Long poem by
Matt Ancient | Details |
ABOUT THE PRESS
The media, the press was established as an institution to fight for humanity and human right as well. To serve as a mediator between the people underground and the so called ruling class, thus between those at top and those at low, the rich and the poor, and that checking and balancing government. But this was not the case; the media was discriminatory, barbaric, partial and selfish. For instance what one could describe as glorious in Africa is always portrait as mysterious by the press. They always ignored the good things about Africa, Arabia, Latin America etc, and created a monster out of them, made them inferior in the eyes of the world, as if they were not part of the world or the human society. Whiles other mysterious things which happened in the west were hidden. For instance there were foolish monarchs in Europe who were spending lavishly on stupid things and billions on issues like toppling of other leaders in the Middle East, Africa, south Asia and Latin America; they spend on luxuries, expensive royal weddings and ceremonies and so on. Whiles women and children were suffering in Africa, Asia and Latin America. But the media kept quit and were always criticizing Africa, china, Arabia, and Latin Americas of being undemocratic. Even animals were given media attention than what a fellow man from other part of the world could do. Because of racism, where one comes from, the religious group he belongs to, and was seen as minority in the human society, and was always ignored and abused. They then protect the image of politicians, religious leaders and so called rich men in the society and ignored those who really needed their help because they were poor. Instead of being there for the poor, they took bribes from politicians, for they were selfish and greedy in gaining and taught about them selves alone, they does that to please these so called ruling class in other to win awards and rewards at the end, if one fall as a victim then he deals with that alone, but we all belongs to the human society, and all these human institutions are there for us all, but not for some group of people who claims to be the ruling class. Before one could become a leader, it is the same people who are seen as inferior, who chooses them and make them who they are. Nobody cares about anybody, the rich becomes richer and the poor, poorer, the main reason of the press is being undermined, because of corrupt, selfish character and evil deeds of other humans. For instance whiles Osama Bin Laden was seriously criticized by the western media, and a price on his head for crimes against humanity, George Bush was walking freely like a supper hero without any court or the media questioning him for the humanitarian genocide, war crimes against humanity in the middle east, about the innocent people who died, those who were wounded, lost their families and homes. Just because he was the president of America, but the question is does anybody has the right to abuse or take the life of another, because of title or position one has? . The media always protect the so called ruling class instead of protecting the poor from these 'beast' which devour blood of innocent people. The media is never transparent, free and fair and it aim of establishment or it existence is undermined. They never criticized the alliance of the US, France and the UK for crimes against humanity, for the lives of innocent people who lost their lives in Libya, just because of the hate of one man, many has to die, they kept quit and the truth being hidden, even North Korea was not invaded for the possession of weapons of mass destruction, as for that it was negotiable, about the monarchs in Europe, as for that it was the gift of God. The ultimate principle is by being free and fair and that brings satisfaction. There is no God who wants some people to be kings and others to slaves. Whiles Palestine is criticized of crimes and violence, Israel was encourage by the western media for the lost of lives of innocent people who lives in Gaza, the war crimes against humanity, just because of Palestine being an Islamic nation, they are accused of terrorism, but Israel has the right to deny people of their right to live, because the name Israel is in the bible or can any one tell the reason behind such atrocities. Although terrorism was in existence and was evil, for many innocent people lost their lives because of these so called terrorist, and if this is evil and needs to be condemned, why then should government organizations causes crimes against humanity in the name of fighting against terrorist, moreover there were terrorist every where, does that also means NATO should lunch attack on the European nations because there might be terrorist there, for there is an evidence that the source of these war crimes and weapons of mass destruction are all caused by political and religious atrocities, but the media always ignore such fact and rather sing praises on western leaders, they does this to please the so called ruling class in other to get awards and rewards. There were so many human right abuses going on, racial discrimination but the media kept quit so many times, especially if the victim comes from Latin America, Africa, Asia Arabia and so on. If the media will not sell it trust to politicians and so called ruling class, and they will be honest to themselves and all mankind, all sorts of corruption and abuses could have been seized and freedom achieved.
Long poem by
T Wignesan | Details |
‘ In general, quantum mechanics does not predict a single definite result for an observation. Instead, it predicts a number of different possible outcomes and tells us how likely each of these is. ‘
Which side of the Wolf-coin are we looking at
the red or the green
nothing then is certain
not even death but the life one endures
quarks protons neutrons electrons bosons
particles like men and beings in general
bathe not necessarily in the same lifeless soup
great teachers or rather teachers with great followings
those that always attract those who prefer to let others do the thinking for them
especially through transcendentally transmitted interstellar telegraphy
would want us believe
there’s just This One
and all comes and goes to That Only ONE
If only it were just as simple as that
Then what is it that This One wants
Or is It caught up in its own caveat
And must of needs come apart
on the seed that It alone plants
and do what we may
nothing goes wrong
whatever the explanation
everybody is right
right from the start
Big Bang from a tight-fisted unfurling hand
Big Crunch to a crushing tightening stranglehold
and out again
for the Brahma Day
and after aeons the Brahma Night
And at the stillstanding blackhole singularity
neither space nor time
squeezed in and out
Birth as in Death
An eventual point of total extinction
if ever there was one
Yet always the two extremes
and the ever-changing in-betweens
Matter versus Anti-Matter
Here the Yang is not lkely to be set againt the Yin
Though matter itself is neither
Is nor Is-Not-ness
And the 96% Dark Matter
And the infinite number of parallel universes
Does it really matter
‘ … if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands !
