Category: Life

PAPA’S NEW WIFE, Poetry by Nnamdi Wabara

I had gone back towards the Living Room.

For my School Text, which I had left on the side table.

My Math assignment to be redone, errors rife.

But Papa had a visitor, who whispered with him, like thieves about a heirloom.

Then out of the hushed tones, the inaudible rabble;

Papa said ” Tomorrow, she’ll be here; My New Wife”.

Genre: Family, Life, People

PAPA’S NEW WIFE by Nnamdi Wabara

 

I had gone back towards the Living Room.

For my School Text, which I had left on the side table.

My Math assignment to be redone, errors rife.

But Papa had a visitor, who whispered with him, like thieves about a heirloom.

Then out of the hushed tones, the inaudible rabble;

Papa said ” Tomorrow, she’ll be here; My New Wife”.

 

 

My young legs became filled with copious lead.

I froze to the spot. Enraged, yet rooted.

My heart thundered against my ribs, as if to break free.

And worse. The door opened. It was Revd. Gilead.

Parish Pastor and regular partaker of Mama’s delicious stewed Goat head.

I dodged as he made to pat my head, lest he stain me with his filthy mire.

 

 

That Evening at dinner, I couldn’t swallow even a morsel.

I just sat at the table staring at my plate, while my mind rioted.

Watching him even feed Mama pieces of fish from his soup. The Traitor!

My two little sisters chatted merrily and helped finish my cup of Sorrel.

My parents soon stood and hand in hand, whilst giggling, announced they had retired.

I soon left as well, not having the heart while my sisters washed up, to monitor.

 

 

Sleep that night was turbulent. I tossed and turned.

What could turn a godly man, an avowed Christian, polygamous?

When just the other day, he had railed against infidelity in the Church.

He wouldn’t even shake the Landlord’s hand after the Caretaker’s young daughter became his newly wed.

Gone were his public vows of ensuring his children became famous.

How possible, when the new wife will fight us over even the battered couch.

 

 

Then I wondered if at all we will be in Papa’s will.

Mama’s three daughters’ stood no chance against a new son in the African Custom.

Oh the injustice of it all, as I fell into a fitful sleep.

And I dreamt we were Romans and were gathered to feast on some bounty kill.

Though dressed in Togas’, I could still make out people in the place, including my Grand-Mom.

The Revd. Gilead was called Brutus, and I wished he would remain there as Caesar’s keep.

 

 

The Morning only brought me high fevers.

All sweaty, with splitting headaches. Mama sent word to School through my sisters.

I feigned sleep as Papa felt my forehead and prayed for my recovery. Evil Man!

At noon, I heard Mama’s excited shout; “Nne, come and see your Father’s New Wife”. Gone were the feverish shivers.

I charged out. An ill and weak Nine Year Old. Machete in hand. To ensure justice and preserve the honour of Mama and my sisters.

There she was. A White Volkswagen Beetle. Glistening in the Sun. Papa had bought a new Car. My Sweet Old Man.

 

Nnamdi Wabara, 2016.( newerthots.blogspot.com )

 

 

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MY LIFE HAS 9 ROOMS, Poetry by Dheric Da Poet

One,
Each passing day I welcome thoughts of her into my mind.
Thoughts I can only hold on to in times of despair.
Two,
I could swear I see rainbows under my pillow each night.
But whenever I trace it to the end, I see no pot of gold.
One of these days, I might recruit a search party.

Genre : LIFE

MY LIFE HAS 9 ROOMS by Dheric Da Poet

One,
Each passing day I welcome thoughts of her into my mind.
Thoughts I can only hold on to in times of despair.
Two,
I could swear I see rainbows under my pillow each night.
But whenever I trace it to the end, I see no pot of gold.
One of these days, I might recruit a search party.
Three,
I eat, sleep, and wake.
That’s the daily routine.
Anything else comes in second place.
I hope the same won’t happen on my wedding night.
Four,
If I ever get married, I won’t say no to anime.
If I have children, I’ll make sure I pass the tradition on.
For what’s life without comic books and cartoon network?
Five,
To the boys who will one day date my daughter,
I started perfecting head shots the day she was born.
I bought a large size plastic bag the day she started school
And I’ve got a silent gun too.
Six,
To the girls who will one day want to date my daughter,
Let’s just hope I have only one bullet left when meet.
Seven,
I’m scared of heights,
So I never raise my hand in class.
I fear the eagles of failure will pull off my hand of hope.
That’s why I keep it hidden.
Eight,
I keep consoling myself, saying
“My time will come”.
What I didn’t realize was the clock of life was actually waiting for me to insert the battery.
Nine,
I call my failures Adwoa
And my successes Abena,
My hopes bear the name Akua
Ten,
I try very hard to keep myself under the carpet cos I don’t want to be noticed.

