I'm over 30, and I've never been to a Night Club!!!

I'm over 30, and I've never been to a Night Club.

Seriously?!!!. Some might exclaim. So? Some might ask in sarcasm. But really, I'm not asking you dear readers to react. Rather, I'm hoping that in writing, I might be able to see some reason myself, why I have refused to grow up with my generation.

Writing.

Writing has always helped me think. When issues clog my mind, and I'm trying to meander a way out, I write. When I need answers to bothering questions. I write. When I face a crossroad and need to take a decision. I write. When I'm bored, I write. I write. Sometimes, when I'm hungry, I write. Why do I write so much?

Well, I think the question I would be asking is, why don’t the whole world write as much? I believe the world would be a better place if we were all writers. There is something about writers. I think, it is almost impossible to be a writer, and be a cheat at the same time. If the whole world wrote as much, we all would be too preoccupied with expressing our thoughts into words, to have the time for so much of the mischief and misdeeds in the world today.

Imagine a robber having to write about his robbery operation. Imagine his whole gang having to write, just before they DECIDE to carry out the robbery operation. In writing, they would come to their senses, as all the hard drugs they use to psyche themselves up would have worn off, by the time they finish writing, and then they would have no strength and will to rob. Imagine this cycle goes on before every robbery operation. Your guess is as good as mine.

Imagine a moment, that a corrupt politician, just before he became corrupt, (assuming that sometime in his lifetime, he wasn't corrupt), had to write before falsifying those financial documents for his monetary gain. Imagine he had to write about a subject, like…like, like the sky for instance. Maybe a poem about the sky. As soon as he starts writing this poem, his thought would drift to the Big God that created the skies, and surely, he wouldn't have the guts to steal.

We all need to be writers. This is a proposition I'm taking to the national assembly to make into a law. I do hope though, that they would pass this proposition of mine into law.

As you may have noticed, I've drifted. That happens a lot. It doesn't bother me much, as long as im still writing and I've not completely lost my opening line of thought. So, as I was thinking, I'm over 30, and I've never been to a club. Why could this be?

…..to be continued.

By Daniel Ikekhuah aka Lion Kisser

#WarOfWords2 WHEN WE REALIZE by Ehiz d poet

This guy is good, 
deep words, 
nice flow, 
and passion is clearly evident.
He narrowly missed out on being one of the 15 finalist during War Of Words saeson 1.
Will he get lucky this time?
Well, if you ask me, 
I will say, me likey likey!!!


WHEN WE REALIZE by Ehiz Momodu aka Ehiz d poet

Won't it be funny?
To wake up some day and realize that humans with hands, and untamed thoughts
Have been dancing to rhythms of rat drums hovering round a circle of untidy definitions where we are like script-less antagonist armed with bitter memories of what we thought are bigger than all we are.
So we drunk our minds in anger and distance it from love of all kinds,
Paint the eyes in raging passions and pierce it thick into the racing heart of a fellow antagonist,
And with our own hands, we drag apart the earth
And masquerade the flesh of our falling comrades
Into an act of out of existence..
Then our dreams becomes hanging..
And soon dies like untold ferry tales
Like fantasies defeated when realities strikes to the fore
Then our heads turn into a grave host of undone dreams,
Of unmade songs, of UN-fought wars
And of voices of rusty ideas echoing dirges of regrets
Maybe when flood of reality swabs out the blind folds
And stop the music of rat race and rat lanes only for us 
to realize that the clock is helplessly holding its hands at very end,
Then we turn to drink the falling remains of uncouth songs,
Dream of moon and cooling blues
Sing dead blues and pretend cool,
Smile like fools and polish our noose
And watch hooks drain our seas into private pools of few
Leaving our skins black-dead like stolen blistered fishes
Maybe then we would cheap trade our every word
To buy incantations as the only way to travel peace down our dreams...
At least they would make one smile-and fold reality under the pillow to another dawn,
So they keep us dreaming and build island of dreams
In every of our sleep.-at day -dusk --or young dawns
And fuck the business of reality insane,
Deadlock the brains and tangle everything there is humans can do
Into expectation of miracle rain
And set sail to propaganda camps to add volumes to the chorusing chants of corrupt dames, 
seeking change from their nebulous plans.
But the truth however is, change isn't about dreaming all day long
It isn't about being a fan of those that sing shabby songs
It is about striking the rod into the heart of rocks to escape water for thirsty throats
It is the sword that slams against ivory shields to water tongues with victory songs
It is in the hands that craft dreams into reality..
It is about you being the change you want be.

Check out the video via the link below

#WarOfWords2 WHEN WE REALIZE by Ehiz d poet

http://youtu.be/hc94TiN0-9o

#WarOfWords2 Be The Change You Seek by Kruseaphix

Ol boy, this guy fast o.
Hmm, probably a disguised rapper :).
But I like.
Deep words, 
Plenty action, 
And it gets better and better.