You would both vanish in a great flash of light.’
Vanish into what
or just non-dark matter
Still the duality of matter
Still the ever-changing conundrum
Everything moves jostles couples alters reproduces destructs
‘Sex is emotion in motion.’
into thin air
and roots one here
tied to the lunar year
why should it matter
if we cannot know the reason why
ego id libido
drive faith fame femme father future
if super/alter ego connects the ego
to the collective unconscious
why drown the self in the Great Self
by wilful act
when the Ultimate One
is the sum of all the little ones
Is the Original One incapable of absorbing all the ones
each of whom must move to eat drink sleep
copulate make money grow roots in a society
get and fight to keep a job
make love marry raise children
struggle to keep one’s wife one’s children
one’s house if one can get one
one’s career one’s future
and helter-skelter race to cheat death
If it’s the self-same thing that’s being born anew
What does it matter if it keeps changing in view
Of the desperate haste with which everything
We see smell hear feel intute sense
Keeps hurtling away from the Ding an Sich
And leaves us with a parochial Milky Way
Bastardised stealthily by grandiose Andromeda
Left retrograded entwined within measely galaxy clusters
Through some trillion cataclysmic light years
What’s the impulse to keep moving
Is the yogi’s stilled-centre
The death of all action
Which cannot call for a reaction
Or is the art of keeping still
Merely the art of making belief
‘…actors act out the pun that life is the art of acting
until your performed role becomes your normal character.
Then you are safe inside your character armour.’
As soon as you have thought It out
It turns around and re-structrures Itself inside out
and you know just why
don’t you now
References to the quotations
Stephen W. Hawking, A Brief History of Time : From the Big Bang to Black Holes, London-New York, 1988.
Attributed to Mae West.
Eric N. W. Mottram, « Men & Gods : A Study of Eugene O’Neill », Encore (London), 1963.
I’m not sure the « re-structuring » bit at the end comes from
Steven Weinberg or John Gribbin, or perhaps even from Fred Allan Wolf ?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005 ; rev. 2012. From the collection : Poems Omega-Plus, 2005.
Long poem by
matthew harris | Details |
Pardon any absent adulation, bequeathed capitulation, devoted dedication, indiscretion, blabbering peroration, improper salutation or any unintended vexation if this unknown earthling sent a nearly identical message. He over-looked a small number of errors and hoped that this version accepted as the most satisfactory to me.
Oh please for the sake (and sock e) of brethren deemed friendly, i beseech ye with genuine humility to desist launching nuclear missiles!
This American bloke put his lock, stock and barrel of gunmetal faith in mister Dennis Rodman to serve as a figurative lightning rod against any aggressive actions that would set in motion the end of civilization.
Not only would the majority of homo sapiens (yes, some clusters of earth-linked yahoos might still remain a live) suffer a nasty, short and brutish death, but also other flora and fauna could be equally annihilated!
Understandable, those grievances against sanctions against the populace of north Koreans (who most likely experience unfair hardship) fuels resentment against the hegemony of western powers. Many of these societies authoritatively brandish their devout pledge for concurrence with democratic principles.
Any endemic protestations declaiming objection to the American way affect an immediate alarm. Imposition of so called "puppet" regimes get forcibly installed sans those countries leaders who run counter to capitalistic productivity.
This one anonymous citizen of those fifty states also takes umbrage how the might of american to predominate and demand that other nations follow suit solely based on what agrees with those like minded in power sans the brotherhood/sisterhood of vast swaths of the global population.
No great expectations (by dickens) to affect passionate sentiments per those peoples somewhat hermetically sealed off and separated (viz - by the demilitarized zone) from the billions of other human beings.
Thy sole missive from one older mwm dreads the catastrophic chain reaction of events once atomic warfare triggered by the disgruntlement over some differences in outlook could possibly resolved via "active listening" and access to exchange a word of reconciliation.
As one flawed chap prone to his own bouts of anger, he attests that more positive pleasing results can prevails with the treat of world war three diffused in a manner that plays less havoc once unleashing of weapons of mass destruction occurs!
This notion came to me while tending to a basic bodily urge, thus intent to share my poem whence sitting
Upon the porcelain goddess,
A most brilliant idea in me mind did lit
This sole seasoned bugs bunny car tune character son of kit
Soon after on the road his imagination
Fired up with gaseous fleeting thought that softly hit
Attempting with futility to net ideas in me mind that flit
I yam a poet favoring words that rhyme a bit!
