Stop the Violence by Nomar Knight

Save the children of the street,
Tripping over graves under their feet.
Older people run in fear.
Pendulum of death swings so near.

Terrifying games are being played.
Hour by hour new graves are made.
Echoes of cries that will never fade.
Vivid memories of death and hate.
Ignorant youths challenge their fate.
Oppressed people flailing in vain.
Lads see a future with nothing but pain.
Everyone looking out for number one.
Never believing one day they'll be done.
Cries for help go undaunted.
Electric streets, forever haunted.

© Copyright Nomar Knight 2008. Reprint. All rights reserved.

Source:

http://knightchills.blogspot.com/2010/11/stop-violence-by-nomar-knight.html

Stop the Violence...!!!!

The phrase violence against women is a technical term used to collectively refer to violent acts that are primarily or exclusively committed against women. Similar to a hate crime, which it is sometimes considered this type of violence targets a specific group with the victim's gender as a primary motive.

The United Nations General Assembly defines "violence against women" as "any act of gender-based violence that results in, or is likely to result in, physical, sexual or mental harm or suffering to women, including threats of such acts, coercion or arbitrary deprivation of liberty, whether occurring in public or in private life." The 1993 Declaration on the Elimination of Violence Against Women noted that this violence could be perpetrated by assailants of either gender, family members and even the "State" itself.

Worldwide governments and organizations actively work to combat violence against women through a variety of programs. A UN resolution designated 25 November as International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women.

Poem written by Seye La Poet, Olulu, Kemistry, Arch Angel, Atilola and Titilayo.

Poem was compiled/ synchronized by Atilola

Executive Producers:  Stephen Oshilaja Media Production and i2X Media Company Limited.

#WarOfWords - Deep Words for a Brother by Ifeanyi Bernard

There is so much I can say about this piece,
but there is so little I want to say.
Read on and you might understand why.


War Of Words - Deep Words for a Brother by Ifeanyi Bernard 

I lost a friend
And now I have a torn heart to mend.
Of course not by a shoemaker 
but by a true maker, 
God almighty and he is doing it

I need a miracle
Olorunfemi Banjoko
An Iroko, 
gone too soon like the vapour from monsoon
He was young, tender and kind hearted.
Brave, strong, intelligent
Smart, not belligerent
 He made himself an asset before he parted.


Femi, Femi,
When you became a medical doctor, you smiled with the thought that you would take care of your family--- Health wise
And when you joined the Nigerian Army, you also did smile with the thought that you would protect your family and nation at large--- Security wise
But where was the Nigerian army when you were delivered into the hands of death?
Perhaps, they were busy chasing the northern group who were formerly selling coco and ram but are now popularly known as Boko Haram.

Who knows the size of death?
It could be a giant or it could be a dwarf
It could be as large as a whale or it could be as slim as a figure like a stick of macaroni
A sound of warning!
Death is powerful!
Death is no respecter of health or wealth
The mere thought of it changes the mood
But hang on, the truth has to be told for good
The say the truth is bitter
So, I wouldn’t be surprised if you cry me a litre
Or better still, a river

You can’t bribe death with millions or billions or trillions of pounds and shillings
Or else, you would be chilling in the mortar where death would pound you at once
And reduce your weight to an ounce.
You can’t bribe death with food, if I could, I would prepare it a delicious indomie with fried eggs or fufu with ofe Egusi.
In order to be physically and mentally stable, we sit on tables to eat good food like fruits and vegetables such as carrots-carrots
But sometimes we fail to realize that when we die we all rot and only get enriched with maggots-maggots
If death were to be a handsome man like Olulu, 
the king not from Zulu, 
you can’t possibly seduce him with body hogs and mini-skirts

And if death were to be a beautiful woman like Atilola, you can’t possibly seduce her with 6 packs or 1 pack like mine.

This is my very first piece so I will sign off in peace but before I leave in peace, may the soul of Olorunfemi Banjoko and the soul of your most loved lost ones and the soul of the faithful departed rest in perfect peace. Amen

Watch the piece here

#WarOfWords - Deep Words for a Brother

http://youtu.be/EMB3UxBAwY8

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