Jaachi Writes

POEM 206: HELL IS A PLACE ABOVE GROUND can you remember when you had that gentle, modest, natural innocence before the erosion of isms stripped it away? can you remember when you hit the street clad in nudity and laughter dancing in the rain and chasing butterflies before the heat of religion melted it away? can you remember when the dim light of everything that illuminated your dreams rose like sea levels in the hearts of friends under the aesthetic moon before the storm washed it away? can you remember when you stare at the rising sun in sheer awe and amusement as it crawl from the horizon into the sky before the wind of tribalism blew it away? now we don't know where we are, no green fields, no grin real, the blazing sun shine no longer on everything we do, all over the cardinal, cold tundra of hatred from people knock off our eyelids and leave our eyes to the dust of class, race, tribe, religion, gender equality, sexual orientation like magma underground

POEM 205: FROZEN earth's warming up but my core is frozen up iced heart frozen thoughts clotted tears, eyes that cannot bleed this is how I preserve my heart from the decay that comes with pain #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA

POEM 204: THIS IS HOW YOU LET GO AND REGRET LATER to cherish so much, so true to sing 'together forever' and give pinky promises to anticipate the first time and imagine the bliss of cloud nine to meet and heartbeats race for cuddles and kisses to steal what's ours and steal away before dawn dawns to watch one suffer in silence for want of more that'll never come to be far away from what was expected and what was seen to be there as he slowly fall to the rubble of many emotional trouble to hear voices that never spoke when he tickled your wet fold to withdraw from further fires and freeze up in scriptural ice to reach out again but rather too late because the tides pulled him away further and further from hope into another dame's home to never ending spiral of regret his hurting heart slipping from your fingers typing messages he'd read and bleed to nights of pillow wetting with tears he would've evaporated to days, to months, to years of

Nobody Told Me I feel something piercing my heart They've torn my soul beyond my burning sole. Nobody told me this road has fangs. Tossed out of the car, I am stuck midway to somewhere. Where I am now is nowhere. Nobody told me there will be doubt traps. Like the thick smoke in the air so shall I disappear to oblivion; dreams unlived before my time's up. Nobody told me life will be unfair. I thought honey will always flow I thought hurt I'll never know I thought highs have no low... Nobody told me it's never so. Nobody told... maybe they did but I took no heed! Tell me, were you told if you get cut you'll not bleed? Nobody told me - Now I'm caught and I cannot flee. #Pengician #SSA

POEM 203: OF BIRDS, BUTTERFLIES AND THE WIND to be free as the bird to be your wind to flap my wings to sing moan your name to slit through air and navigate clouds to stick my head into clouds to be free with you and bond to you but wishes don't grow wings butterflies can't beat strong winds #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy. I introduced Facebook Comment feature. Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 202: HOW TO SOUND PHILOSOPHICAL This is how to sound philosophical, sit behind a stack of holy books and smoke shisha pick alif hamzat wasil Iām shadda dagger alif hā and cajole Yahweh to stifle a laugh while unlocking Da Vinci's code. throw a jab at Buddha and giggle as Baal chuckle at the nudity of hijab gypsies relying on broken tafsir inscribed in Nsibidi make nonsense of legends and demystify myths maybe with conspiracy theories only clowns decipher sing Yeshua to sleep on the laps of Magdalene and feed the Medina man a lump of swine. drag Baphometh by the horns into a pool of the Messiah's blood and feign delight as he swims away chanting 'Beyo! Beyon! Beyonce is...' trails off place 6 and 6 beside a 9 a threesome for the Antichrist and when you're done confusing mankind sip some coffee and pen these down: beliefs can change worlds change lives but it can also make us blind love can bond worlds crush walls but it can also shatter hearts truth can save us

POEM 201: APC The real APC We do not defect. Our carpets are landmarks No leg can cross its path. We're legit, not looters Even sin hate us! We all are speakers. We own words. Lay ambush on us and we'll walk right through you with spoken words. Why so blue? We are the sky. When you lose your white green to red patches on Jos hills just look up to us. You can call us gods. Why open palms? Demanding for bribe? No! We're beckoning on our bride, your senses, come let's save the land! How long shall bonded broomsticks take us for a ride? Y'all witches? What are we saying? We too wonder why. Why do politicians make APC vain? We are the real APC we do not defect. Our words might be just poetry but we speak not in vain. Our word is our bond We don't run the mace. We are the real APC Aba Poetry Club The other na fake! Go get your PVC and some pint of sense. -------------------------------------------- Photo credit: Porient ART & Media #365DaysOfPoetry #AbaPoetryClub

Broken Bottles "'Bestie', 'bestie', 'bestie'. That's how pant will shift and you will not know ". Uluoma said to her sister, Nina.  The latter smiled, fiddling with her phone. It was apparent the smile wasn't for Uluoma but for the 'bestie' in question.  "Am I not talking to you, Nina?" Another smile. The chat was really intriguing. Anger got the better part of Uluoma and she made to snatch Nina's cellphone.  "Aahan, sister 'Luoma!" Nina grumbled.  "Shut up! What's 'Aahan'? You're snubbing me". Another grumble, this time unintelligible.  "You're still chatting with that boy? Tell me, is he your boyfriend?" "Sis 'Luoma, he's not. How many times will I tell you? He's just my friend. It just happens that our friendship is the best of its kind." "Best of its kind? Okay. Keep up the friendship o. See the way he makes you smile." "Sister