Iambic pentameter strands crochet themselves
Magically into verse
Interleaving like boughs of an arbor
Shielding this solitary soul
From shafts of sunlight that doth dapple
The canopy affecting shadows to disperse
Ebbing and flowing in tandem & sync
With circadian metronome this troll
Transformed by serenade from Mother Nature
With hand doth scythe lent curse
Congregating amongst a distinguished flora and faun
The latter sending tendrils
Poised on the brink of some philosophical revelation
Delicate as hocked china
Which capricious metaphorical musings
Resurrected from propriety
Devoid of any vicious evocations nor premonitions
While ensconced in eyesight of my adobe
Dwelling away from mass of society
Return of this native son harbors thoughts
Against madding crowd that cease to dwindle
To less than the effect of a mosquito needling proboscis
In the nape o me neck
As this contemplative human being feels
Leaves of grass each like a spindle
Completing a colorful pastoral palette
Of utmost verdant splendor upon flotsam speck
Allowing wisps of euphoria
To warm thine psyche easing books set afire to kindle
Under the azure vault
The entire warp and woof of one mortal male as he does lie
Where arises finding incriminating fault
Beneath the celestial sphere transfixed where mysteries catapult
As those simians who preceded him
Millenniums before similarly inebriated
From wondrous panoply of one star
That comprises a near infinite candelabra
Guiding the mind to posit the universe
This mission must come to a HALT!
From - one whom u kin newt re:fuse
No claim to be Walt Whitman only venturing forth
That all of mankind we lose
In the event of such apocalyptic once the fuse
Lit to launch missiles meant to zero in and cruise
Upon the masses a severe planet earth detonations
Inflicting concussions more fatal
Than the most lethal booze.
Long poem by
Robert Candler | Details |
Fifty years, boy and man, I’ve been a Sooners fan;
And watched thousands of recruits try to make my Sooners Team.
Often, I’ve enviously wondered what it must be like
To be a touted Sooners recruit, living out his dream.
He’d had a great career through high school;
Made good grades, was a football star, played baseball too.
Coach said college recruiters were watching closely;
So, he tried his very best to make his dream come true.
You see, he’d played on the L’il Sooners as a kid;
Started getting serious about the game when he was only eight
Played with older, bigger boys and practiced hard;
Always told his friends, “To be a Sooner, ya gotta play great”.
Oh yes, his parents raised a football player;
And, even more important, a Sooners fan;
But he wanted more, to be a Sooner,
To feel the glory raining down from the stands.
Now, the Sooners’ Head Coach is in his living room.
“Son, you’ve got talent. We think you fit our scheme.
We’re offering you a scholarship, an opportunity
To be an important member of our great Sooners Team”.
His mother smiles her biggest smile.
His father nods proudly and pats him on the knee.
“Lord knows, son, it’s a dream come true.
Go be the very best Sooner you can be”.
He walks into the locker room,
Not quite sure what to expect;
But sure that to play for the Sooners
He will first have to earn respect.
He looks each man straight in the eye -
Other recruits, trainers, assistants, and every coach.
“Be proud, but respectful”, his mother had said;
Your character, more than your performance, must be above reproach”.
His handshake is firm and he smiles.
“Only one chance for a first impression”, his father had said;
"Always put yourself in positive light, on and off the field.
That’s what it will take to play for the mighty Big Red”.
He meets so many other recruits, each one a high school star.
He’s played against a few and knows they share his dream.
And, to a man, each knows before any chance for Glory,
He first must prove worthy to play for this Sooners Team.
He knows a few will fail to meet the coaches’ expectations.
For some, the scout team will be their fate.
Many will suit up, but rarely play.
Only the very best will ever dare to be great.
Coach says, “If every man learns and executes when called on,
Then this team, we Sooners, will win a lot of games;
But, win or lose, if you play hard and give your very best,
You’ll never have to hang your heads in shame”.
“But gentlemen, with or without you, this team will win.
Every season, the Sooners strive to win it All.
So, listen, work hard, and prepare yourselves. Each game is war...
And you must be ready when Victory calls”.
Through grueling practices, he finds himself.
As he walks to class, his closest friends are aches and pains;
But, just the other day, Coach helped him up, smiled, and patted his helmet.
“You’re doin’ fine, son. Keep pushin’. Remember, no pain, no gain”.
He sees his name on the "open scrimmage" roster for the very first time.
It’s a moment he’ll never forget, another milestone in his dream.
He calls his Mom and Dad, knowing they’ll tell his family and his friends.
He hopes they’ll actually see him play, proof he’s made the Team.
As he suits up for the last pre-season open scrimmage,
He wonders if the coaches would really let a freshman play at all;
But Coach puts him in for eight plays against the first team;
He makes two great open-field tackles and intercepts the ball.
He barely hears the roar of the crowd, as the whole defense “gives him five”.
He’s so excited, he forgets to ask if he can keep that ball.
Fans are buzzing, “Did you see that hit”!? “Who is that kid”!?