Brigid, Poetry by Andrea Connolly

Her wingspan shrouded in mystery

The small tortoiseshell rubicund

Ebony and golden forewings

Tangerine surged from chrysalis

A ring of blue, her spell, her veil

Little hands fold hollow reeds

Genre: Fantasy, Life

Brigid by Andrea Connolly

1st of February 2016

 

Her wingspan shrouded in mystery

The small tortoiseshell rubicund

Ebony and golden forewings

 

Tangerine surged from chrysalis

A ring of blue, her spell, her veil

Little hands fold hollow reeds

 

The magical childhood craft

Interwoven square with beams

A Eurasian butterfly with four wings

 

She folds them around blossoms

The little ones, the innocent

Refuge for homeless and landlords

 

She holds them equally at heart

Sainthood flicks wings of grass

 

 

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Wrecked life in the glow of years that winds through mites of truth, Poetry by Mimmie Dana

Chaos was born under a dark shadow
falls without a safety net down in the abyss
falls for the unfinished task faced by an invisible force of wisdom
choosing the wrong over again
wish to find the meaning
chaos never cries out loud
simply swallows anger harshly

Genre: Life

Wrecked life in the glow of years that winds through mites of truth 

by Mimmie Dana

Chaos was born under a dark shadow
falls without a safety net down in the abyss
falls for the unfinished task faced by an invisible force of wisdom
choosing the wrong over again
wish to find the meaning
chaos never cries out loud
simply swallows anger harshly
without security the fake lackeys are revealed who presumes to ridicule the already mocked soul
misleading direction makes earnings rise up
inventing an impossible way to gain self-respect
complete fall heals wounds
blowing for the years of deception
the cold shower of disclosure vortices up an image of another who wants to love themselves completely whole again
shouting
love me whole
love me more
despite all the wrongs. 

 

 

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SHACKLES OF LIFE, Poetry by Lois Terrans Bradbury

The shackles of life can tear the flesh.

Cut deep.

Silence the heart and suffocate the soul,

crush the spirit and drown all hope,

bury the love and hobble expectation,

chill the laughter and boil the hate,

twist the mind and steal imagination.

Genre: Rhyme, Life, Society

SHACKLES OF LIFE

 by Lois Terrans Bradbury

 

The shackles of life can tear the flesh.

Cut deep.

Silence the heart and suffocate the soul,

crush the spirit and drown all hope,

bury the love and hobble expectation,

chill the laughter and boil the hate,

twist the mind and steal imagination.

 

The wound goes so deep,

the scars never heal.

Memories shadowed in darkness,

fighting to be seen,

dreams shattered,

never to be born.

Cries of desperation choked,

never to be heard.

And the blood of the innocent spilled,

never to be loved.

 

The turbulence echoes like a maddening menace,

consuming any flame that dares to dance,

chasing any joy that wished to flee,

imprisoning thoughts that struggle to be free.

 

The undercurrent too strong,

the sands of life vanish,

songs of love are erased.

Passion is tormented,

tenderness is broken.

 

Music’s magic touch gone forever.

Eternity to be wrapped in blankets of pain.

Forever sorrow to reign.

 

 

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Assumptions, Poetry by Denise P. Isaac

Life in this world has become

So foreign with its people and style

Everything real taken as fake and

Because the majority will do it

Somehow you believe I will too

Taking no time to

Genre: Life, People, Relationship

Assumptions by Denise P. Isaac

Life in this world has become

So foreign with its people and style

Everything real taken as fake and

Because the majority will do it

Somehow you believe I will too

Taking no time to

study me

learn me

know me

You who are of

Presumptions

Assumptions

Presumptuous

Caught up in the cycle

Of hunting

Of fronting

Of wanting

Something

Someone

That you know nothing about

But yet longs for it

Because it appears to you

To be attainable

To be obtainable

To be Available

However, it’s degradable

To even have such a

Mindset that involves me.

 

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The Secret Life Of A Shadow, Poetry by Mahitha Kasireddi

Claim you know them?

All the life forms?

What if I told you,

Of another class alive?

