#WarOfWords - Memories are strength by Momodu Ehiz

Lines this deep from a young mind, 
no wonder gold are from the deepest mines.
If I ever thought we were wasting time with poetry
and we might soon become history,
listening to this young man pour out his heart
shows poetry is all we should support on this earth.
Ok, this is not a poem
I'm just trying to say I "gbadun" this poet.
Content wise,
I will vote for him thrice :) .

Memories are strength

I may be too young 

Sitting still in this pool 

Of cold blood, tears

And flitting memories 

Of mama's first word 

But I know her death 

Wasn't because she hated me...or

Wanted to un-heavy her bones

If this words are lies

Why then did I cry? As I watched her die

Her tongue became cold 

Her eyes grew so wild

But couldn't see me wishing her alive 

Her hands;

Stretched forward for a last warmth 

As she laid lifeless

In a comfy coffin more expensive 

Than her well loved wedding gown

Still, she could not say a goodbye 

Or bid a last kiss,

She could not pet me by the shoulders 

And say "son ... I love you "

Have you once with your hands 

Worked the shovels to open the grounds 

To burry the remains 

Of the one you love so deep? 

Side-by-side your cold eyes 

Unable to drop the heavy tears 

Taunting the good memories 

Out of your skull 

Has life pushed you to tears, so unfair?

And your have not even a voice

To howl your grieve

Or ears to listen to your heart beats

It's like the whispers of Daffodils 

On your window sill 

After a heavy storm

It's like the first well spiced meal 

Of a newly wedded queen 

For her long awaited groom 

It's like the boost of an urchin 

Saying "I can move on" 

Have you pondered your mind? 

Why gold is from the deepest mires? 

Crude oil from the darkest pits 

Lovely poems from terrible scenes 

Love songs from broken hearts 

Luxuries from breaking rocks 

Peace from war 

Grieve from joy 

Solution from confusions 

Predictions from illusions

Mystifications from explanations 

Have you?

If yes, then you know why 

On this forlorn earth of hatred and all 

My lines would go so deep your soul 

Like the tears of a lonely orphan 

Picking waterside pebbles 

To pluck down the heavens 

From its wide reign

Then you would know why 

Even the darkest of cloud 

Or the deadliest venoms of western hurricane

Can't stop that you 

When you really want to breakout from those clouds 

And know you can go in

For a winning again 

Cos the word smiles 

But only when you smile

by 

Momodu Ehiz

Watch the video via this link:

#WarOfWords- Memories are Strength

http://youtu.be/BwBO1dmF5uk

http://youtu.be/BwBO1dmF5uk

CLANGINGS: This is not a poem...!!!!

This is not a note about Ex-Lovers
It is about the stunning unbefriendable women across world
Fenced away by the unseen wings of space

This is not an epistle 
It is about la-di-dahs who in 4745 days of their love lives, 
Never ever bordered to send a love letter 
Or receive a gift of rose either

This is not a poem per se
It is a reminder to not hold back a good thing
Because, you temporarily are just a custodian
Of a heart- a baby’s heart seething 

This is not a battleground
It is the gun-sounds of your heart-shots
Rendering my body into a debris 

This is not about heartaches and breakups
It is trusting my teen daughter to not rely on my opinion
To date a guy I know not from Eve

This is not about stringing words or painting hieroglyph-ed prescriptions
For blind patients
It is about a deaf man blowing a cello to dead men, walking

This is not about uncertainty or errata 
It is about cats caterwauling at the sight 
Of hapless dancing butterflies

This is not about sextractions or macho-quotients
It is about knowing the truth
Tasting the truth, yet testing the truth
In order to believe the lies

This is not a poem
So I need you to stop looking out for tropes
Where there is no imagery or symbols

This is not about dance macabre
It is lilting on a foot and scratching your itch
when all you got is peppered nails of hunger

This again is not about smashing
It is about varying pleasure with pressure 
Twitching and switching tongue-speed,
at mastered angles of attack

This is not about Amnesty or honesty
It is about Travesty 
Of handling hoodlums consent
Of reincarnation with blazing cudgels 

This is not about incarceration 
It is about death coming
Brandishing kisses and saying
In a familiar dreamy voice-
‘I bring you good news from yonder’

This is not a screaming contest
It is a whimpering release
Sliding disbelief into disaffection
And expecting anything short of regrets

This is not about a loveless world 
It is about finding a best friend
And hoping not to be friend-zoned for life

This is not about getting lost in lust 
It is in you looking for me 
And me finding you at the crossroad

This is not about making heaven or love
It is about ascending to the climax of freedom
And resisting return to the waste and chaos of landfills 

This is not about ‘red things’; red chili pepper
Red-lips 
Bloody hot things you dare not sup with your mouth;
It is about the riotous fluxes sieving blazing load-stones

This not about banking on God or 
Maidens seeking sexual deposits
It is about temples where miracles are procured
With banged-mints in the bank of God

This is not about guns 
It is not about school kids
It is not about News men and new lies
It is about unaccounted cadavers whisked off at birth

This is not about emergencies and hospitals
It is about caregivers decapitating invalids
To allow beds for jaundiced parents of haemophilia

This is not about birth marks or stretchmarks
Rather, it is about the stub that registers the sacrifices you’ll never need to make again

This is not about defloration on a tomb-slab
It is about rage tattooed on the inner thighs of 
Forsaken kids.

This is not about Fate or Faith
Neither is it about the gospel
It is about indissoluble lies frothing
In fabricated mouths

This is not a dirge 
Nor is it a requiem in the funeral of a killer
It is about the unshed tears for kids who died kissing bombs in sleep
Guessing they were toys in real life

This is not a preachment about God
It is a soliloquy about demigods selling dogs
To feed their gods of unbelief

This I say is not your everyday verses
Or clichéd words strewn on paper
It is about the wounded lines you hear with
Your eyes
The forked words inveigling your eardrums

This is not about selfishness
It isn’t even about you
It is about the me in you
The you in me
it is about us

© Shittu Fowora 2013

Believe...!!!!

I got up early one morning

And tried to worship God like I usually would do

I attempted to pray, but couldn’t get the words out

So I thought to sing – that always worked, but not that day

I was grateful to be alive, but didn’t know how to tell the ONE who made that possible

I was thankful to be saved, but couldn’t quite find the words to convey this

And then I turned, looked at  my husband and smiled

In quick succession, I recalled how I birthed my children and then I sighed

Almost like in a cinema, I watched how my life had been – my past flashed before me; scene after scene

I remembered my moments of shame, of guilt and how sad I once was

But then, a victorious chant of “halleluyah” filled my thoughts

And then I realized that it is a lot easier to worry over what had been lost; what could have been

Than it is to be glad for what you have left; what can still be achieved

He put a song on my lips that day – a melody in my heart:

Only believe

Just believe

Yes believe

That everything will be alright

Only believe

Just believe

You’ve gotta believe

There is hope for your soul.

by

Boluwatiwi 

The mystery of the Cane..........!!!!

I have a fine bamboo cane

Mounted on my window pane

Even as a five months old babe

Kaka my daughter knows its name

Correction is essential for upbringing

Just like the young sprouting yam tendrils

Entwined on a stake in the farm of my granny

To ensure they survive and do not stray

Teach a child the way in which to go

And when he grows from it would not go

This the holy book to us made known

From Him to whom all mysteries know

The Igbo saying is always repeated

Correct the child with the right hand

Console the child with the left hand

A saying that I always hold dear to heart

by Miss Lotanna Nnoli