Be The Change You Seek by Kruseaphix 

Change!
That which is demanded and received when one has first given above that which is expected of him. 
Which implies that for me to seek or expect change, 
I must first have implanted seeds beyond my expected range.
Lest my request sounds silly like; walking to the cashing point at a mall, with a full trolley, 
give him nothing and say to the cashier you owe me a twenty.
That's how silly we sound when we sit back with folded arms 
and say the level of corruption is on the rise when it ought to be climbing down.
Ever wondered what the problem truly is with this country? 
Well let me spare you your misery and unravel the mystery, 
I present to you the answer; its me! 
As well as you!.
For a house is said to be dirty only when its occupants are; 
or isn't that why we refer to politics as a dirty game only because some of its players were?
The people make the nation. 
So if you're aiming at changing a situation without your arrow pointing at the population, 
you'll end up like a foolish chemist who desires a different reaction 
while his initial reactant remains unchanged; 
what a foolish expectation.
Haven't you heard that he who's unfaithful in little is unfaithful in much? 
And as such, you're hypocrite if you criticize the president 
when you can't effectively preside over those of your own residence.
Our society is experiencing a moral decadence due to the irresponsibility of those who were meant to have preeminence as now, 
 most parents are only concerned with their kids looking good than being good so in their eyes, 
you only fall short when your skirt grows short. 
 But if you wear it long enough and keep messing around,
 its ok as long as you don't get caught.
At school, they expect you to keep passing even if you have to "sort" 
so we end up in a labor market where as well as the jobs, 
most of the qualifications are bought.
Like a heartless foe,
I have no regrets crushing on your injured toe because if you don't feel the pain,
you may never seek the pill.
I'm saying; 
If you don't feel the heat,
no matter how much sperm of motivation you receive, 
you'll never conceive change let alone deliver it.
So kindle the fire and let it burn, 
till like concave lens on myopic eyes we're equipped with a better vision
which unlocks passion 
and that is why dear Samaritan, you stopped to nurse my wounds 
when both the priest and levite saw me and passed on; 
I'm saying its the reason you'll stop to pick a piece of paper when even the janitor saw it and passed on.
I'm tired of seeing broken homes 
and single parents slugging it out on their own 
so here's my part of the solution. 
As I long as I'm a bachelor, 
I'll not go in between her thighs. 
but we know its the clapping of hands that precedes the dance.
So I wouldn't deeply kiss and let the hands feel and only when it gets to third base I'm like no please. 
But since its cyclic, we're caught in the same routine.
But really!
 How do you expect to keep digging and not go any deep in?!
Weeks later, she's faced with the dilemma of being a mother or committing murder, 
and because of our hypocritical state, 
she opts for the latter 
as everyone deems it less abominable than the former.
But if she's wise and sticks with the other wise, 
we'll end up in the maternity with more daughters and no mothers; 
a society with all sons but no fathers.
He who does not gathers scatters 
which implies that if you're not a part of the solution, 
you're definitely a part of the problem.
So the smart message sent (sms for short) is the same from nike to Niké, 
 Just do it! 
As you don't need to create a lot of buzz in other to be(e) the change you seek. 
After all in the first place, 
it was your pathogenic activities that made it sick.
Someone once said to me; 
dead men rule the world and I replied; 
its  because those who are alive have chosen to be irrelevant.
Be Relevant! And Be the change you seek!.


*None english word used*
Niké - A feminine yoruba name.

Check out the video via this link 

#WarOfWords2 Be The Change You Seek by Kruseaphix

http://youtu.be/coFDg4V1qiM

MYTH OF MY CHILDHOOD (A Spoken Word Piece by Yommy Bishop)

There is a myth that was told since I was born

The myth that gladdens my heart when I was young

The myth of where I came from, and where I belong

The myth of our fathers

Of who takes over when they are gone

The fallacy that left us shattered

The truth that doesn't matter

The colors they painted with their palette

The path they treated as a scarlet.

When I was young father once told me to be strong

That one day to the top I belong

My teacher mantra me ‘leader of tomorrow’

Perhaps they said these to wipe away my sorrow.

But seems tomorrow never come

Or maybe I’m just forever young.

Though I can haul and urge them no more

No more can I endure to bear their brunt

Its dawn but the cocks still don’t crow

Ticking of time but our infants still don’t grow

Days roll into months, months into years

Our drumming rain turns lazy dew in the ears

While our waving sun changes to sleeping moon.

Our well is running dry, metamorphosed into a stony pit

Surrounded by dancing leafs

From the leafy branches of a sheltering tree

In the still of the night, our fathers stole away our right.

Rotating and revolving in selfish pride

They raped her and left the groom with no bride.

The rulers I know are still ruling

While tomorrows leader are trapped in their childhood myth looking.

The myth of my childhood

The myth that rips me off my manhood.

The Ecstasy that bind us

The love that blind us

Lying on my mother's chest

Sucking on my father's breast.

My lips on his hard on nipples

Excitement spread in like ripples.

Federal character a wailing abracadabra

A predicament sweet as venom, 

the treasure stolen in billion

We seek freedom from the rulers of this kingdom

They using us to rise to stardom, while our lives abandoned.

Sing it in their ears that again she’s in her period of Ovulation

Sing it all through the nation, 

on TV and every radio station

As we the youth are set on edge, for an un-ending Revolution.

