PENMIND MEDIA & CREATIVITY

 (Either hungry for sex or food) Baba, the courageous coward, Muscular hunter with no ability; Whose gun pollutes the atmospheric silence When cockroach shambles through our backyard. That's the best he can do... Baba, invited guest at the dinning table, Sweeps the corridor along his nose with tongue When the kitchen aroma wanders around the atmosphere. Mops his ten fingers with his salivary soap after meal. That's the best he can do... Baba, the architect of poverty, Who draws his dreams into the sheet of vanity.                         ii Mama, applaudable heroine with no medal Whose sweat pays price for the meal, baba’s perspiration alive Upon which he groans when his stomach revolts. Sacks of baby's food located left-right of her chest sap, Bitterly sweet, yet aids baba's digestion at night When sucked, only droplets are left For the marching babies in heaven coming to earth. That's the best he can do... To eat like a glut

He told my mother that he wanted me to come to his house and take the money that he was owning her. I'm not always comfortable going to this man's house and my mother knew this and she would always send me to go and get one or two things from him, meanwhile, I don't really know the relationship between her and this man.. A lot of people had been complaining about him both in the street, and in his compound; on how he handle young boys roughly in the compound. So when mother sent me there, I was reluctant to go but she was of the opinion that I should go because, if I did not go and collect the money from him, we would all go hungry for that day. I prowled out of the compound as she began to abused me and call me all sort of names which I don't like at all. When I got to his house, he ushered me in and asked me to sit down on the sofa which I did, he went into his room and came back later with a small scissors. He went to the door and bolted it. He was looking

The Organizers of Spoken Words Arts and Poetry (SWAAP) awards have released nominations into various categories of the awards events set to hold in March, 2017. The Awards is a platform for celebrating ambitious and Career driven Nigerian students in various fields of endeavours particularly areas of Social and Artistic interest as what they aspire to. THE NOMINATION CATEGORIES INCLUDE:  SPOKEN WORDS CATEGORY;  FINE ARTS CATEGORY;  PHOTOJOURNALISM / PHOTOGRAPHY CATEGORY;  POETRY / LITERARY / WRITER'S CATEGORY;  THEATRE / PERFORMING ARTS CATEGORIES;  GENERAL AWARDS CATEGORIES;  NON – VOTING CATEGORY. CLICK HERE ON HOW TO ENTER FOR SWAAPawards 2017

Trail is missing, doubt is heightened Perforated thought intertwining cobwebs of hope Sightless sight enveloped coloured shade of radiant rainbow Fields are green, but fruits marry thorns in juvenile jungle Voice would be enough to call the sparrow remains a cloud. Blunt edges of the cross are sharpened on a crying cliff Tears drenched the clamour of weightless purchasing power We want to be the friend of light, but it’s an abyss in embryo We belched in monumental comfort regardless of looming waterloo Our groundnuts are harvested on a tree and oranges from the ground. Let the passing shadows cleanse the surface of the rising moon And let sojourners in the dungeon lean on freedom of sword We can match across the bridge of morrow with dauntless empathy Let the west wind resurrect soiled flag of great voiceless strength And let night closed its windows for morning to open the blazing door. Our racing horses are at the Aijalon valley dancing to echoe

The question that torments my head  wages war against my heart The degree of its provocation lures tears to my eyes like excessive rain falling from the sky It keeps me in an agony of deepest dejection as it always makes me, tired to think I cry from the depth of my mind but the world around me is too dark to notice my existence I am sad like a funeral cos the wind whistling around me hinder the projection of my voice My homeland is burning Adult and children are wailing Wailing without approaches to quench the blazing The fire is in ecstasy And my people in disarray How easily the trauma evaporates from their minds When the fire fighters are around Is the surprise in my eyes And when their services are rejected After an accusation of harsh dexterity To curb the inferno The Echoes of disarray continue

