Always a tough business: Tournament
But women take along ornament:
Old Testament's and New Testament's
They put it on, they're in firmaments...
Now and again for rearmament
Why can't it be in tournament?
"Sure, football is played in stadiums
But last week, I was here for idioms;
Our resource persons on podium,
A blaring microphone for medium
Stadiums some women storm for Legend,
Who shall their multiple worries end
To their feminine wishes bend
And, in short, a million naira lend:
Women not for men from the roadside,
Who should the other way face for bride:
The men worth their embrace or kiss
Ones in real, not titular office!
The pain and the success,
The aches and the medals,
The sweat before the shower,
Feeling weak where you once felt power.
The trips and the podiums,
The icy morns and the sunlit eves,
The strained pant before the joyous exhale,
A winning mentality to beat any fear of fail.
The disappointments and the smiles,
The sore backs and the comforting throb of rest,
A question of challenge becomes an answer of what if?
Choosing safe and secure or to leap from that cliff.
If an avocado had a voice, he'd say, "eat me, I'm an excellent food choice".
If an avocado went to war, his uniform would be green, that's for sure.
If an avocado made a speech from a podium, he would share with his audience that he's low on sodium. If an avocado went to court and took a plea, he'd surly admit to being cholesterol free. If an avocado was wealthy, he'd pronounce that he was so heart healthy. Eating avocados is a win win. There only eighty calories with twenty vitamins.
I stand on the podium, with a trembling heart
Looking towards, a big sum of audience.
Their eyes are like, stars in the sky
Twinkling clearly and raising my pressure.
They seems before me, as devils in their chairs
Waiting to tear my heart, apart.
Hundreds and hundreds of eyes, I saw
Without a drop of, kindness in them.
Then I remember, the famous words,
None but the brave deserves the fair,
The sign of life is strength and growth,
The sign of death is weakness, it says.
I kept my doubts, a distance away
And delivered the lecture, without any fear.
There saw the devils, standing like angels,
Clapping and clapping, for ever and ever.
Honorable Mention in STRAND SPECIAL 4 ,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
Tell me, Casanova, how long you’ll pine
On sodden sleeves your heart you’ve worn
Reputation on the line in decline
Sterile standing in society shorn
Of its aura of charm and calm
Reduced to tatters
With no love balm
In sight, your maneuver no longer flatters
As you once boasted it could
At your beck and call
Methinks you’re knocking on wood
Hastening your free fall
From grace as your pedestal
Driven to its knees
Slumps horizontal
With pitiful pleas
For release from the grip
The siren on you
Seems to rip
Anew
Threads of last ditch
Hope on which bits and slits of your heart hang
Primed to switch
Off the clang
In the intensive care unit
In which between Charybdis and Scylla
Where the last throes of your discomfiture knit
In the power Priscilla
Yields to snuff out
In rapid fire
The doubt
On hire that can longer respire
Gives up its ghost
In shame and odium
To a tortuous toast
On your Waterloo podium
Where spectators fed up with your pitiful pleas
Demand the coup de grace
Sleaze
To terminate your winless race to save your face.
here at gadgados we keep loosing them employees
the other day me was so frustrated threatened a quit
the MD heard of it i was summoned to the big office
whats the problem.. don't complain about your duties
do it this way do it that way accomplish it this way finito..
the MD didn't mince his words and i begged for a better pay
i begrudging backlog and overload and appreciation
him assuring we need you.. i never quit so i took a leave
am back to the hassle and tassle as i look for daily bread
of providence and work and great redemptive power
the power and ability to pay my bills thou an artist..
it inst easy living by art in this beloved nation of art
i am not a quitter but i nearly quit and weeks later
am handed a letter its a promotion and better pay
dated the same day i had wanted to resign from duty
lewis nyaga
If you move around,
or turn your head to the side,
your words float
into a stream of swift water
to be swallowed up by fish,
under the chair of the person
whispering in your ear,
or into air so thin
they are snatched by birds
flying into the next room.
If you're chained to a podium
by a stationary mike,
you must lean forward,
place your mouth near the mike,
and blab straight ahead.