By 

Yommy Bishop

Don't hate me cos I am poet (a Spoken Word Poem)

Don't hate me cos I am poet,

cos its one of the oldest profession on earth, after all,

it is written, "in the beginning was the word,

and the word was wih God, and the word was God."

So I can use my words like a sword,

sometimes I can hit out with it like an iron rod,

or use it to soothe and caress your soul,

and make u feel whole.

Don't hate me cos I am a poet,

For you might believe I am merely wasting my time,

but have you not read that, "a man's gift will create room for him and bring him before great men."

Did you not hear that, "a man diligent in his works will stand before Kings and not before ordinary people."

Though I do not mean to call you ordinary people,

but its a priviledge for you to read and see me perform for free;

what kings, Queens and all forms of Royalty pay me a huge fee.

Don't hate me cos I am a poet,

For this is the best way for me to express myself,

after all, the shortest  verse in the bible, John 11:35 said "Jesus wept."

This shows there is no shame in crying for a loved one who died.

So be not alarmed if you see me on stage with tears in my eyes,

I am merely expressing myself,

and I feel no shame for my tears.

Don't hate me cos I am a poet

For I use this means to talk about my Nation,

whose face is being perpetually rubbed in the semen of bribery and corruption.

Cos our leaders  continue to loot the treasury,

rape our sense of morality,

defy our cries for sanity

and make being honest and accountable equal to insanity.

  

Don't hate me cos I am a poet

For I can thrill your hearts with words,

words that strike your heart cords.

I can use words to do intellectual love making,

with no heart breaking,

no tears falling,

and no orgasm faking.

Just words that satisfy your heart cravings,

yet keep your body always wanting.

  

So, don't hate me cos I am a poet, cos it is what God has destined me to be,

and if you hate me, you hate God.

by Olulu, the King not from Zulu

THE EAGLE’S EYE ( a Spoken Word Poem)

THE EAGLE’S EYE

I see placards everywhere, in the first week of the year
I see them on the street

Walking in the sun on bare feet.

I see them in the market place

Whispering to the neighbor selling lace.

I see them on their mama’s back

Strapped with a wrapper around her chest

I see them with tie on their necks

Rushing to sit on their busy desks

Trying to give it their best

Yet their mind is never at rest.

I see them in their place of worship

Making their Priest and Imam their Lordship

I see them profuse and confused

Their attention hijacked and diffused.

I see them peeping through their little windows

Women afraid another bomb blast can make them widows.

I see tears in their eyes, falling like rain drops from the sky

I see Babylonian in Zion, striking hot the cold iron

Tearing down flesh like a hungry lion

Actualizing their evil plans of eon

I see fear on people’s faces

Scared to go to rowdy places

I see them walk home in pace

Cus the authority has since abandoned their case.

As the evil try to open up can of worms

The government thinks it’s just a storm in a tea cup

But the people are terrified by war songs

Singing yet biting their sour tongues.

I see their leaders as the highest bidder.

The so called senators are nothing but a bunch of predators

I see them in the lower chamber

Throwing words at each other with hot temper

Assembled in the ad hoc house,

Just to taste the cheese like Mickey Mouse

They are making policies for us to see

But their minds are corrupt, waiting to launder money over seas

Not the EFCC or ICPC can stop them

Cus they are agencies too blind to see them.

We are being given concoction for abortion

Investigation is their language in ugly situations

What else could it be but corruption

They are all crooks; even the few with integrity are disappointing

Don’t ask how, just ask Farouk.

I heard him say he has no shoes.

Shoes are not working tools, so tell him we are no fools.

I wish to put it all in my gazette,

But he has since refused to declare his assets

Acting funny, showing off his flat and ugly biceps

Eating cassava bread with no license.

He shed crocodile tears when humans are sacrificed

I don’t know what to say, but his tears are insignificant

The last time I heard, two birds dropped from the sky

The first ran into a moving van leaving some dead in Ghana

The second fell in our neighborhood, her name was Dana

Leaving cloud of dust and thick smoke in the air

Dead bodies are found lying everywhere.

In the north, everyday homes are destroyed

To the grave, great destinies are deployed.

All this I see through the eye of an Eagle

We need to redeem the days cus it’s full of evil.

I see Babylonian in Zion,

Tearing down flesh like a hungry lion

I see hustling & bustling in fear

In see a government that doesn’t care

They are serving us concoction for abortion

Corruption has eaten deep into our dear Nation

Give us light, good roads and water,

The youths need jobs, tired of eating bread and butter.

We need security, let the killing stop

Tell it loud; tell it to the man on top.

by YommyBishop………

                                                                             

This poem is written as a Reflection of the state of our Nation.

My heart goes out to families and friends of those that died in the struggle, in the bomb blasts, and the bomb blast victims and those that lost their lives in the Dana plane crash of 3rd June 2012. God will give them fortitude to bear the loss and May the Soul of the Dead Rest in Peace. These barbaric human sacrifice must stop, lets ask for mercy on our knees because God is all we need.