“Will he red shirt or will Coach let him play this fall”?
He sees his name in the Sunday paper, hears it on local sports.
He’s happy, but he doesn’t let it go to his head.
He keeps his focus and uses it as motivation.
After all, he wants to start one day for the mighty Big Red.
Yes, we’ll hear more of this young recruit.
Perhaps, one day he’ll be the hero of the game.
A seasoned veteran, maybe All Conference or even All American,
Who’s tasted Victory many times and helped glorify the Sooners’ name.
Oh yes, there have been so many who’ve aspired;
But many fewer who’ve actually made our Sooners Team.
They are our heroes, each and every one;
For it’s through their accomplishments, we fans can live the dream.
Billy Vessels, Steve Owens, Billy Sims, and Jason White,
The Selmons, Little Joe, the Boz, Josh Heupel, and “Q”
They, and so many others, were once touted Sooners recruits;
Who set a higher mark and built the Tradition that is OU.
So, c’mon! c’mon! all you great young football players!
Dedicate your talents to OU’s Team and OU’s Fans.
Make Oklahoma’s Owen Field your Field of Dreams,
And feel the Glory raining down from the stands.
Long poem by
Poet Destroyer A | Details |
Lost in a poets convention,
I can't recall every poem, I've read through the years
50518, unique comments I 'validate'---
Thank You For Sharing Your Happy and Sad tears
Since March 24, 2010 In the mist of every line,
I'm sending special hugs, for he/she that favorite me through the years
A praise to all poets mentioned and not mentioned
I will miss, the sweetest girl on this block LEONORA G.,
She treats me with love, adores my words and twisted poetry.
I will start with the soups famous October, 7th babies,
Frank and Kash, Debbie D, and myself, these lines belong to us,
Our best characteristic has everything to do with the mind
In our poetic hearts you'll find the symbol of justice and balance
This is not a song, it is not a poem, it's a free falling memo written with style
Back in March 2013, I said it then, I'll say it again
Andrea, you and only you are the Poet Queen
By the Queen, sits the Poet King of rhymes, Robert L. Hinshaw
Thank you both for never stepping on your loyal subjects
Carol B., & Linda Marie, no one can replace the hole you left inside
I will miss all the little poetry pups, who came and sat by my side
MAHIMA and Saanvi, and Sabrina, thank you for the encouragement
Phyllis, Joyce, Francine, Rhonda, Betty, sweet Karen A., and Catie,
Clap your hands for the lovely quiet soup ladies.
Okay, maybe not Karen A., and Catie, these ladies love speaking their minds:)
SARA K., a mentor to some, a Fairy Godmother in my book
I will miss her "Magic Pen like Wand" dearly.
Gail, thank you for spreading your wings, and teaching us how to fly.
Hopefully --wings are a nice gesture, --waving--
"One day I'll see you again, my friend."
Daver Austin, "Go ahead, make my day" thank you for the show
Now, you know why I referred to you as, "The Clint Eastwood of Poetry."
Russell Survey, encouraged my days and moods with his kind words
Scribe ML., where are you my friend?
Don't you know your BIGGEST FAN misses you!!!
Dr Ram, Bindu V, Litan D., Donna J, Shadow, Sandra A., Peter Durgan,
Giorgio V., Mystic Rose, BL Devnath and of course our Nette.
Thank you for being kind and rewinding and replying to every note.
Joseph M., Caleb S., Vincent F., Juliet L., Lucy Carrillo, Scott 37, Johnny R.,
Kelly D., thank you for the honor in always honoring my words
Roger Horsch meets Eileen Ghali, your smile, her smile always made me smile,
No matter how many miles apart, our smiles always met on the same page.
Jenish, Don J., S.Z. Kamoonpuri, Gideon, Gary, Austin E., and Jody M.,
Fatima N., Mark N., Aiyah B., Ralph F., Kathryn C., Elly, Ayesha A.,
Clay W., Erich, Syam, MIKKI, John B., Olusegun, *Sukmawati* Gwen,
Delysia H., Frederic P., Richard L., Brenda L., Keith, Debbie G.,
Thank you for painting the best IMAGERY
Michale Clarke, Charma C., Wayland B., Jancarl C., Carrie, and Harry,
M&M, Abdulhafeez, Michael B., Maria P. S., CHAN and Mandy T.
You are only the beginning of what makes this a good community
Arlid A., Dinda M., Silly Billy, Tim Ryerson, we go way back.
Ravindra, Kim M., Richard S., Honestly JT., Wade A., Dom-X.
The ingredients in your poems, makes the best soup remix
Joe M., Jack H., James H., James P., Tim B., Jon A. C., Allan K., Matthew A.
Deb Wilson, David S., David William, Thomas S., Cecilia M.
Keep that pen flowing for tomorrow needs poets like you.
Justin B., Laura B., your words will continue to be a part of me.
Owen Y., and John L., your visits, your friendship I will never forget
Yasmin and Carl F., hanging out with you on the soup was the best.