Give me a microphone
I can hold in my hand,
and move, as my body dictates.
In this,
I am my mother’s daughter.
If you tied my hands
behind my back,
I could not speak a word.
A speaker at a podium
Looks out upon a sea
Of faces, listening or not,
To varying degree.
Some lecturers go on and on
And haven't got a clue
The audience is tuning out,
As folks are wont to do.
The power point display clicks by
With charts and lots of graphs;
It sure would be improved with just
Some repartee or laughs.
Of course, some people at the mike
Have really got the knack,
Possessing all the magnetism
Other speakers lack.
As someone in the conference crowd,
It's always such a shock
When those presenting ramble on,
Despite the ticking clock.
It matters not how smart you are
Or what you might believe,
When lecturers drone on and on,
The crowd can't wait to leave.
The man in the podium has anything to say;
He can promise a better future or curse the present day.
Employing dirty tactics; either by blackmail or a lure;
He’s allying with the devil for the simple crave of pow’r.
All eyes to this fellow; all ears to his every word
He has the art of an orator that no one will get bored
So critical of his predecessors as if they hadn't done any good
And the harder he’d be hitting the crowd would applaud.
He’d say: “I’m the best among the bests you folks could ever choose;
I shall alleviate the least; I’m a defender of their cause.”
False promises and charisma bring euphoria to the crowd
That the rivers shall have bridges and the mountains shall have roads.
“ I’ll be a better planner if I’ll be allowed to serve
And that the smallest of the voices surely can be heard.
The wealthy shall be friendly if I’ll be privileged to lead
And the poor man shall be alienated from the old life that he lived.”
His speech can be so touching like the message of the Lord
Piercing the heart of every audience like a two-edged sword.
Then I talked to a sensible fellow; He’s just given me a cue
That the man in the podium is just too good to be true.
Let the breathing become tough
and the eyes quick shudder in rapping repetitions
Metaphorically I'm fine
In reality I'm screaming
as an odd teaming
of pupils gather here
to bare witness
take notes
Chore up the damagers and skip past their throats
Never mind
Thought there was some talk of speaking up
from someone who claims they heard something in the midst of whispered grunts
Where would the false prophets sit
if the subconscious is late to the carnival
Where will the unconscious lay
If the awake keep smashing up clocks
Admission of the hull taking damage
is a critical key
for a passive aggressors daily intake
of an optimists analytical glee
Observe
Change
Reorganize
But there will be change
there will be a costly account of a victim
and a differing view of what will occur
Sprout the ideas to shout
Dealing with clout
Reeling from doubt
It has to be made from the inside out
Speaking from the podium, to thank
all for my Poet Laureate Award;
overwhelmingly glad to receive it
from the hands of a famous critic...
I discern how the audience loves my lyric!
I have never spoken so openly
about the idealism and realism of my poetry;
and they are listening, focused on my lines
recited softly to them with emotions and tears,
and their positive response is my reward.
Applaud me for creating new rhymes and rhythms,
poetic words inspired by the wilderness of frontiers,
by the truthful insights I expressed with my momentum;
unlikely other poets, who are perpetuate in memoriam,
and lie into tombstones never having been given honor.
Entered in Brian Strand's Poet Laureate contest
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
There once was a podium man.
Who gave to the world all he can.
He broadcast his message,
A dismal sad presage,
An excuse to push through his plan.
On point, there he stood smiling bright.
As he lied through his teeth, pearly white.
With showmanship air,
He feigned how he cared
For his countryman's desperate plight.
A leader of such strength was he;
Incorruptible, honest, and free.
Was showered in praise
All through ruling days
While his rivals were crushed secretly.
He lives in all ages of time.
Deceiver of men, he is prime.
If you feel disgusted,
By a man you once trusted.
Be sure he is known for his crime.
As the maestro,
With melodic intention,
Directed the orchestra
Through movement
Inflection
His face told the story
Of the composition
It was one of feeling
Deep love
Through years of time
Always prevailing
But not without trials
The tribulations needed
To make the love
Worthwhile
It wasn’t until the finale
That I read the name
The composer
Was the maestro
One who lived with heart
Sharing with music