PENMIND MEDIA & CREATIVITY

Wild child! Have your father told you that the day children  decided to go hunting, antelopes learn to climb trees and snails develop wings to fly home with yams from the local barns made for the old men in the heartless clan? Wild Child! Have your mother taught you that even if the crab swim across large and small rivers, it will ultimately end its journey in an old woman's soup pot?  March not with pride; pride across the ocean kills faster than death. Wild Child! Every mad man is not without some common sense, he still know how to throw a piece of roasted Nkporo yam into his mouth and when to dodge a car when at the mercy of his own life. Wildness is for fools made from the grounded hell. Wild Child! Even the civet cat will not sleep if it has to carry the load which has weighed me down for so long, to have an only son is to leave yourself too much at the mercy of the gods. We have seen the harmattan blew with vengeance. Wild Child! Do...

We’ve performed several rites In the Elephant’s jungle; yes, We’ve hugged glories immeasurable to ourselves. But there’re many rites unperformed And many glories un-amassed. Yesterday was the funeral of peace And the coronation of fear – A double-barreled blessing   On the corridor of the Northern frowning earth! And today before the noon wears The garment of the night, we shall probably Celebrate the tumble of the trio, tensile Trees that hold the jungle’s quivering edges. Tomorrow will dictate the right rite For itself – perhaps the funeral of The mighty elephant herself! Ah! Hunters are already watching: The elephant’s blobbing back they hope to see Touch the earth, and then thud into the air For an effortless victory much awaited. Pathetic horrors camouflaging in the Masquerade of love! Even the wise Whirlwind whistle the tones of their hatred. Alas! The elephant has fallen! The hunters are thudding and singing: Th...

When you get to Aso Rock Help me inform his Excellency that I do not dislike him so much, just four   things he  made made me hate him: His change has change my boxers It made me change the Green Boxers   that Maria bought for me and now put on   the Black dusty one abandoned many years ago. His policies has taken all the yams in my   barns and left the place empty with scars To remind me of when I was who I was In the past of my past with a future of it. He allowed hidden hands the right to build   massive barns in a far land like a proud   possessors of big bags yet they have nothing but revival of pains hidden in people' pride. Tell him to bring back our corruption and   Take back his change that has looted us   We can return all his polished tall brooms Let him leave us to perish more in our doom.   (C) John Chizoba Vincent       Voice Of Vincent 2016

Here I am Behind the curtain of a nation Trying to exit from uncertainty Of time hard shell, of black tortoise Who in the name of God Hundreds of black garments float in air Like tattered flag of bloody nation Saying, “we are unarmed innocents” And the killings, justification of one man Crucify me little in your silence They are my brothers Whose way owns no letter in my diary I am green and white Like Nigeria  

Tell Chinua Achebe That things just fell apart Not then when he saw the vision. We have no Okonkwo in the land any more and The animals are more in our communities, George Orwell's Pigs of our century.  They said ' All animals are equal in a democratic land but now, we discovered that some are more equal than others in the same democratic country' why? Our hearts are femished, Wandering in the empty street in search of nothing And nothing is seen to eat nor drink in this famished Lost land called a home, it not a home but forest! Tell Chinue Achebe That the vision he saw years back now hurt us more. The whites are more in power than the days of great Okonkwo; and we are left unclothed in the land. All we see are famished hearts, famished souls, A haunting heart that seize the call of grace, Ignominious! Ignominious!  Shall the dry bones ever rise again here? Things has fallen apart in this country and The center could no longer hold together. ...

Just as dull boughs of evolution Gently unfold, stretching out Wide arms across the span of a city, To turn tough seats of stubborn Status quo around, Making them sumptuous on the Tongue of transmogrification, I wake into the marrow of this brave dawn, Breath of the night still stuffs my lung. But a thought of an early mole Shunning the comfort of his warm abyss To embrace the wetness of sleepy grasses Sanctified in the purity of night dews, Harasses my drowsy skull. The sun has usurped this day already. Defeated, I'll mellow, releasing Today to the sun in all good faith, And reconnect the broken stream Of flowing dreams, which the palms Of the night stamped on my heavy brows, I'll leave the mighty sun to reign supreme On the glorious throne of Today. But I'll wake earlier than the mole tomorrow, Beating the sprout of the rising sun. I'll wake earlier than the sun, Unfolding the resplendent petals of red roses; I'll wake earli...

