We Play Too Much | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 169: WE PLATEAU MUCH

If the title made you laugh

you're the reason I wrote the piece.

Ukelle chant war cries

burning down Iyila,

their boarder mates.

In Barkin Ladi

are barking dogs laden with hate,

tearing down the thin fabric

that unite a divided us.

Can't you see?

From South to the naught

we play dice with human lives.

When I was a child, I pride in rivers Niger and Benue,

rowed my boat in their confluence,

and sang the anthem with enthusiasm

but now I can't swim this river of blood

nor pledge allegiance to this cult.

Have you seen the pictures?

Don't you care for Jos?

How long shall we kneel and pray

while the enemy rise to prey?

It's true, for now I understand,

the Jos shall leave by fate.

For when we burn our neighborhood

and raze in fire our countrymen,

the one true god shall grin divine

and savour this burnt offering.

Aye?

Head here, body there

mother and suckling child lie in death.

Their crime was singing 'We Are Here'

and believing 'all of us'

mime the same.

Look how they're butchered like game.

Our guardians, they do not care:

Why would they?

It's part of the game.

We plateau much!

#365DaysOfPoetry

#Pengician

#SSA

Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

Comments

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...

Poemify | Haiku Writing

A haiku ( pronounced high-koo ) is short three-line poem that uses sensory language to capture a feeling or image. Haiku poetry was originally developed by Japanese poets. They are often inspired by nature, a moment of beauty, or poignant experience. Before I dive deep, I'd love to say this: I believe some of us here know what haiku is and what 'rules' there be that guide haiku writing. That's beautiful. We are here to learn, unlearn and relearn. So, I'd rather you keep your knowledge aside and learn something new today. Alright? Okay, let's walk over Jericho. Haiku is a Japanese verse in three lines. Line one has 5 syllables, line 2 has 7 syllables and line three has 5 syllables. Haiku is a mood poem and it doesn't use any metaphors or similes. Usually when haiku is taught, poets are only given the restriction of the number of lines and syllables. However, for good haiku poetry, more explanation needs to be given. This lecture is for poets who are willing...

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....

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog