PENMIND MEDIA & CREATIVITY

Nigeria, the country endowed with human and natural resources, has been soaked in economic quagmire. The country is rich but her people are poor. Why? The colossal dependency on oil which has earned Nigeria different sobriquets   in the world is the doctor that healed and killed the growth of the economy. Oil was discovered when the country was young. The boom of the 1970’s made government at all levels dance to the sonorous tune of economy, until things fell apart. While other sectors of the economy seem to be stranded, oil is being exported and economic recession stirs today. What is the way out? There are ample opportunities in agriculture as well as solid minerals to boast non-oil exports and revamp the economy. Diversifying the economy into agriculture is a messianic route to the economic survival of the country. Agriculture is the only natural tool for human existence. Its products constitute about 70% of human needs, more than oil, the glitzy product every country ...

                       (Traditional poetry) Mama, tell tales to the ears that are deaf, Vomit voices to the dumb minds That we are the makers of the supreme Scrubbed with charcoals, we are proud to be. Mama, whisper to the empty space, Spherical empty space called world; That we are the children of a source Traceable to traditions along the path of culture. We are the genitals that sip palm from calabash, Our fashions are designed in Agbada, Kenbe. We don't sell our pride but we collect grants for virginity, We dwell in village, in peaceful cohabitation. Ye! We are the sons of the sun that burns our skins  On farmlands where nightingale sings into our ears. The moon sheds light to our gathering at night As granny tells stories of tortoise and folks. We cannot read the unjust words in ink But can fathom the just words in instinct Unjust laws are just in black ink ...

  Now listen to the tale of papa's cock, It feeds on money and not maize. It's of a land with gold and silver, Diamond lives in the land in his tale, Tongues of his voice speak to the Tomorrow of our ears to its maze. When this very land displays its sparkling  Moon at the night of its gravel, long, The old women that know of this very humble  Abode, testifies of hospitality and peacefulness. We made this very land pregnant with love. We made here the lyrics of dignities all over. In us lies our future of coexistence among all, Let's make our shells come by and shade more Light to the dark side of the world with this tale. A new sighted land tale shall it be when we curl The future of thousand stars into this very land, Stay here with one mind not a broke eyes of war. As the old one dies, sweet tales of modernity  Emerge from the shadow of fainted lips. The nocturnal will light the ambience of this Land wit...

No work of arts is new. A creative writer is that person who writes popular letters in a strange way. The purpose of creative writing is to both entertain and share human experience, like love or loss. Writers attempt to get at a truth about humanity through poetics and storytelling. If you'd like to try your hand at creative writing, just keep in mind that whether you are trying to express a feeling or a thought, the first step is to use your imagination. Types of creative writing include: Poetry Plays Movie and television scripts Fiction (novels, novellas, and short stories) Songs, Speeches Memoirs Personal essay. When a book is written and published for intellectual consumption, the moment one can refer to it as a book, that moment, the death of the author has been announced. It may not be in form of a book. It may be in any form. Whether a written or spoken text. When the death of the author is announced, immediately, a reader is born.  A French literary thinker arg...

Tell town crier of the day and cock to crow at dawn There is in my room Mushroom The one which witch wishes, Much there is in Mushroom Who says you are not much in pot? Tell them there is much, To those that do not know this world, even If thousands cannot full their will Tell you are the source for sauce Swelling husband’s head To swallow mounts of yam; pounded For those who know not Tell you are the ingredient Of wife in her spouse’s house No sauce without you Mushroom more source Source for sauce, A woman without happiness When much is not in the room Who says you are not holy? Tell them your cloth is white Tell them you are a saint Purely you appear to your beggars’ wishes. Not you, they only taint themselves With their haste, just to taste, Even thousands of your legions can’t Quench the thirst of their greed, Say you do not unholy Who says you are short? Tell them You are the compass That architect thrill;...