I labour beneath the sunshine I labour to fill my feeble belly God, thank you today that I overcome hunger I am here to lay my back under your lamp Today, I have overcome the odious heat of life I have laid my only cloth under your blue sky Let it receive the breath of your sighs I rest my soul on this muddy flour When the noon sun had failed to dry Oh heaven, keep the rain in your pouch Till my sadness will rot in the night God, I prepare to go on with this night Let tomorrow mourn me Or tomorrow be my fortune day But if none of these come with its care Surely, I will remind you next night

Tell mother Nigeria that I won't come again Until a new peace return to her dying land. Tell her not to feel bad of this gory miseries, The blood and tears at home hurts my bones. We have never been more to this land than a toy; Forgotten like a scary nightmare in this meaningless home. My worship shall be for another mother, Suck her intoxicated breast milk in joy. Tell mother Nigeria that Terrorists that spread In the land have tasted our blood and it detest me. I hate this very land of plenty where all the milk Flow in one direction. I am not happy to have left her behind, Peace I seek to re-direct the course of my people. If the shadow of my absence is felt, let her cry not, When peace returns, in her bosom I shall dwell like a true son. Shame birth in this land is a ditch devouring many. We were once a loving mother and son Until she allowed those careful chameleons With multiple colours into her succulent land. I left in peace mother, not in pieces a...

·          Seeking Gutsy Unforgettable Submissions o     Deadline: April 5, 2017 Foliate Oak   wants your lyrical essays, your hybrids, your most brave, most zany writing. Please submit photography and artwork also. We want to hear from people whose work we have not published. We want newness. foliateoakliterarymagazine.submittable.com Twisted Vine Literary Arts Journal o     Deadline: November 21, 2016 Twisted Vine   is the literary journal for Western New Mexico University’s Masters of Arts in Interdisciplinary Studies program. We are open for submissions for our winter issue. Our staff is looking for original and previously unpublished fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, and art. We have a special affinity for those works that succeed in crossing, overlapping, and transcending traditional genres.   Twisted Vine   strongly encourages submissions that are interdisciplinary ...

Tell mother Nigeria that I won't come again Until a new peace return to her dying land. Tell her not to feel bad of this gory miseries, The blood and tears at home hurts my bones. We have never been more to this land than a toy; Forgotten like a scary nightmare in this meaningless home. My worship shall be for another mother, Suck her intoxicated breast milk in joy. Tell mother Nigeria that Terrorists that spread In the land have tasted our blood and it detest me. I hate this very land of plenty where all the milk Flow in one direction. I am not happy to have left her behind, Peace I seek to re-direct the course of my people. If the shadow of my absence is felt, let her cry not, When peace returns, in her bosom I shall dwell like a true son. Shame birth in this land is a ditch devouring many. We were once a loving mother and son Until she allowed those careful chameleons With multiple colours into her succulent land. I left in peace mother, not in pieces as yo...

Stay not aloof, Akúrúye’jó; Be rather gay, not a gay At this jocose junction, Where the beak of concerto Gradually breaks the shell of dusk, To hatch a nebulous dawn, Whose tremulous tongue stimulates The clitoris of consciousness, After some long hours of impatient incubation In the belly of the night. Disown the mask of timidity And roll your rotund hips To the rhythms of my songs. Give ear, you’ll hear: There are lovely lyrics In the belly of the night; And here, we shall suck night’s Strength, straw the lyrics in her bowel. Be not the moon in the day Nor the sun in the night! Cuddle not the pillar of coyness, There is no crime in shortness; For it, Zaccheaus earned much kudos. Save the stress, I’ll un-stretch To match your matchless height. The deal must here be done. Scold not the nature, no partiality yet; Ward off the shame, Shake up the shapes; Assume the sport, engage my steps. There are tasks ahead undone, Y...

I was told, you are the termite Feeding on the tree at the backyard I was told, you are the goat That feed on the remnants of yam at backyard I was told you are the hawker That sells beans-cake in my dreams at night I was told you are the traveler That lost in borderless desert I was told, you are the ant that sway That I see on my way to the farm On each sunrise of the day That whispers my ear aubade poem  I was told you have gone far That I cannot even trace your path I was told you hid my face within your chest, mother Before life showed your way to death Can you still tell me the miseries in nature? And the affairs of life itself How can I tell my children in future? How lone I have been in this forest of life I was told this is where you scribed some miseries By the veranda of your grave That I could invoke some dramas of your memories As my mouth fans those moments of the life you gave They said your spirit breathes around me...

Gather your woeful garments Move towards the sick slain valley With a blank eyes of hot tears List out the corrupted coroneted woes Table the names of those massacred   by Bokos, filter the good from the bad until you bleed. Write down the money stolen by the leaders unwrap the bubbles of ill-luck among the abandoned youths Remember those naked children disappointed By their fathers before their own very sweet eyes Dance the warship silence of dead soldiers laid Hopelessly at the battle field with no weapon. Forget who you are in the future of the past, Birth grief through your watery stressed nose. Silence is not empty but has many answers Carve your tears in the pages of the history Till the land of embezzlement in the north Expose the cry at the south with the ripped sky Then move to the east with scream of Biafra   The west must be given enough meat to dine. Look not for peace that shot at the stream Say pain, say tears, say sorrow; scatter the grou...