The GIANT of yesterday; The crumbling ANT of today, Left to lord Trump's crumbs. Left alone am I to ponder What will become of tomorrow Africa When the giANT still borrows From the very ones who tag her "lame and helpless". The giANT is bleeding, Her children reduced to weeping, Her Youth protesting, Adult grumbling. No pretending; Her future is dying. Oh death! Take us not, But our future we render for peanut, Generations yet to come left with nought But I sure will not keep shut; Until we stop empty talks and take to worthy acts! Our giANT will keep bleeding And we, will keep weeping, protesting and grumbling.     Dedicated to "WE".  © MISS LOVE            2017

Swiftly the sun rises from the west In our days. To illuminate the glow of darkness From the east. The sparkling rays of furious sun Blind the other eyes of gentle skies Licking the blood of toothless lions Roaring for the mercy of its hunter Yelling for the freedom of the trap The sunrise of the west- the solo eye of the sky Glowing dusk to dawn across the sphere Where its rays squeeze The slippery shore of dumped islands To hew their bank To create its sea To quench the thirst  With hot water of its cool bank Saving cash by licking pouch The sun rise of the west Burp into the earth to feed the world, hiccups Of distress and stunted appetite for unity While the rays of the Sun licks The sacrum honey of the dim stars Relish from the honey, pains of the sternum The ribs of the deserts break The ulna strength of Nile drowns  Mississippi stirs for rejuvenation!  The crescent of deserts roars! The lion chase the hunter.

Binoculars to the future, a mirror of the underworld Speechless chain lying in a horrendous subway Winkling at the passing shadows in exigency Wafting wishes with wizened whim Transmogrifying to hapless dunderhead itinerating Acting as sentry rhapsodizing the old pathway But the mission materialized to a forlorn hope as Passer-by betrothed perambulation in innocence Who shall disseminate this tintinabulating empathy? Enough of lizards’ sweat and pigs’ obituary Stains of blood as bribe to overcome your fear. Search instead for this abandoned hoary prowess Avatar of wisdom with unraveling paraphernalia Demystifying quizzicality, curbing the laggard Re-setting the anticlockwise, replacing summer with winter. This is the perfect trail to the ancient landmark Felicity in millet vegetation and comfort in greener pasture No dismal compensation in thatched hut and tattered flag The road to the future is zigzagging but this chain is vertical and horizo

I . Who would hold my heart? Now it's reeling off, almost Adufe! My praise queen, Only in your palms, when drop, Will it survive the fall? . You praise the queen bee, Her elegance, a perfect beauty, But wherever you stream, Adufe, The crown pelts to its hive. . Let us place our hands on a romantic roam, As we flake through historical attention, The popular Idi-Arere, as one to mention, My smile is yours, on a cosmic glow. . Please my heart, Adufe, Grease my heart, Let pleasure finds itself a home, But through your palms, Goddess of beauty that fissures, Such that men hold, then seizures. . But what ode shall please such beauty's lineage? Such that flaunts, like a maiden's cleavage, Perhaps, I know of honour’s bower, Orita-merin should stand our tower, No doubt, my heart beats like a rising sun, You make me, Oh Adufe! Pulchritude's pun, Let my flanges sieze yours,on a long run. II A

I laughed at the uprooted strength of mushy mussy feeder lingering on the comic canopy of debased and blunt serration applauding breeze of patterned motion. I laughed in the crystal solid tryst magnetic enchantment of heart coloured in thought of rainbow xerox of kite on eagle's wing sprawling to lubricate the golden stone. I laughed with the workers of narrow path exploring the magnitude of alcove riding bicycle in the bushy village counting tallies of time in sweat Sewing seriousness on mockery machine. I laughed gazing costumey wizened alter ego shapelessly dashing in abyss of scorn chameleon on the rock of shadeless trail mounting peacock in mirror of chick hotcake in town, stale bread at home. I laughed to see marketers in many cities ‘animasahuning’ across gate of currency magnanimous mistress of merry mood emeritus striker of dislocated loin on the roadside and across the riverside. I laughed a