got to Mayfair junction and were about to enter the guy's shop when we were stopped by two Officers. I was confused at the time as to whether they were normal police officers or SARS operatives. " Where una dey go, wey una dress like this?" One of them asked; I was wearing a vintage shirt and shorts with a navy blue cap and sandals while Femi had on a jersey, jeans, a red cap and sandals. I was baffled as to what was up with our dressing so I wasn't even in the right frame to answer. Femi however did "We came here to get clothes" he said. " Gimme your phones!" his partner said. I obliged but I noticed some kind of hesitation in Femi, he fiddled with his phone for a while before handing it over. The officers asked us to unlock the phones and they went through it. I didn't have a lot on my phone so there was nothing for them to see. Femi's case was however different, his phone was full of many pictures taken of wild nights and different strange applications. The officers found a chat app "Bib" and went through Femi's chat with a white lady, both of them smiling like they hit the jackpot. " You be Runs boy abi?" One of them asked, Femi just kept looking. "Settle us" the other officer said. " I no get any money " Femi replied. "Oya, make una follow us go station then, una no get money just to settle us abi?, You go sleep cell today" the first officer said. " Excuse me sir, there's nothing on my own phone!" I tried to explain. "Shebi na una two be friend abi?, na two of you we dey carry go station. I stared at Femi, he smiled at me and signalled for me to be calm. I had always known he'd be into something of this nature but I was not so certain. Now that I was in this mess, I had to find my way out. " Officers, how much do you want?" I asked. "Bring just #50k" , the taller one between the two said. It seemed I did not hear right. I guess we just had to go with them.
   
     They put us in the back of their van and drove to their station at Moore. We got there and they put us behind the counter. Femi was relaxed and he told me, we'd come out by paying less if we stalled. I tried to believe him and we sat in silence for about an hour. The officers did not return our phones so there was absolutely nothing to do than read the station walls, that had posters like, "Police is your friend", " Bail is free", " Giant of Africa ". I smiled at the fact that none of all these was true. I mean, the police is nobody's friend, except politicians; bail is only for the rich; and Nigeria is a sleeping giant, if at all it is one, just the other day, a politician named ................ " Two of you, stand up." I heard a voice shout. I was jolted back to reality and I got to my feet quickly. The officer came towards us and told us to move to the cells. I looked at Femi, and he looked at me back, same hopeless look on his face. I wondered how we were going to get out. The officer shoved us inside the cell. There were four guys in the cell already, they were not looking quite friendly, so I and Femi decided to sit quietly. We made to sit but looking at how dirty the floor was, we decided it was best to stand.

"There's no money with me at all" Femi confessed. " I was actually going to get money from Shigo to sustain myself for the weekend, the chat with the woman was a long time ago. I got tired when it wasn't yielding any returns ", " I was hoping we would stall and the officers would eventually let us go when they saw there was no money with us, but I was wrong". " So, you don't have any money on you and none in the bank or anywhere? " I asked. "I'm afraid not Tade". I wouldn't have liked the idea, but part of me wished Femi was joking and he really was a G boy, and probably had money somewhere. Now that I knew he was not, I was relieved that my friend was not a fraudster, but there was still the troubling question. How do we get out??

How do they get out? Do you think Femi is lying or he is being sincere. Send in your comments

Trapped

A short story before another episode of Chronicles Of Willy drops on Friday


  I sat in the corner of the bar quietly sipping my drink. He walked in as noisily as a rickety bicycle and he took his seat beside me. He demanded a double shot, leaned back and downed it in the blink of an eye. Looking at him secretly, I studied him, discovering the tattoo on his neck and a bulge by his side. Something was up with him, I concluded.
    I made sure not to order another shot in order to stay alert, I just swirl around the little alcohol left in my glass. I take a mental inventory of everything in the bar. The number of people around; they're roughly 30, two exits and one stage for musical performances; His next move mustn't catch me unawares. Now, looking at the faces of people more intently, I see two more like him, that makes it three men against me.
    I made to move out, making sure to mix with the neutrals, Noisy Tattoo follows me with his eyes and signals to his guys. They start to close in on me, I see another guy join them; I didn't spot him during my survey earlier. So, four big guys move in around me with nowhere for me to run to. They signed for me to be quiet, I understand the code and I don't make a fuss. We all walk outside like good buddies and they put me in the back of the sedan, taking off almost as I get in, my panic rising as to where we might be headed.
    "Cut!", Director Muyi shouts at that moment, and we all come back to reality, laughing despite our exhaustion. It's just another day on set.........

