Skip to main content

Featured Poem: Day Bye Day, by McDaniels Afangideh



Day Bye Day (by McDaniels Afangideh)

I.
Night outs its duty for Morning phase
Creatures rising with dim eyes in bright faces
The sun traverses the land
journeying through the east
Homes make their daily bread with Holy yeast
Neighbours dance out exchanging pleasant pleasantrys
Clergymen chant canticles alone in their presbytery
Labourers file out in queue labouring for arrears
Doctors pray to Hypocrates to bless their their career
Poets paint pictures with pen filled analogy
Teachers reminded never to neglect their pedagogy
Student quest for Knowledge just to pay the price
Policemen find pleasure in bribe, not in bride
With every prayer they say
What more can we ask for each day
But an apple to keep the doctors away.

II.
It seems the day is over
Here comes evening
Gentle wind tickle rumpled skins
Tired clouds race back home
Where? 'Only nature seems to know
The big light ball alone down the path to the west
As birds of same feather mend their nest

Traders bid customers with priceless byes
Beggars decorate the street with fancy rags
Labourers rejoice in their labour arrears
Young girls fetch the riverbank with round bags
Lovers traipse paths leading to Garden of Eden
To make their undying love a secret hidden

Now the day is over
Night is surely here
Children watching tales by moonlight
All gathered at the village square
Babies kissing their mother's breast with sleepy eyes
Lovers canoodle on their bed of lies.
Day Bye Day.

- McDaniels Afangideh

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.  "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies"  "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"  After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"  "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....