Skip to main content

Johnny | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu


POEM 316: JOHNNY

Prelude:
Life can be a challenge; 
of that there is no doubt.
But If we cannot laugh at ourselves,
life will become a dull and stifling experience.

We could ease up and laugh away
the stress and hurt and all.

Life is pretty hard, I know,
but if we take a moment to stop and see the joke,
we can change our entire day.

Those that take life seriously,
may see humor as an obstacle in our paths.

But the truth is this: jokes are funny
because they contain an ounce of truth about life
that would not be able to be shown through any other medium,
other than sarcasm, satire or comedy.

This is not a poem,
it's funny, for the sake of laughs,
but the funniest part of all,
is none of this is funny to me,
it's reality,

The Poem:

Johnny Johnny
'Yes, Papa'

Graduate now?
'Yes, Papa'

Job in company?
'Yes, Papa'

Too much work?
'Yes, Papa'

Stress much?
'Yes, Papa'

Family life fun?
'No, Papa'

BP sugar?
'High, Papa'
Yearly Bonus?
'Joke, Papa'

Minimum wage?
'Haba, Papa'

Annual Pay?
'Low, Papa'

Personal life?
'Lost, Papa'

Promotion incentive?
'Ha ha ha, Papa'

(Over to you. Add yours)

#365DaysOfPoetry
#pengician #SSA

Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!
 

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....