by KREATIVE DIADEM | Mar 1, 2015 | POEMS
DINNER AT THE KING’S YARD
It was dark and quiet
Seldom, if sun rises at the moment
Fracas at the market
Sun has lose it sight
Birds showing what they’ve got
Plainly from the gut
Sonorously without faults
On the Iroko tree near our hut
When a boy stares
At the moon
When the gorgeous stars
Changes a hopeless man’s mood
Princess Adetoun made for me
A call ought not to be missed
Out of this planet I mean
Shall one resist Her Highness appeal
Several thoughts accommodated my heart
Just that night
Boldness engulfed my earth
But the call remained hid
Dinner with the King
For I’m not handsome
Lively and gregarious like some
Compared to Saul
My boldness was for that night and that’s all
From head to toe
Joy found my mournful soul
“You’ll eat with her in one bowl”
A guard whispered in low tone
Humbly I sat
And the princess told me I’m like her heart
Though being to the north and south
Yet, I transcend her heights
Like the honey’s taste on a sour paste
Was our soul after the delicious taste
We fell in bed with uneasy haste
We wrote it a memorable date
OMOTOSO, SEYI OLABISI
ABOUT THE AUTHOR OF DINNER AT THE KING’S YARD
OMOTOSO, SEYI OLABISI was born on 19th Feb. 1996. I hail from Ikire the land of Dodo, Osun state. I attended Holy Cross Catholic Primary School, Ikire. Having graduated, I was admitted to Saint Augustine’s Commercial Grammar School where I was elected as the Social prefect boy of my set. I was then one of the competitors group, a group said to be the community of the intellectuals. Having succeeded in the secondary school, I opted to study Medicine in the great citadel of knowledge; The Lagos State University, Ojo which was successful but to a different course, Physics.
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by KREATIVE DIADEM | Mar 1, 2015 | POEMS
March’s Match for Jonathan the Buharist
At the end of the scheming month
Seal your quick speaking mouth
Call me no Seer or Prophet
For I am but an ensnared Poet
Though they sign an accord
I do not see peace as a chord
Tying us to the feat of the future
But a broken feet to be sutured
Call me the minstrel of Doom
I can only laugh at your gloom
For the bride shall be without a groom
Like the scattered sons of a broom
It would not be free and fair
For this to be free of fear
For man shall match man
And month shall match March
Jonathan the Buharist
Expectations shall be dashed
Just as Hopes shall be ashed
Like the remnant of a cremated corpse
The wind shall blow ashes from its cups
You hate the sound of Jonathan
You say he is a nonchalant charlatan
And you love the wind of Change
You say it blows away your rage
Harvest your fears
And prepare your tears
For your heart shall be pierced
As change-victory would be scarce
What nonsense have I said?
Oh, what sense have I made?
Saying the Charlatan may laugh last?
Or Change would grow weary?
No, Not at all!
Just like John the Baptist
We have our Jonathan the Buharist
POSTSCRIPT: A word for the profound, as the foolish things of these present times confounds the wise.
Tijani Oluwamayowa.
About the Author of March’s Match for Jonathan the Buharist
Tijani is a poet, witty speaker, and award-winning Journalist. He was awarded most outstanding Pressman at University of Ibadan for 2013 and 2014.
As a public speaker, Tijani became arguably the finest speaker on any Nigerian campus, following his win at the Nigerian Championship of Public Speaking (Abuja 2013).
follow @Oluwamayowa_TJ
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by KREATIVE DIADEM | Mar 1, 2015 | POEMS
TO MY KING
Now I can tell where you have been for days
When I was striving to survive and stand
And help my children in the barren land
A forsaken home for unwanted preys
I can tell where you have been my dear head
When burning rivers were taking over
And drowning the last hopes of our Mother
Planning to make each one a walking dead
Oh you blind father Nature sent me to
Cold heart and dirty hands covered with chains
Not pure blood but stained instead from your veins
Tainting horizons to make red their blue
To my King
You have been growing bigger on your throne
Feeding your shrines with milk honey and wine
Comforting your position with their shine
Just to be a king where there is no crown
You have there bloodsucking the Lady
Leading her offspring left while you went right
You took all candles and set them look for light
Poor father of mine, greedy like crazy
Now I can also tell where you will be
Exactly where you have chosen to be
In a place of wounds and insanity
The only place for you, hell’s custody
Not that you will be wiped away by death
You shall not enjoy that sweet privilege
You shall not even taste the sharpen edge
Of the knife you used to point at my breath
You will walk freely along the garden
Where happy people dance and celebrate
Where there are no wings that you can frustrate
Where you are an ordinary pattern.
About the Author
My name is Théodore René Ndebi, born in Cameroon. I graduated in Banking Management. But what really makes me proud and happy is WRITING !!!!! I started writing around 1990. I write the most I can.
I mostly write for children’s future. As a child, I had always dreamt of a world where poor children and orphans could be happy as well. I have many unpublished collections in French: Chaque Jour Un Poème, Rêve D’un Soir, La Missive Du Petit Prince, Suis-Je Assez Bien Pour Toi… I’m also author of unpublished novels in French (Cierge Noir, Plus Violent Que L’amour, Les Fruits De La Tempête…). My first published novel; THE LAST GHOST/Son Of Struggle got published in 2013 by AuthorhouseUK; it appears in the LOS Angeles Times Festival Of Books Catalogue 2014 Page 8. Available online @ Amazon, Kindle, AuthorhouseUK, Barnes & Noble, Indie. I wrote numerous award winning texts. I am a Book Reviewer and Translator. I am a member of OneAfricanChild since 2013 and Co-Founder of Le Salon Du Livre Yaounde-Cameroon. You can check my works on: authorrayndebi.wordpress.com.Ray Ndebi on Facebook, @RTNdebi on Twitter, Facebook Page My Soul & Mon Ame.
by KREATIVE DIADEM | Mar 1, 2015 | POEMS
WHAT’S LEFT?
What’s left but exhausted minds
That parade in shirts and gowns
Shrugging shoulders that tongues have laid on
Like gods that have lost their omniscience
To futile voyages
Over the tombs of the living
They drop wreathes
Sending our spirits on exile
What’s left?
But dumb strangers with tongues pierced
By fingers on throne’s apparel
These songs are of arsenal voices
Hibernating the sages
With ornamental cuffs and artillery
To rest their wizened grey hairs on mute
What’s Left
What’s left but mere carcasses
Painting colours in space
Red, the choking air
In grievance, the crump of air we pursue
Like chippings of gravel
We chew the intoxicated air
And still groan for more
The soil has lost its virginity
To the heels of scavenging feet
Fire, the rage in her eyes
What’s left of me?
But the melancholy of tomorrow
Awa Chigozie
About the Author of What’s Left
Awa Chigozie is a Nigerian. A student and resident of Abia State in Nigeria. He is a prolific writer whose keen interest is in poetry and fictional works. He has poems which have been published in anthologies and other media. He describes his works as a mirror to man’s act. Presently working towards releasing his first poetry collection.
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