Letter to a tyrant.

by
Ephraim Nnawihe

You claim to be a boss to me 
And forcefully have your way in me 
I may be your assistant 
But please keep your distance 
I cant stand your uncivilized manner 
With all due respect sir''you are mad. 

You gain your way to the top 
But take away water from our cup 
Rendering people homeless gives you joy 
You can break or amend as though we are your toy 
With all due respect sir''you are wicked 

You know much well you cant earn our votes 
So you rig the polls and make us scapegoats 
You turn female graduates to prostitute 
You are a goodman that kills the truth 
With all due respect sir''you are a fraud 

I will bring transformation to our nation 
No nepotism,no discrimination 
But you loot our nation's treasures 
To satisfy your endless pleasures 
With all due respect sir''you are a thief. 

You claim to be a man of peace 
But kill our children,tear them piece by piece 
You spill our father's blood 
To prove..you are a lord 
With all due respect sir''you are an animal 

Time shall come when the earth shall speak 
Kill all those things that make you tick 
And then the trees shall ring the bells 
And birds of the earth your tale shall tell 
And the most feeble creature shall say to thee 
With all due respect sir''you are under arrest 



Source:
https://www.facebook.com/notes/ephraim-nnawihe/letter-to-a-tyrant/573091619414690

MUSHIN...!!!

Mushin in my blood, it is where I was born

The lifestyle, the culture like a shirt I’ve worn

As a kid I was exposed to violence and porn

Fearless and desperate, taking the bull by the horn

Densely populated, dominated by thugs

Here, we chop knuckles we don’t give hugs.

Prostitutes half-naked, parading our streets

As a kid, I would watch lick my lips without a sweet

Few churches, few mosques, more hotels and bars

Street-fighting, bottle-breaking, boys are kept behind bars

Many streets untarred, full of retards

Children treat adults with no regards

Street-hawking, child-labour haunt the little minds

Parents want to survive so they never mind.

Gun-shots every night, we all live in fear

Police pose with armour-tanks with enough gas to tear

Every junction, every corner, boys are smoking weed

Teenage girls warming beds just to meet their need

On sanitations, we play football on the streets

No jerseys, no boots we tackle hard with our feet

2Face from  Festac, 9ice from Bariga

We are proud of our own Alabi Pasuma

Now the change has come, guys are back to school

Violence has disappeared, everywhere is cool

Teenage girls quit flirting, they keep their pride

They are getting married, guys make them their bride

Being born here is a blessing and not a curse

I’m proud of my hood, I don’t know about yours

                                                                                                                        

by Olaide aka Poetstreet (inspired from the street).

Spoken Word ENTERTAINMENT versus Poetry.

Debate!

Spoken Word vs. Poetry. If a spoken word poet cannot show that they are strong on paper, should they be labeled an entertainer, NOT a Poet?

Entertainment vs. Life in Literary Motion

As a writer, I have always had a need to read my work to someone. My ear's have to hear the creative work of my mind come to life as these lips work like an assembly line. I know that I am a part of the mass majority of most other writers out there, ESPECIALLY poets. Poets tend to be odd creatures. We are very egotistical on the outside, but our true existence consists of completely insecure kindergarteners hoping and praying somebody will know that their green elephant really is a purple snowman. Enter: Poetry Readings.

Do NOT confuse poetry reading with Spoken Word Poetry. Poetry readings are held in places like libraries and tea houses...Starbucks and churches. Spoken Word Poetry Venues are just that...venues. They are loud. They are ruckus. They are spiritual. They are humanitarian. The Spoken Word is sexual and sensual...emotional and philosophical. The Spoken Word Poetry venue is ENTERTAINMENT through and through!

Which brings me to the debate at hand. Spoken Word vs Poetry. Are both Poetry? Or is Spoken Word entertainment?

My answer is this.

If a spoken word artist cannot show you their piece on paper...if that piece is not on paper without grammatical and spelling errors so drastic that you cannot easily read the piece. This person is not a poet. If a spoken word artist freestyles more than they spill ink...then I am more apt to label him/her a rapper/entertainer than a poet. If a Spoken Word artist has never even considered publishing a chapbook, I question why?