If you are an upcoming poet, a playwright or prose writer, here is an opportunity for you to improve your writing prowess by attending this CREATIVE WRITING WORKSHOP organized by Association of Nigerian Authors (Ana) Osun State Chapter Obafemi Awolowo University (Oau) Branch. Date: 24th September, 2016 Time: 9:00am Venue: Auditorium 1, Faculty of Arts and Humanities Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Osun State. Participation is FREE It is designed to meet creative and intellectual needs of established and up and coming writers, therefore the workshop has been set to cover wide genres of creative writing, with competent and established writers as speakers.   The speakers at the workshop are:   Prof. Gbemisola Adeoti – will lecture on Playwriting.   He lectures at Obafemi Awolowo University. His areas of teaching and research include Dramatic Literature, Poetry, Literary History; Literary Theories.   Dr. Yomi Olusegun-Joseph – will lecture on Prose ...

When a politician tells you that he put On a red boxers with white singlet inside Ask him to wait till you look at it properly before you could believe him so to remain insane. If a man on a campaign rally tells you a tale make sure you sieve the whole tale to generate   the truth therein, whoever take a politician's Word must have a blocked ear and blind eyes. Is it not the politician who sees an elephant   and called it a rat? he sees a snake and praise an Earthworm with a bow and songs of laughter, A politician's mouth kill souls in many ways. When a politician tells you to wait here Better find another route to your journey He may follow money to his death hole His mouth is as sharp as the kitchen knife! No politician fight a fellow politician squarely   They know where to settle after election Don't sell your soul to them in the field As they prostrates for a vote you're to cast. A politician's tongue is full  of campaign promises...

Many- a-times I have looked in the mirror And who do I see, my shining Armour A woman of strength & a lot of glamour Dark-skinned like a velvet even in old age Smiling at all times even when she's asleep I remember her when i was a little child She fed me day and night, never let me lack Never letting anyone take away my pride Taught me to stand tall even though I’m not Trained me to be just even if I’ll drop No one could touch me and not regret She was always ready for any challenge You should have seen her when she still had her breath Now my hero is no more but I have inherited her strength And I am so lucky to have learnt from the best. ..Kazeem Ademola Adio (2007) 

Many- a-times I have looked in the mirror And who do I see, my shining Armour A woman of strength & a lot of glamour Dark-skinned like a velvet even in old age Smiling at all times even when she's asleep I remember her when i was a little child She fed me day and night, never let me lack Never letting anyone take away my pride Taught me to stand tall even though I’m not Trained me to be just even if I’ll drop No one could touch me and not regret She was always ready for any challenge You should have seen her when she still had her breath Now my hero is no more but I have inherited her strength And I am so lucky to have learnt from the best. ..Kazeem Ademola Adio (2007) 

Last I had a visit,   Once a visit untold, that stop folding harms.   Luckily, on the visit ,load I cared not on my harms.   Not by terror, by borrow .   I saw God in my town, black and white are his color.   Who call on meeting on the throne of power,  his face were tribalised with many marks.  he speaks in French and Yoruba, all languages  he controls, at right hand side  I saw many gods whose face are tore  on the ground for worship  also on the left hand I saw  another gods worshipping  with there face on ground.  Was! I hail.   I trigger to ask a question, salt of nonsense   Not a nonsense , I heard .   His dwelling place is made of peace,   No racism, atheist where I go.   Live me, let put on my trousers  and on a mantle fight to separate  my God from them,  no discrimination nor denomination,  This all I heard.   Jesus and Mohammed...

Mr President of the federal republic,   Our trousers no longer size our waist  because our stomach has refused to grow  to mingle with the cover of our nakedness. The oil on our lips  revolt against us now, drying before the yam on our hands get  to our mouth, is this the change expected? Mothers tears across the street, their head a dome of anger disciplining fury into words. The fault is not the corruption but our people, The hunchback on our back has caused the curse. Tell us with a sweet mouth void of foul aroma, Are you the messiah which is to come to us? Are you a real revolutionaries or a democrat? We thought before the night that we've at least found a great friend of the poor with food and  cloth, but here is another nightmare to our voices. The fire in your mouth light the darkness here,  now, we are found in the family of misery and disease to scotch us to agony and death before time. We can't borrow more mouth from our ne...

Several strangers, upon many moments, While through the toughest throat of this scion They tread, shake heads shamefully – Mocking in advance, the much expected Gloomy end of our fatally ill continent. Some ask and pause:  ‘Isn’t this the resplendent earth upon Which sore sweats of struggle From gallant nationalists’ armpits Dripped as dews of dawn?’ Some pause and ask:  ‘Isn’t this the sacred altar over Which adamant martyrs’ blood Which strove to retrieve brothers’ feet From the hostile shackles of Albinos’ chains Were split shamelessly as libation of atonement To clear complex clusters of colonial claustrophobia, Which stupefied the cranium of the continent’s cloudscape? Ah! How come the ball of Africa, pumped-plumed By the bare arms of political emancipators, Wobbles woefully amongst tetanic trees of anguish, Situated dangerously between regional poles At the crossroads of developmental quagmire?’ But, o wandering wayf...