Jaachi Writes

The Timeline of Agbada, Etibo and Babariga 1960 agbada and babariga etibo and babariga never had we a man in suit piloting the affairs of the nation 1966 khaki and berets swagger and muskets one takes down the other from one military junta to another 2015 since we didn't possess sense when electing another babariga can we have sense and at least get a suit wearing president in power? all preceding presidents wore no suits, because of beer guts and pot belly? 2019 this grand pa, though senile and rail thin is neither wearing suits nor brain than suits 2023 shouldn't we, at least, for tomorrow's sake elect a man on suit who wouldn't ganduje the treasuries in his babariga? maybe it's the suit that'll break the jinx #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!  

Sometimes, it's difficult to not love a poet. One could hardly tell when it is 'just poetry' from when 'it's from the heart' Genuine! As the sun sets, he rouses her desires with words. "You have a fine forehead  and obvious cheeks.  Tiny well-crafted ears.  They fit just well on your head." He also plays on words. Intentionally. "And oh, your smile. Somewhat titty. Not so long neck. Not short either." She is also a poet. One whose way with words amazes even the creator of languages. 'People barely notice my ears but you did,  beautiful eyes you got there. I still remember what the autumn leaves told the ground. ' He replies: "I'm falling for you?" 'The problem with loving you or having an awesome lover like you is, you will always get away with anything. You are too awesome.' "I'm smitten" They chuckle. Her blushes, obvious. Passion? Lust? The way he looks at her, straight in the eye. Passion? Lust...

i don’t want a religion defined the texture of faith thickens as rituals spools it they often say faith comes by hearing the word of god, yet they bore holes in my purse with constant taxes, with different phrases and faces and phases oftentimes i 'ew' at religion throwing up dogmas founded in the search of pious repose peeling off the sleeves of righteousness and putting on rags of same self-made, teaching longing souls how to bare their soles on the thorns of clergy greed, maybe salvation from the highs and lows, with each exhales and inhale of prophetic proclamations shall evoke divine blessings but i don’t want a religion defined i desire a religion that absorbs my willfully surrendered parts i desire a religion that discards the shallow to reach my deepest parts make me strong enough to be fragile, human, not a pretentious version of Lucifer, who having been threatened with hell many times ov, now dreads grace and buys salvation with deeds of love faux i desire a religion...

FUNNY YET SAD Write me a poem about two sides of a coin how one side is gold and the flip side foil Funny how the things we once cherished are become anathematized by the ideas we now hold as divine Funny how we made jest of the others only to become what they became to us. Funny how we unconsciously slide into same boxed category of once-upon-a-time kinda story. Funny how we take same history classes and repeat same historic mistakes as if, to say, we were oblivious of them. Funny how we condemn 'them' but later become 'them' in a nick of time. Funny how we sit and point fingers at the others only to fall into same ditch they'd entered Funny how we condemned them but sit to dine and wine with them Funny how we cast aspersions at one but find closure in the other side of same coin Funny how we chuckle at their stereotypes but rage with fiery vexation when others hold faux opinions of us Funny how life plays a fast one on us like the wind unveils the coc...

THE ERRAND BOY Write me a poem about an errand boy of how the master said to his boy "Get ready your kite, for tomorrow, you'd share nickels down the road" Into the street dashed errand boy his kinky blond hair glistering in the sun he mounted his kite with a wrinkled grin and flew into Kogi's sky as the master's bidden When he arrived the market square he staggered down and with carefree flare Nickels he threw into their faces, like trash to the fire With haste, he mounted his kite  feedback, for the master, to recite But the errand boy's kite  was swept off the sky Must have been some sort of a force, technological whatever it was, master's unaware, so let us blame the rainmaker and the market woman who sells umbrella #WriteMeAPoem #Pengician #SSA

ABIA Umuahia is a malnourished widow, Aba flaunts her bad and dirty roads,  to the admiration of ndi uwa. But like a psychotic florist,  Ikpeazu creates many flower derangement instead of paving the roads and clearing the dirt. n'ogugu steeti niile di na ala Naijiria, Abia steeti kwesiri ibu ndi mbu mana anyi bu ndi ikpeazu anyi nwe ndi umbulari  ma nwekwa ndi aziza ya na ndi okuko mana anyi enweghi ndi mmadu biko, how long shall this continue? #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading?  Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!  

POEM 354: VANITY the most impious of thoughts flooded my mind  as I bowed the head to pray for you and I blame the chilly harmattan breeze that through my window panes, sneaked in when i made to say the grace the words below was what I said: strike me as you would a match, against the surfaces of your supple skin strike me, please, not once,  but many times, until we catch fire when I was done, with my refrain I swear I heard heaven chorus 'amen' the most impious of thoughts flooded my mind  as I bowed the head to pray for you and I I feel holy still because 'tis natural this vanity, to crave #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!   

POEM 346:  i am about to mock my ignorance it's okay if you cannot stifle the laugh i'd be better off, because i write. i'm unaware, isn't it the trend? about the working of a court, of scribbling porn, i was convicted, by the church, without the court by god, i swear, i meat no Ham 'twas a harmless play on words, 'you're exCUMmunicated' moaned the church, well, i dragged 'em to the court my counsel is a good lawyer, the prosecutor had a fiery temper, 'he's a sinner!' moaned Padre still 'i've not seen her!' i argued still there was a minor chaos, we stood erect, trading words, the church and i, not one would bulge the judge banged his gavel so hard, it tickled the giant church bell "udder, udder" he moaned aloud i whispered audibly to barrister Chris , "a wrap of akpu, egusi, kanda and a can of coke". i placed my order, because horngry nice judge, he knows the bard be broke #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician   ...

POEM 341: FACEBOOK Blessed be Facebook, who goes around doing good. It may not make the lame to walk But it does make the dumb to talk. Now every opinionated fellow sit their sorry asses on a bed of stone log on to Facebook and let their fingers run mad here, there, everywhere, about this and that Blessed be Facebook, who goes around doing good. It might not share evenly, common sense, but it inspires me to write 365 poems Now everyone wants to be like me writing stuff about things subtly becoming addicted to pun eros gospel, the new Macedonian call Blessed be Facebook who goes around doing good. At this point, my muse left me, the next verse is yours to ink... #OPASFEDAS #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading?  Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!  

POEM 335: SOMETIME IN SEPTEMBER Mungo Park River Niger let me be the Mungo Park and you the River Niger let me wander from distant lands up north into the Atlantic, find you still and virgin, by the Delta let me sail into your wet embrace as your spirit beckons, draw me in deeper down your depth, until our souls become one let me row fingers on your skin who knows, I might discover the corals that sit beneath the depth of your ebony let me colonize your body, spirit, soul let me be yours alone to own #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading?  Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!  

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?...

POEM 293: THIS IS NOT A POEM Someday, when again I satire political events around the Niger area I'll write a poem on Baba Adamawa featuring Dede Anambra. In this poem of mine, which shall be written in due time, shall be words that mean a thing, two things and many other things. I shall scribble about an Atikulate Obituary where all divides shall lie in state, in a faux cemetery: Her rite foul place. I promise, there'll be no play on wards in this future poem of mine. And if you hold me by my words, friend, the blame wouldn't be mine. This is not a poem #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!