It didn't end the way you expected?  Well, It came like that. I hope you enjoyed.
Comments please!

CAP Anthology: Puncheon; A tribute to poetry

CAMPUS ASSOCIATION OF POETS'

      ANTHOLOGY, THEMED:

PUNCHEON; An Appraisal To Poetry In Respect of 

     THE WORLD POETRY DAY.

THE WORDSMITH

I'm the wordsmith of the night,

when the night fox howls

with its entire might,

I dip my pen in ink

and find my muse, for tonight,

I want to punch my name into history,

Even if it's for this one night.

For I'm a wordsmith,

Straight into your skull,

My words will hit.

        

         Mr Waduud.

THE WORDSMITH

In the furnace of a blacksmith,

Spawns the roughly fine sword;

Finely processed by the swordsmith;

A tool in the hands of sages and inklords.

The sword leads, cutlasses and hoes follow;

Father of all harmless weapons.

Inform the sparrow to give tongue to morrow,

And morrow to take barrow from bimbo.

A shout out to all my sons abroad;

Tell them to sip from my pot of knowledge.

Use me as an antidote to save lives,

As I lie beneath the poetree.

Poetry is a double edged sword,

Piercing the souls of readers and bards.

A word weaving machine,

Dispensing the thoughts with poetic cards.

         

           Esv_Keks.

We Need Help.

soft made hard

rough made smooth

sinky made strong

thanks to the puncheon

we, like raw gold, thirst for a refining caress from the creator's puncheon

so our acts may towards morality pave way. 

our garden,  green and white

now dust-turn-brown is on the verge of a "pitiable pismal-dismal". like noon handing over to dusk,  we have uncontrollably fallen off the high-heel that made us once a giant.  we need the savior's touch!

our societal ills are resistant to pills

our heads are knaves

we need a clean shave

with your puncheon... 

harden our land and make it not turn to a grave! 

look not away,  for these we crave.

       Afolabi™

MY PEN;MY PUNCHEON

My pen, my sword,

Weaving to the clock's tick,

Penetrating blocks,

Dividing bricks.

My pen, my megaphone,

Announcing to passers-by,

Breaking bones,

Soothing lullaby.

My pen, my music,

Appealing to my soul,

Enriching tonic,

Alluring tole.

My pen, my mystery,

Twinkling set of clusters,

Creating history,

Amazing wonder.

My pen, my muse,

Supplying my motive,

Providing clues,

Enhancing additive.

My pen, my puncheon,

Wielding with creativity,

Mending truncheons,

Mystifying captivity.

    

    MASCOT.

MY POEM, MY INNER TRUTH

 I lie to myself 

When I say my poems do not depict my thoughts

I lie to myself

When I say I don't get hurt

I lie to myself

When I say I like being alone

I lie and I know

But I also say the truth

They say the truth will set you free

So I lay down my truth

I love and I hate

That's what makes me human

I feel jealousy because I care a lot

I have a lot of heartbreaks which is really sad

But I hide it under my smile

The truth is I smile so you won't know my weakness

The truth is am not proud but I have a functioning Ego

The truth is i want my name to be written in history

But all I do is write in my diary.

          Mcbumnik

DIARYOFAYOUNGPOET

THE PEN; HIS SWORD

His quill is his sword 

The parchment, his shield

The words he writes on it is authority

With these instruments he fights battles and wins wars,

Against the evils of this world

Revered by all and disrespected by none

His words are law for nations

He stays true to his art even during times of adversity

Making sure to uphold the truth and nothing else

He is a poet who shapes the world with his pen.

          OLABODE TAIWO.

THE PUNCH

Alas!

The crooked road has been punched

Thus made straight

Thanks to the punch

That makes way

For the society has danced

Into flame of shame 

And all that snarled

Through the punch came

To witness the fame

In the fist's name

In the field of thorns 

The punch waded through

Now a road of torts

The punch made full

Thanks, the punch

The society renders a bunch

        KMIXERS

I AM POETRY

I am the mace,

I stand as your alibi of unity,

I am the gavel of morality,

I am the voice,

That speaks of your 'heels,

I am like liver,

That metabolizes your nutrients,

I live,

You exist.