Cherl Dunn, and Colleen Bono, SandyIvy, I will miss everything about you,
Mostly I will miss your friendship and the way you took care of me.
Poet and sister Skat, keep rocking what I can't....
Copy paste your love, welcome in the new.
Show Edwina, Robin, Sam B., and all the NEW POETS they belong
Last but not least-- Behind every mess, they are the best
--Craig Cornish and Cyndi McMillan
What have you done, I admit without you this place would have been no fun.
Thank you for the spin, making every penny worth our paid premium memberships
Before I forget,
I want to take this time to reminisce and add two old friends to my hot list.
Nikko and Chris A..... My first POETRY SOUP FRIENDS.
I will never forget you, and all the fun moments we had,
Back when the soup was not like this:)
Chris, can you ever forgive me, I never stepped up to say "I was Sorry!"
As you know my kindness is my weakness
Now it's time to be strong and move on
If one day I return, then you know, I fell off the wagon
And, into arms and luring fingers of Team Poetry Soup
The Poet Destroyer
Long poem by
Prince Rage | Details |
Oppressor and the oppressed.
Who is the oppressed and who is the oppressor?
Who has the right to beat a random person on the street?
Who has the right when to pronounce a person guilty or to see that they is the victim?
Who has the jurisdiction to carry a gun and to unload on a random person because of the way they is playing life's game?
There is a president but he has a nation that needs to be run, there is a mayor but he or she needs to govern protection and education for every man,woman, and child. There is those who vote and those who do not, there is those who KILL for a FEE and those who KILL to protect those who threaten and attempt to poison their feed.
In the Crayola box there is over 8 colors and how many of them do you see fighting to maintain a piece of land that doesn't even have their name? These colors have managed to get along but why has us as artist slander there good name?
You may agree we should be free, others may agree to lock them away, the third party may vote that we should have a Hunger Game and declare a winner from each district and let them be reminded by name and plaque.
Will it not be funnier if things went back to being the same before the post-Europeans, before the ice age, before slavery, before time itself? Before evolution, before the industrial revolution, do you believe it will solve the conflict of today? Do you believe it will create a new name of a newer society that is under a different system?
The enforcers enforce a punishment that themselves would not want to see happen to people of there kind, the victim sometimes is the guilted, the drugs may make a person a bit deranged or even appearance may look strange. But deep within their brain hides another person who has experienced a pain that became so unbearable so they hid behind a false name. Drinking, smoking, feeling of looking at trees in 3-D is all the same when you are being called a different name, but let it not change you into something that you did not dream of to be.
Look at me, I am me, you may see prince, others may see another black person, another person may ask me name and they may read my palms and tell me that I carry. Both a Spanish and African name that I was originally given to from birth. But hey life is a curse. You can argue with what happened in the past but will that change the date of today's oncoming past!
But the most funniest thing about our past is how much we cherish it and pray for its ways to be continued on today. But look around you what do you see... I won't say any name for my name is not even copyrighted, BUT EVERYBODY WANTS TO START A RIOT! I look at the people around me and I think how can you say that we need to bring change when your thinking and doing the same as the person who once stabbed you in the back?
I'm not saying don't hate the Man, I'm not saying say **** THE POLICE, I'm not saying that the president is part of some dummy corporation, I'm not saying that their isn't a war that has begun, but if you choose to believe what you hear than you will get what you perceive to be your reality!
I'm not saying don't go to school, I'm not saying don't drink, smoke weed, or snort yayo, I'm not saying that you have to rob and be branded a theft, I'm not saying that you shouldn't give love a chance, but everything is up to thee on how thou wants to perceive the world.
I'm not saying that if you close your eyes you will dream, I'm not saying that if you smoke crack you will become a fiend, I'm not saying that THERE IS NO DEMONS ONLY REASONS, I'm not saying that if youse look into the mirror you will see another person in your eyes, I'm not saying that the soul lies behind the eyes. But if you believe the lies you will think that when the truth is told you will think that, that is the lie.
There is a oppressor and there is there oppressed. There is the depressed and there is the depression that we all feel. There is two eyes but they act as one. Nobody asked to be POOR, nobody asked to have WEALTH,nobody asked to have POOR HEALTH, nobody asked to be born with ways that needs to confine to limited space.
But hey the more you believe the lies. The more that you have to believe you will be confined Into thinking that this life is a lie.
There will be battles, but instead of battling and slandering. Why don't we make our voices be heard like that over a beat slapped with claps and a set of drums. Kicking the inside of ears.
Let us prevent the internal bleeding of our heart that is beating (BREATHING)!
Long poem by
Magnus Nwagu Amudi Esq | Details |
The year that is about to make its last appearance
before it dies and is buried to be only given a place
in the history of our existence has brought ?e joy,
l° shall therefore, out of obligation rather than
leisure acknowledge its fairness and generosity. It
began on a high as l° aimed to make it through the
Bar exams and to be successfully called to the
Nigerian Bar. This singular goal, controlled all
others and made them seem less important. In the
end, the story ended greatly, we all do love happy
endings, l° am a Barrister and Solicitor of the
Supreme Court of Nigeria. To God be the glory.