A poet writes. A poet cries tears of blood. They dream in stanzas, and wake in the wee hours of the night...unable to fall back to sleep because poetry refuses to allow it. A new poem, that new born child lying next to the Poet in the bed... whimpering and whining, screaming and crying until the Creator agrees to finish...and the Poem and Poet can sleep. This Poet? This Poet is the Poet that gets on stage and leaves sweat in pools on stage. This Poet leave tears on the cord of the mic. This is the one who steps off stage and can barely speak because everything just short of life was left on that stage in the name of Poetry. This one... is a Poet... not an entertainer.

Spoken Word vs. Poetry

Entertainment vs. Life in Literary Motion

Source:

http://mariefontaine.hubpages.com/hub/Spoken-Word-ENTERTAINMENT-vs-Poetry

INFECTED.....!!!!!

Uninvited, he crept to my bed

i heard him whisper above me, 

he sounded so brave.

We were so close like butter on bread

but i couldn't respond, 

sleep got me in her cave

Hungrily, he broke my chrysalis from her cocoon

and then i felt the rough penetration.

Painful gasps escaped my throat,

in a broken tune

It was an itchy sweet sensation

He pushed harder and extracted

and then I felt it, I was loosing blood.

I slapped the sore spot, highly irritated

and then his kinsmen came in like a flood.

They buzzed around me accusing me of murder.

The evidence, the dried blood stains on my palm.

It had been a skin to skin act on me and no other.

I jolted out of sleep,

i had been infected.

DAMN!

I wish i had taken protection.

I rushed for my pills around my area.

I knew i had the infection because,

he had done it skin to skin,
now i think i have Malaria

......marvel****mabel

Paradox Of A Poet by Afroxyz.

You don't need a voice

to be heard.

Or an ear to hear

the still small voice.

Your vision is not

an offspring of your eyes

Or your path,

the reward of having legs.

The taste of defeat,

does not perch on the tongue

Or the smell of money

yield to the nose.

You may be so poor,

That all you have is money.

Yet you are free,

But caged by society.

The gate to salvation,

Is not opened by religion.

Just as facial beauty

Should not be taken at face value.

The devil would never meet you,

Dressed in black overalls.

He is afterall,

An angel of light.

Truth is sometimes protected,

With a bodyguard of lies.

The dance of the water spirits,

Is not an invitation to party.

The ocean cannot quench

The thirst of the soul,

Even the appetite of a glutton,

Cannot match the lust for a woman.

The nakedness of beauty,

Is veiled with clothes.

So is the nakedness,

Of evil.

The deepest wounds,

Shed no blood.

And orange juice,

Is not Agbala's libation

by Afroxyz:

If Jesus was a Christian (a poem juxtaposing the life of Jesus and the modern day Christian).

Bodyguards would have barricaded,

And the blood would still be an issue.
Offerings bowls would be passed around,
To feed the multitude.
To Jerusalem, a convoy of cars,
He would need- A grand entrance
For Pilate, an army of lawyers,
To mount defence.
The woman in Samaria would continually thirst,
Because he has ethnic preference.
The merchants in church would bring returns.
and He would build universities his members can't afford.
In his 'holiness', he won't wash dirty feet,
For his reverence, he won't sleep in the streets.
Miracles would be public spectacles,
Lazarus would have paid a handful.
The blind man would lean on his staff,
Waiting for the angel to stir the water.
He would have sold his soul to the devil,
for the riches of the world.
He would send the 'holy ghost' fire,
To consume Judas,
The cup of life would have passed over,
And he would be another Jonah.
He would have used the courts,
To block the pains of the cross.
Asking not forgiveness,
for the mob that cursed.
he would never have died like a thief,
To bring humanity everlasting relief
Because Jesus was not Christian.

Before you start throwing tantrums, this is a poem juxtaposing the life of Jesus and the modern day Christian.

by Afroxyz