Allen And The Mirror "You're cute" the mirror softly spoke "But more than a feeble cub with a beard you know" He cried, "Why can't I be forever this little folk?" "Never you once say you love the looks of a wise owl?" And Nature rode by the night he clocked sixteen To sow the crops forbidden He woke up to feel the prickles Wondering how one night had brought so many troubles. "Who planted on my face these fiendish briers?" He asked the mirror on the nightstand "So bad how a cherub yesterday looks a chimp today with hairs - Or am I just blind?" "I can feel your pain little one" The mirror replied calmly "Tis how watched your grandpa grow till he passed on - Wait a few days to behold the garden that charms every lady" Unconvinced, the boy Allen broke into solemn tears On a barter of magic for adult fears and the sores razors will bring Aftershave that makes father moan when it stings "You'll

POEM 200: EMMAGINATION OF A PENGICIAN Sometimes, I feel like being a pengician with a wild loop of emmagination. I’ll sink into a throne of papyrus and wave my quill in the air, pretending it a magic wand, finger into my box full of wonders and wobble in sheer curiosities. One wave to the right and words erupt from dead skulls. Another wave to the left and verses are formed on dead scrolls. I’ll pull out stacks of cards and make em fall head over hips on alluring lines, sit back and chuckle when three fall one on the other in amorphous threesome. I used to think I own the game until a fair lad showed me how the lame leap listlessly long lean lines in alliteration to his rhymes. If I had you interpret the above, won't you sigh and just give up? His emmagination is such that gifts margarine to skulls that rattle in the grave. He writes his poems in silent nights, and whispers them to deafened hearts. He waves his wand and words dance about to lyrics only gods can mime. If you shou

POEM 199: REHEARSED MEMORIES Chapter One: The length of my stare rolled and twisted as it stumbled over memories on wobbly limbs between the best of yore and all uncertain fore. I placed a trembling thumb on a page I once walked and ran my middle finger on each story-line as if to say 'fuck you!' over and over, to the hurdles that made me tumble to the traits that made me fumble to the fiends that made me rumble to the times I almost did crumble. Chapter Two: A teen’s head craving for head pop up like porn ads on Pornhub off and flail and frail and fair the irony of here and there that makes no champion anywhere. Through the winds of enduring sadness and then the ripples of alluring sweetness that made my spirit sway and carried my body away on the laps of Bella, my Delilah. One wink too much, One discuss to lust, One gap too small, One touch too long, One kiss too much, One thrust too short, I sighed and flipped next page to read fighting off the flirting memories and reech

HIS LOVE I will sojourn round the globe to get thee the hued cloth going round the celestial brume and making my ode blotched before thee lo the celerity is clarioned  bringing susurration to thine pellucid steed by zepyr aranting thine blade to bring thine children's foe rended - Bro. Victor Ifeanyichukwu Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

THE EXPORT I actually didn't know what Old Prof wanted from me. He helped me, fine. I know, but I hadn’t asked him to bundle me into his sentiments. On several attempts, he couldn’t allow me say a single word while we had conversation in front of a glowing fire, that stroke of the night. Like a cantankerous woman, he dominated the conversation as though I knew nothing— as he told his own version of the Biafra War: how the Nigerian soldiers mangled and subjugated the East to perpetual annihilation. While in the midst of our conversation, I’d thought he was talkative, because of the load of experiences he had garnered over the years. I knew, knowledge makes one loud or mad— or, there is this explosiveness in the head of knowledgeable people, just like an energy trying to escape from an enclosed container, that’s how they’d always want to say all they have in the head. However, if too much knowledge wasn’t the reason Old Prof had been loud and talkative, then, old age should probably

TOPIC: LITERARY APPRECIATION Many writers know little or nothing about this. Some can’t mention the Genres of Literature and Elements of each Genres. What is Literary Appreciation? Literary Appreciation is simply the ability to understand and evaluate works of Literature. Evaluate here means to make judgment about the quality or value of literary work. Evaluation is usually an opinion about a given work, but it must be based on facts There are a lot of definitions of literary Appreciation. A common and easy one definition of literary appreciation comes from Will Martin, Literary Appreciation it is the ability to study, understand and appreciate the famous or noteworthy literature works. Ogenwelle (2006) said that “Literary appreciation works towards an understanding of writing styles and the use of literary devices within writing, such as imagery and alliteration”. ELEMENTS OF POETRY Diction: It is the choice of words of a poet. A good diction passes its message with suitable words Rh