No, Don’t fetch, my pal,

Genre: Fiction, Life, Relationship

The Secret Life Of A Shadow
by Mahitha Kasireddi

 

Claim you know them?

All the life forms?

What if I told you,

Of another class alive?

No, Don’t fetch, my pal,

It is only one

And one for all

The tier of a moving car,

Rising smoke of a cigar.

Like the battered wheat dough.

Turns into anything

Intangible, faceless being

Can’t fit into a case,

Or a tightly chained cage

Look at you,

Foolish to capture a vestige!

A phantasmal silhouette

Cast on the curtains

Against the moonshine of a winter night

Gather some guts to tear it down

With a mighty stroke of a knife

Look, it appears behind your trembling spine,

Enlarged, contracted

Slid and disappeared

Isn’t it taking you for a ride?

 

 

Don’t draw any sinister plans

Your wisdom, sorry

A major shortfall.

Why do the gravest of crimes

Happen during pitch dark times?

A faint column of light brings in a witness,

Records the ugly sins of a poisoned conscious

If you are still wondering

What is so fluid as wine,

thin as air, quick as a butterfly,

Like a feeble water bubble,

Refuses to go invisible.

Let me reveal to you

To your own,

For a quite long time now,

The unacknowledged chapters

Of the secret life of a shadow.

-Mahitha Kasireddi

 

 

 

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Front Doors, Poetry by Daniel de Culla

Baby O dynamite

mistress of the Star fish

swimming in my ears

where often a Wo/Man remains alone

Genre: Life

FRONT¨ DOORS

by Daniel de Cullá

 

Baby O dynamite

 

mistress of the Star fish

 

swimming in my ears

 

where often a Wo/Man remains alone

 

long to listen

 

Doors singing my business daily

 

dead as a door nail

 

into all this Channel

 

O.O. % Ecstasy. No¡

 

showing me a door opening by itself

 

at the End of lives forgotten

 

when Sun is a dog cart

 

botted with gay dogs

 

of the dooms day

 

sit and dreaming

 

of the floor of our

 

nothingness sentencing:

 

“Baker’s dozen talk

 

19 to the dozen”.

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What If?, Poetry by Anabel Gonzalez

What if the world saw kids through our eyes?
Will they see successes in disguise?
What if they saw diamonds in the rough?

Will they know capturing their hearts is not just fluff?
What if the focus was not on the test?
Would it be enough to just do our best?

Genre: Education, Political, Life

What If?

by Anabel Gonzalez

What if the world saw kids through our eyes?

Will they see successes in disguise?

What if they saw diamonds in the rough?

Will they know capturing their hearts is not just fluff?

What if the focus was not on the test?

Would it be enough to just do our best?

What if there was really nothing to measure?

Will we ever find that hidden treasure?

What if we could tear down classroom walls?

Would we teach at the beach or at the mall?

What if the computer could take the lead?

Would it make teachers obsolete?

What if we stop trying to find fault?

Could we find a remedy and stop the verbal assault?

What if differing viewpoints we could try to see?

Could we agree to disagree?

What if we taught kids to care for the least of these?

Would it be as important as learning ABC’s?

What if we stopped asking the hard questions?

Will we address the issues of education?

What if we stopped asking why?

Could we really turn a blind eye?

What if everyone could catch a glimpse into our world?

Will they be able to see that precious pearl?

What If?

 

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Mouth Me, Poetry by Wendy Norman

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Genre: Life, Rhyme

Mouth Me

Poem by Wendy Norman

www.seafarrwide.com

 

If you were a mouth nothing more nothing less

What thoughts and sentiments would you express

Watched closely you can see what it can be

A scarlet vermil tinctured gash swearing profanities

A pink rose bud singing words so pure and sweet

Luscious peach that makes you bow and weep

A yellow stained pot of putrid breath

With singhing puffs from wilted lungs left

Dripping red gloss leaving stains of pain

Pale nude dry rough as sand paper

Devoid of knowledge, love, life or caper

Lizard licking trickery devious intent

A whisker and lipstick so seriously bent

Flowing words of a canaries song

Or laced with ice to make them wrong

Wit and intellectual spiels from thin lines

Passions full lips tantalize and entwine

Toothless gobs of verborrhea

Perfection portrayed in a Model’s leer

Newborns purity precious unique

Virgin angelical a life to seek

Natural lips that outdo rose red

With morning dew of lovers fed

Our mouths tell a story you cannot hide

What is truly you trapped inside

Sentiments and emotions linger there

Constituting beauty

Mouth me I dare

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