I've had experiences in my life that leave no doubt in my mind about the fact that God exists. I'm quite willing to debate people who don't think so because I want them to explain how did our solar system get so organized and how is the universe so complex and yet well-organized that we can predict 70 years hence when a comet is coming?                                            BEN CARSON. Firmament materialized seven comets In the praise of the newly born king Their activities are brighter than many sunsets Fragrance of peace flies almost with wing And euphoria transcends the wizened hope of Milky Way. Radiant apparition enveloped numerous mission And in the cloth of men it unpredictably appeared To rebuild bridge and broken mirror of blur vision An...

Childhood is the game I love most But is a game of one life line When spend it is gone Travel and leave memories Going back to the time, doing all that I Want, Just living up my life, getting all that I can't! Getting nostalgic at the sight of old places, Feeling the magic of love, affection and kisses. Childhood A voice A care A Smile A joy All, the gift of childhood where love is everything Where skin is succulent Where freshness is skin Where time is nothing Childhood is the best game I wish I could see a shooting star I would make a wish To take me back to the land of childhood I want to make it thousand life lines My childhood is the best game Great was the childhood, innocent were the smiles. Walking through the woods was better than today's long drive of miles! © Yalex Muhammed abayomi 2016

The year couldn't have reached a graceful end for  CHEC  team without their last Child Development workshop of the year.  The  Child Hero Empowerment Campaign  (CHEC) project, founded by actress and poet , Chinonye J. Chidolue,  extended its anticipated outreach to the most talked about  Modupe Cole Memorial Childcare & Treatment Center,  1 St. Finbarrs College Road, Akoka, on Wednesday 14th December, to empower the orphaned children in continuity of their humanitarian deeds. The event which started at about 10: 30am was nothing short of a success and glorious ending of the year for the team. Though the workshop met the absence of the founder; who was busy with the conclusion of her NYSC orientation program in Katsina state and some other members, who were absent due to one reason or the other,  Eneji Stephen Toluwalashe , popularly known as  Soul’e Rhymez  and  Miss. Uche Chidolue,  represented the te...

  Into whose ear shall we tell again? Again, harlot cloud of no family planning Is pregnant again. Again, from whose mouths will the news be heard? Heard from stinking mouth of the town crier, Prior yesterday's moon excursion, harlot cloud bore, Bore babies, triplet, ugly ones they were! Today, to whom, whose ears could hear, should hear, Hear, harlot cloud of no family planning conceives; Ye moon beams, via which orthodox palpates. Palpate, disappointment reads onto their eyes, Into the womb of the cloud dwells quadruplet. To whom given must rejoice, pretense, rejoice, Harlot cloud bore, quadruplet, ugly ones they are. Into the world that's congested, ugly ones are born again.                    ii World is congested, filled with filthy faces, Coronation of yesterday, corruption is the king; Still the king, immoralities are chiefs with pride. Ugly faces are beautiful, so the mirro...

The land with onion of diverse toga The land, the vulture, the home, the fertility The country, the wealth, the nation, the penury The man is mean, the means, the smiles The multitude of tongues The unity of the race Come the federation, unite the Africa Africa, The sun that rises with single light, But glows with many rays, The mother of one, Speaking with single mouth Sounding with countless tongues I remember the black tree planted At the centre of the land Growing with wide boughs across the earth With its stems, sitting calmly On the throne of roots But,  If twice the death and twice the life Twice my life, my soul To soar in Africa.     

To Adedayo Adeyemi Agarau Do you remember Sade? Do you remember yesterday we flew kite At the cloudy street of Ibadan? Do you remember how I channeled your  Thought to those boys who went and never  Returned home with their beds of happiness. Do you remember Sade and Kemjy? Those you said that have steps to every beat, Not in this season shall a lizard grow hair. You said Kemjy's body was a dream and Sade' was a song to the nightingales at night. Do you remember those pictures of Ibadan we took? You were having no front teeth and your Mother said you sold them for a seed of groundnut. I was able to slide into your thought at dawn, Do you still remember the meatless meal we ate  Together at the feast of breasting lunch. Those were our dreams to build a home, Those were our hope to hope for a home; A home to call a home not a forest of sins. Do you remember the poem you wrote to Kemjy? Do you remember asking Sade of her Oriki...