I am the wind,

That blows truth in the world,

I stand, when some minds want to bend,

I do not jubilate at a sight of immortality, 

I do that, which will uphold the society, 

I am alive for criticism,

I detest racism,

I represent every conscious minds,

I speak nothing but the truth.

I am poetry,

The one who speaks with authority, 

Mother of creativity, 

Father of morality, 

Friend to a moral society, 

Enemy to the follies of politics, 

I am the symbol of your conscious minds.

      

          LEGACY

PUNCH ON ME

Punch on me

As little as the sun rays

A touch so soft

Yet so destructive to blaze

Far above the reach of human thought.

Punch on me:

The raw metals,

The shining gold,

the glittering diamond petals

The beautiful emerald unfold

Punch on me: 

Your nature no such felt

All creatures worth

The beauty of what's​ ought

And my search will be all sought

Punch on me

The golden knowledge

The axe of fire

The sword of justice

The boldness of heat

Punch on me

For I am here to receive

The punch of transformation

To fight the fight of truth

I am desperate for the punch.

      

       Justus Ogar.

THE SEAL

Affirmation from the elders I seek

Considering the knowledge he has gained

Widely, then was it revealed to me

The mystery behind what I seek

The affirmation is the delight I get

Ye from the bleeding of my own pen

The confidence I derive from my hands 

The pleasure I derive from adding

Oh to my own knowledge

Thou art the affirmation I need

Now that it's been known by me

What I ye needed to do

Is work harder and build on it

Lest I become a better personality

And incoming generation can also seek

Affirmation from me thereof

I DO

I do express my words in pen

I do expose the deeds with words

I do make imaginations wide

I do make sake fake seems realistic

I do configure your thought to resemble mine

I do more than you can think with my pen

I do know for sure my own is mightier than the sword

I do need to remember it needs to be sharpened often

I do need to make sure its life is retained

Hence make 

I do refill my ink

I do make sure it never hours dry.

     

        D-/PRIN'SES/

SUPREME COURT OF POETRY

A

Place

Where they 

Subtract one guilt

Add some ironic sugar

A bit of rhythmic ointment

Then garnish it with salty words

An image here and a symbol there

Personify it with the ills and norms therein

Then state their problems and woes a-lyrically

Proverbialise their thoughts or- state in clear terms

Then add Shakespeare without shaking the Sphere

Osofisan becomes the hoe to sow the sun

Then

You know

In that place

That multiplication will be the shortened version of addition

So economic paralyses becomes historical euphemism

There is no room for defending epic successful failure

Then the hyphenated characters there, forever is lost

This is how you know that poetry isn't just a diviner

It is a seer not just to command or demand

When it reprimands, that is the result

Of intellectual provocation

Then they enjoy in happiness

And

Drink this glass of wine 'cos

Poetry is just extremely divine!

MUTEEHEART

POETRY

In the beginning, God created poetry.

Poetry birthed every thing.

First line ever would  be:

Let there be light.

Never of His words would go unfulfilled He said.

His blessings and rebukes through His words.

Prints became immortal sister of words.

Piercing the soul or soothing the heart.

       AKEENS

WHAT IS POETRY?

I write in the wilderness of anger

Where i command the pen

To speak, write and proclaim

What it sees, feel and think.

Poetry sets from the North, East, South-West,

It is the mother of every children,

The one who does not have father

Yet, with many unborn generations.

Poetry is the voice

That does not have mouth

But with a melodious tone 

'Cos it wont sees not to tell but the truth.

Poetry is a soothsayer

That tells the truth

And proclaim authority

With a manifest audacity.

Poetry is a composition of verse

Exhibiting conscious attention to problems

Through the minds -

The ink through which it tell.

Poetry is the bile

That liveth  in the heart of the personnel

To correct ill manners of the society

And foster credibility of the moralities. 

       MR. PRINCIPLE

PUNCHEON

The prison is also for human beings

Saith their crappy voice against ours

And we thought we brought them on

So very better we Re-think

Forever seeking freedom; humans

Never running dry; our pens

Only tool they hate; our minds

Their first antagonist; the poets.

The long term memories

The day changing secrets

The sooth revealers

All God's works are all ours

Powerful to rip apart

Unashamed to mend souls

Hope for the weak

Medication to the mind

Medievalist we are

With just a message, she's off her feet

With lullabies in poem, he's won over

With emotional poems, we stopped crisis

With written texts, we are all over

Got the keys to the locked gates

We hold the stamp to  blueprints

Alas, the voice of a poet resounds

The works of a writer talks

The beauty in our poems shines 

And behold! Poets don't die!