Yet, the most important aspect of the year wasn't
the fact that l° became a Barrister, rather, it is the
fact that through the demanding and rough
journey of reaching and achieving that goal, along
came people of great personality, people l° knew
had the character to spur you on and literally uplift
you both psychologically and in every other positive
way possible. For the first time in my life, l° was
opened to the richness of the earth's diversity, both
in religion as well as in culture. l° even spoke new
languages and danced to new tunes. l° was given a
new eyes, l° did see the world from another
perspective, it was thrilling and l° came to see the
blessing in the cultural and ethnic differences. But,
the crux of the essay being friendship.
The year 2012, gave ?e the most supportive,
reliable and cheerful individuals to work and also
relax with. These people not withstanding their
different social, religious and academic background
did with ease find a common ground and built a
strong fold for friendship. There were moments no
doubt during the year when it would have been
quite impossible to move ahead without the
support and undying motivation of these
individuals, as l° do stand at this bridge, about to
cross to the other end of the journey, l° would take
a few minutes to say a very hearty thank you to all
of you. From my parents, without whom there will
be no Barrister attached to my name, words fail
?e. l° do say a big thank you. To my siblings who
went out of their own financial obligations to
support ?e through the difficult but productive
year, l° am ever indebted to all of you jointly and
severally. For a friend like no other, master
Chinasa Orji, let your heart desires become reality
unto you bro and the same gratitude goes to the
entire Orji family. l° will now try as much as l° can,
to mention a few of those whose friendship,
alleviated the burden of the journey through 2012,
and l° say the list is not quite chronological, l° just
add to it as l° do remember, these persons include
but not restricted to:
1. Mazi Ezegamba Esq.
2. Mr. Frank Somto Esq. (Ajo anu)
3. Okpara Chinedu Esq.
4. Mallam Abubakar Lawal EsQ
5. Mr. Yage Bamiyi Esq.
6. Adesola Adelusi Esq. (Miss)
7. Amarachi Esq.
8. Tony Amaechi Ojukwu (Esq. )
9. Sir Nnanna JOJ Oketa (Esq).
10. Richard Bassey Iyaha (Esq.) - God bless you
11. Chinelo Ogbozor Esq.
12. Churchill Udedibor Esq.
13. Henry Onugwu Esq.
14. Forster Eneh Esq.
15. Kingsley Chime Esq.
16. Mr Magnus Akabueze
17. Emmanuela Oraegbu Esq.
18. Nonso Nzedebe Esq.
19. Orji Ukah Agwu Esq.
20. Chinedu Ezeokoronkwo Esq.
21. Emmanuel Okoroji Esq.
23. Onyinye Nnorom Esq.
24. John Daramola Esq.
25. Chisom Nnabuife Esq.
26. Ebikaboere Abiri Esq.
27. Tobi Esq. - Mi consigliere
28. Michael Dokpesi. Esq.
29. Mr Idowu
30. Mr. Majemite Emoubonovie Esq. - very
31. Mr. Samson Itodo Esq
32. Muna Nweke
33. Da silva Joy
34. Kingsley Uwakwe Esq.
36. Kaobi Esq.
37. Chinwe Ozobu Esq.
38. Ifesi Udeh Esq.
39. Ihezi Okeafor
40. Ezekiel Egbo
41. Chima obiEze Esq.
42. ID Kabasa - my esteemed barber
43. Mary Alice Simms
44. Victor Mok Esq.
45. Bukky Esq.
46. Josh Olomo Esq.
47. Edosa Esq.
48. Detola Esq.
49. Bassey Bassey Esq.
50. Sammy Udoh. Esq.
51. Sabastine Udoh Esq.
52. Iyke Ananuba Esq.
53. Kingston Esq.
55. Victor Idiong Esq.
56. Mariam Ekenimoh Esq.
These and many more people that l° can't put all
here for the lack of time and to make it less boring
to read really and honestly contributed to my
success in making this year count and l° pray that
the year we are about to witness and explore will
bring us more reasons to celebrate, love and
Do have a great NEW YEAR.
Long poem by
Valentine Mbagu | Details |
As October 1 approaches, HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY……………………
I have enormous tracts of land and vast volumes of water, but cannot feed myself.
So I spend $1 billion to import rice and another $2 billion on milk.
I produce rice, but don’t eat it. I have millions of cows but no milk.
I am 53, please celebrate me.
I drive the best cars in the world but have no roads,
so I crush my best brains in the caverns,
craters and crevasses they crash into daily.
I am in unending mourning, please celebrate me.
My school has no teacher and my classroom has no roof.
I take lectures through windows and live with 15 others in one room.
All my professors have gone abroad, and the rest are awaiting visas.
I am a university graduate, but I am illiterate. I want a future, please celebrate me.