SYMPATHY, HEAVENS! SYMPATHY! as parched as the sands of Sahara so am I; Oasis of victuals long lost, thistles and thorns. Bereft of lush,of green bereft. Panting in despair like a thirsty hare, I stand, bent and helpless, admiring in sweet anguish, the beautiful flames of my burning bush. With weak smiles drawing wrinkles lines of uncertainties on my face, I chew bitter cords of fate I play bitter chords of fate on an old stringless guitar. Why do I suffer? I starved no one! You've got the wrong man, karma! Am I some kinda Christ? Star with black stripes sit on my clay crown. I stay me down, seated on my clay throne. Is this royalty? Sympathy, heavens! Sympathy #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy. I introduced Facebook Comment feature. Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 198: Acrostic for Rachel Red patches on stone walls Actuating an electric switch Cracking through defenses High raised to fence off unity Etched in our tender hearts at birth Love survives like red patches on stone walls #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends.  Thank you!

FOR LOST BOYS If a boy can chew on his tongue and grit his teeth for warmth from cold, can he grind his soul and out of it brew the path that'll lead him home? What if he loses care for peeping eyes, kicks feet to the rhythm of his soul, conjures smiles as his dances to instinct's strings, will his offerings be pleasing? What if the streets forget to dance when he pipes and flutes about? How can a boy know his root if at 50 he's still a youth? I only wonder how much peril he can seduce, the much fear his core can induce, how rare it seems to perceive the obvious,  'cause with the fleeting moment he loses focus. See, time floats above water like an abandoned boat, one with the tide that leads not home. He's the water, he's the boat Soon he'll hang on lips like 'grandpa' Yet 'never' is no real word.  Even the feeblest of arms can aim skyward and weakest of limbs can ride again but only when the right choice is darted at the heart. How would the

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

POEM 197: I LOVE YOUR TOO MUCH (Pidgin English) Dem tell me sey make I no try am Sey you no be my type. Sey your shakara e too much Me I love your too much. 'Shoot your shot' na my mantra As I fire na so I trap am Nne your green light no be wash Me I like your too much Morning, noon and even' time Na tinini tanana You colobi my thoughts so much Me I love your too much If you leave me I go die o I swear down, I no dey lie o Sugar kills if you lick am too much Me I love your too much. E too dey sweet and e fit kill But this kain death naim dey sweet me Nwànyì ómà na-átò útò Me I love your too much. Earth to moon I fit to crawl o Nothing wey I want again o Your love dey make my head touch Me I love your too much. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 196: PARADOX OF REDEMPTION Grace spells hope  in unknown letters. Love sings hope  in unknown tongues. Mercy builds bridges  over stormy waters. Faith polishes grey parts  to shine. I have grace and love  and mercy much Why doth my faith polish to a blur? #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 195: AWFULLY BROKEN I've seen butterflies zigzag around flowers perching and sipping nectar only to be trapped in the mouth of a toad. I've felt the intense sweetness of one soul mating another and then peel apart with shocking fierceness, I think life's too long to have just one. I've tasted honey in honeymoon and danced salsa in my room: but the loss holds a stronger stench doom, that preceded the loss of you. I've lost many and gained a few I've pulled sundials off the blue I've once with divinity been in sync, and then lost touch with everything. Like deep rooted guilt and inbred fear, I'm a new moon afraid of light. Like dreary tales I dread hold dear, I'm flora bloom that see no night. True that, I laughed, I loved, I live, but oh, I lose me everyday! although for peace I'm desperate, For though I laugh, and love and live and lean like lines on loose logs, no tear erupts from my tear ducts, and my burden lifted not at the foot of th

POEM 194: NO BLOOD AT CALVARY I came wounded, worn and wanting I came thirsty, torn and tattooed head to my toe by sin, and stained soul deep, hoping Calvary still flows crimson but there's no blood at calvary. I came weary, worried and wrinkled I came perturbed, pricked and pained I came for his flesh, water and the blood dying to drown in Christ's soul-saving flood But there's no blood at Calvary. Am I one too dirty His blood can't wash? Is His blood too poor to bleach my debts? Am I one too broken whose faith He ignores? Have I wandered beyond Rock of Ages' cleft? Why's Calvary bankrupt of blood? If His blood has reached its clot, Can my tears my sins atone? Have I hurt sour the Holy Ghost? Why doth the Father hang drop call? #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA

I know the 'WHYs' that precede your tears: Brace up, you're not the first! I know that sigh, that silence: It reminds me you wish I'm there. I know how 'I love you' ends: Talk of recycled tales. I know you now regard me less: You got the jewel. So what's left? I know you think it's useless: Don't give up, it's just a fleeting process. I know genuine sorrow, friends: Sun dry your crocodile tears. I know the peace of death: Goodbye is just a recess. I know the cramps of ink fest: I'm just a menstruating poetess. I know the stench of emotional mess: blame the wanton goddess. I know that crowd moment, when one feels rather friendless. I know the schedule of eternity Godless: Time for burning is endless. I know the guile of pretense: just when did I lose my essence? I know the stain of greases: makes saints of gypsies. I know the weight of crosses: Leaves one between heaven and abyss. I know perilous times: They peel away smiles. I know the pang o