I'm a poet

I'm an icon

I'm a puncheon.

SamTemmy.

AN ODE TO POETRY

You were there,  

Announcing yourself like the town crier, 

And passing a message, 

Like the sound from the talking drum. 

You are here, 

Bringing words together, 

Creating a platform, 

One that would project what you speak. 

You will continue to be, 

For words will not cease to be, 

An edifice, 

You will forever make out of them. 

Whether you stand or sit, 

In paper or in voices, 

You will execute the purpose,

For which you exist. 

     StarBabe.

PUNCHEON

 Lines, stanzas - emotion

All in one, words flow 

Anthology - attention 

They are one in spirit - the glow 

Never underestimate poem's power

It always work where it could save 

It's nothing but a life saver 

The true nature is a heart safe

I speak seventeen syllables 

All combined to give a haiku

Five - seven - five words syllables 

All fused in three stanza-coup

I'm a coup mastermind 

Punching words to pierce the mind 

Never scared of using metaphor 

To cause my opponents fall

I'm just a learner who spew poetry 

Although I can't spell onomatopoeia

Or differentiate innuendo from irony 

I'm not a faker but a word wielder

I write rhymes but worries about rhythm

Wondering if they could add up to create sonnets

Plus if poetry could be sung in church like a hymn

Maybe poetry will breed a lot of Saints.

To who that refuses to see beyond,

Survival of depression without expression 

Is like driving a car with no petrol!

Poetry is my expression and petrol!

        Emaculate Ife.

PUNCHEON

And who says a poet can be put into a dungeon?

When he has not lost his poetic lines,

Neither has he lost his muse,

He possess puncheon,

Forever with his bleeding pen.

Living with the memories of when poets are neglected,

Kept most poets in emotional trauma.

Their pens remain in everlasting oubliette,

So rusty and dusty,

Only the brave ones survived the agony of the atrocity.

Poets are meant to be celebrated, 

Appreciated and not deserted,

For from their celebrations, 

Come muse for more word masturbation,

Which produces life beautification and titivation.

            Oluwanifemi.

AN OVATION TO POETRY

Dark and frozen mysteries 

You lighten and turn up stories 

You unleash hidden truths

And teach mighty fools

You crawl into deepest thoughts 

And make minds courts

You cut through noisy hearts 

You rule over gentle minds

They rejoice in meeting their kinds

And they bring nature into art

They bring kings to meditate

And write even on slate

You hold famous legends

And can predict a good end 

You exist to help souls

If they are ready to act their roles

You do no racism 

For You join Euphrates to Mississippi

You are not god

But every poets knows your eulogy

For you are the voice of the poor 

The lyrics of every couplet 

And the power of greatest minds.

poetry!

You are a puncheon 

That sink through every mind's

And you never cease to exist 

For I heard Solomon wrote you an ode

And shakespare borrowed from thee

And I read of Oscars lines 

And am sure you'll travel till the world folds

And until the earth ceases.

        QUEEN NICY

MY POEM;MY LIFE

Deep down am lost,

feel like am shredded,

but you found me and gave me hope

of years to come.

I wallow in nothingness,

you supported me with your loving ness,

day by day I'm charged towards my slate

wherein my life dwells.

when am dejected,

I find love in you,

you know the every me,

even the darkest side is like mirror to u.

        

             Hordunlaryor.

PUNCHEON

Aged Golden Rod held  highly by world's wordsmiths,

Powerful sturdy stamp that commands both kings and slaves.

Purely colourless translucent drinkable water of the wise,

Unsavory tasteless unswallowable solidity for fools.

Faceless faces breathing heavily with bodilessness,

Call it the immaterial substance that covers space,

Call it the whispering winds in hollow sphere,

The immortality of gone mortals like Shakespeare.

Should I say it is Fairy Power or Real Authority?

Or should I simply call it what it is; POETRY!

          

          MISS LOVE

PUNCHEON

Give me this sword

Let me hold it by its neck.

Only this can show to the world

That it is I that has been ordained.

Just this I crave to have

A symbol of hope

For the nation that I have

Been ordained to dominate.

Give me my strength; our strength

Myself and Shakespeare's

This poetry is our blood

Myself and others.

This poetry is our own authority.

      KING JUSTICE

It's the celebration of poetry. I hope you enjoyed. Let your thoughts flow in.