Preventable diseases send me to hospitals without doctors, medicines or power.
All the nurses have gone abroad and the rest are waiting to go also.
I have the highest maternal and infant mortality rates in the world;
and future generations are dying before me. I am hopeless, hapless and helpless,
please celebrate me.
For democracy’s sake I stood all day on Election Day.
But before I could ink my thumb, results had been broadcast.
When I dared to speak out, silence was enthroned by bullets.
My leaders are my oppressors, and my policemen are my terrors.
I am ruled by men in mufti, but I am not a democracy.
I have no verve, no vote, no voice, please celebrate me.
My youth have no past, present nor future.
So my sons in the North have become street urchins;
and his brothers in the South have become kidnappers.
My nephews die of thirst in the Sahara and his cousins drown in the Mediterranean.
My daughters walk the streets of Lagos , Abuja and Port Harcourt;
while her sisters parade the streets of Rome and Amsterdam .
I am grief-stricken, please celebrate me.
Pen-wielding bandits have raided everything in my vaults.
They walk the land with haughty strides and fly the skies with private planes
They have looted the future of generations unborn;
and have money they cannot spend in several lifetimes,
but their brothers die of starvation. I want a kit of kindness, please celebrate me.
I can produce anything, but import everything.
So my toothpick is made in China; my toothpaste is made in South Africa;
my salt is made in Ghana; my butter is made in Ireland;
my milk is made in Holland; my shoe is made in Italy;
my vegetable oil is made in Malaysia*** my biscuit is made in Indonesia;
my chocolate is made in Turkey and my table water made in France.
My taste is far-flung and foreign, please celebrate me.
My land is dead because all the trees have been cut down;
flooding kills thousands yearly because the drainages are clogged;
my fishes are dead because the oil companies dump waste in my rivers;
my communities are vanishing into the huge yawns of gully erosion, and nothing is being done.
My very existence is uncertain and I am in the deepest depths of despondence, please celebrate me.
I have genuine leather but choose to eat it.
So I spend billions of dollars to import fake leather.
I have four refineries, but prefer to import fuel,
so I waste more billions to import petrol. I have no security in my country,
but send troops to keep peace in another man’s land.
I have hundreds of dams, but no water.
So I drink ‘pure’ water that roils my innards.
I need a vision, please celebrate me.
I have a million candidates craving to enter universities,
but my dungeons can only accommodate a tenth.
I have no power, but choose to flare gas,
so my people have learnt to see in the dark and stare at the glare of Unclad flares.
I am shrouded by darkness, please celebrate me.
For my golden jubilee,
I shall spend 16 billion naira to bash around the bonfires of the banal.
So what if the majority gaze at my possessed, frenzied dance;
drenched in silent tears, as probity is enslaved in democracy’s empty cellars?
I am profligacy personified, please celebrate me.
Why can I not simply reflect and ponder?
Does my complexion cloud the colour of my character?
Does my location limit the lengths my liberty?
Does the spirit of my conviction shackle my soul
Does my mien maim the mine of my mind?
And is failure worth celebrating?
I AM NIGERIAN, PLEASE CELEBRATE ME.
Long poem by
Chris D. Aechtner | Details |
A Cardinal darts past, and I cannot quite discern if it chirps out of nervousness
towards the impending storm.
If so, the twittering of cell phones sound far more nerve-wracking --
portable typewriters encased in the soul-less facade of laissez faire;
of keeping track, of minding the flocks.
Yes, everyone is a poet these days, tapping away on miniature, plastic typewriters,
typing away the next narrative filled with prose pretending to be free verse.
Whether the majority is truly poetic or not, Frankenstorm surely is poetic;
named after Mary Shelley's, Frankenstein.
The poetic justice of it all amongst a tragedy of broken necks and drownings,
for the Shelleys were the epitome of Romanticism --
not of ritualistic bouquets bought from the florist who sells porn on the sly,
or of waxy chocolate made by children in clandestine factories built from the bricks
of Mao's dreams of anthills and selling short the power stemming from another poet
turned arms dealer.
No, the romance for life itself; to become poetry as poetry turns into us.
To find mystery in everyday moments; to distil this mystery, offer it to the reader,
so that the reader becomes drunken, swooning in a stupor towards worlds
that are 1,000,000 light years away.
Frankenstorm, the Haunting of Shelleys, lashes out at the dead poetry of today;
at the empty, listlessly inane, lazy poetry of today.
The brightest stars are falling into a void, turning away from the very essence
they so wish to express....only because they want to be unique, to be original,
to carve their own niche into the Jack O' Lanterns of a Hallowe'en quickly turning into cheap, dollar store decorations.
They still have hope. They still have hope, even if many further detach themselves
from their emotions with another dose of prescription pills meant to pacify;
meant to reign in the emotional beasts of imagination, until only zombies preserved in formaldehyde, remain.
I can literally feel the Haunting of Shelleys ask wot has become of us.
It used to be about work ethic and soul - one had to kick, tear, bite, simply to publish
a pamphlet that might be read by 10 people.
Nowadays, everyone is a supposed poet. A few clicks, 'submit', and people from all
over the world can read cotton-candy couplets, or a free verse rendition of another grocery list.
But we must embolster this with:
"They are only beginning; they need to express themselves;
they just don't care."
I don't want to be told about the pain, the tragedy, the beauty, the love.
I want to be shown.
I want to feel it.
I want to feel it squeeze my gray matter into a bitter-sweet drink;
I want to feel it go down.
I want to feel it warm up my heart, grip my stomach until the bottom falls out
and I am left careening down a shaft in an elevator with a broken pulley and rusted-through brakes, and just when I think the end has come, the elevator bursts through
a bottom which is actually the ceiling of a world now turned upside-down --
and by the time I right myself, have read the last line, there is still a remaining mysterious periphery of the cats that reside in the corner of my eyes;
purring, waiting until I come back to re-read that particular poem,
for it is so tantalizing, I want to come back to it over and over again
for the remainder of my years.
Storms will always come and go,
but I sensed the metaphorical message of the Frankenstorm very strongly.
Yet this doesn't mean that I will turn the message into fruition.
But I will certainly attempt to do so.
Within my delirium, I will continue to try distilling the intangible
into a drunken tangibility; even for the sake of simply trying.
And as I ponder, as I witness the present decay of humanity,
witness the state of today's poetry, I can only wonder how many more
Hauntings of Shelleys are possibly already brewing.
October 31st, 2012
My thoughts go out to those caught in the path of Frankenstorm 2012.
Such events move me very deeply.
*I have already posted this prose in a blog, because at the time,
the character-count exceeded the limit of poem posts.
Long poem by
betty njie | Details |
This is not a perfect story, its a feeling that i just want to share with you. I need HELP
The love i show to everyone in my surrounding, its just rediculous the way have trained myself to become or should i just say its my character thats how i am. I hate it when i cry for nothing, its just that i cant get it, do i have to be perfect to earn something in life. Am a good dancer, a good writer as well as a good person, but what have i earned in these living nothing absolutly nothig. Have plied myself to be thee who loves all and never attempt to hate any even thoes who have shown me hatred. Deep in me i feel the agony something somewhere in my daily living is not satisfied have allow my instincts to believe that its just the human strategy we are never satisfied and can never truly and pratically be satisfied, but in my case its a bit different. I miss love, looking at the whole situation properly i cant tell who loves me and who really hates me devastating anomly. The history of my life carries untold stories within its path, i dont even know who truly i am. One thing that am very sure of is that i am always there for thoes whom i feel am bound to be there for although i could be somewhere else. In tears i sometimes sit to ask why, why do i have to be these way. Am so mean to myself as the ones am so hardly trying to be a help of, at a moment i hate myself so much that i dont want to exsist anymore, i wish to be another somebody of somewhere. Just because i couldnt once make it right to the ones i feel bound to help. I am a lost soul screaming loud for attention at some point i can explode if i could, there is such much going on in my head i have issues that i want to talk about things that i just cant keep to myself. Thanks to writing i can state it down. This is a rapid that have ever since search to write about about but i just could figure it out. I really cant tell weather my own mother loves to talk less of my dad or my boyfriend. My motto, never have up the fight for love, deep inside me am gone, empty and lost, but in my heart i know i can make things happen and watch myself work wonders i believe that. It might be hard to understand if you cant feel what am feeling in me but am completely lost. Do i even have talents? i dont know i have no idea, what i think is am just that loser that dont want to accept her destiny. There is nothing i repeat nothing in this world that cant be solved, my soul is longing for satisfaction love and nothing but the truth. The big thank you i always carry around in me goes to thee the almighty thee who created man from a thick clot of blood and gave hime life despite all what he know that would happen, who has given me the chance to live a life. Suddenly am starting to see life with a different eye than i normally used to as i am writing this,have just figured out life is me, i am my life its only me that can make myself feel just the right way i deserve to feel. Have made so many wrong dicisions, gone through so many hard ways that i could have actually safe myself from. Have given away my last penny to make another fellow feel happy and like me for thoes moments, have thrown my pride away to make a boy fall for my adventurious way, have hurt someones feeling to make another one like me, have done so many harm to myself and others. I just dont know where to head to sometimes i just feel like i should just kill myself and free my thoughts but then I always have this tiny voice in my head that always reminds me of Gods love and it works everytime, thats just what keeps me moving anytime i want to turn back. Have written a manuscript that carries living in it but its still in my laptop. At a certain point i thought putting down 28 pills in my tiny body could save by story, totally wrong thought am stronger than that. SAVE MY STORY.
What happens when you feel so lost, so devastated knowing that no one seems to be understanding your situation. When the whole world turns their backs on you, you feel empty, its a terrible feeling.
Wanting to become a somebody to make a certain person in your life happy, a wish that appears not to becoming true, wanting to publish your first book at the age of 20 but you almost 20 and nothing.