Monthly Archives: November 2016

THIS LOVE

Standard

THIS LOVE

Our love,
is intertwined like
the old baobab tree.

This love,
will be like the gushing
of waterfalls; unending.

Our love,
is like the clasping
of hands in earnest prayer.

This love,
will be like the aroma
of a perfectly prepared meal.

Our love,
is like neatly beaded,
braided African bride’s hair.

This love,
is the perfection
of creation…

©Edwina Amakievi Aleme.

SHE IS A WOMAN

Standard

SHE IS A WOMAN

I

Like the parting of curtains,
Her world lay open; baring all.
And nakedness greets your eyes.
You smile, filled with pleasure;
numbing your reasoning.

Naked, you think she is;
Her dreams, far from your reach.
What breaks her heart, you know not?
Her passions, a story unfit for your ears;
Her childhood, scenes you never lived in.

Her body, a book you once found,
but never got around to opening.
Her skin, blessed with violet patches,
Each cluster, a tale of shattered dreams.

Her thoughts, you can’t intercept;
and her dreams you can’t interpret.
Her burrowed sorrows, perfectly hidden.

You mount her like unwritten visions and dreams,
waiting for the ancient seers chant.
Her features; veiled, ignorant of traces
that makes her a woman.

Deep within her lies a pearl,
A secret your lies can’t steal.
You think you have swam her ocean,
Deep enough to gather her lost treasures.

Her dripping words, you think holds no bare,
Yet, it behoves her heartlessness in masks.
Unscathed are her unashamed naiveness;
Unruffled, she walks with the gait of royalty.

You think you have seen her bare skin,
Her skirt above waistline, and thongs down;
But the secret of her beautiful heart is openly hid,
Constantly sheltered in a safe haven.

You may have seen,
but your eyes rest widely shut;
Unaware, why she is woman
A womb-man, not woe-man…

II

THROUGH THE EYE OF THE STORM

It all started like a lone seed sown,
tiered down into the soil of time,
Buried deep in the dirt;
Shut out of the bright world,
Smeared in darkness and murk,
Wished she hadn’t been left
To suffer the heat, wetness
And lies that the wind whispered.

She had lost count of the clock’s tick;
Stepping, she had lost count of Serenity’s journey,
Lost count of beaks digging out fragments of her future,
But, she’s hopeful, spreading; deeply rooted.
She saw, via the piercing eye of the storm,
Calling out her name “Woman make haste in this flowing tide”,
Sprouting like a baobab tree that falls in love,
With the wind that howled her name from the outer core.
The core that challenged her sprouting
In a world filled with blackness and sore,
Scoring timeless goal; breaking through the hard soil,
Charmed by the beauty of nature.

She began to love; one page of life after another
Loving the very moment she was cast in the dark
To one day blossom and grow stronger
Flaunting her growing strength
Still expressing her love in this moribund world,
Willing to bear fruits that will one day house seeds,
Seeds that will one day be cast in the dark soil,
Reproducing more seeds; fecund
Never wilting to becoming second,
She is one graceful seed that saw her future,
Through the eye of the storm;
Strong, willing and gracefully forgiving
All that buried her umbilical life without permission,
In this loveless world of obscurity.

©Edwina ‘Neofloetry’ Aleme

AYODEJI

Standard

AYODEJI

The sun smiled not on this crooked path;
the one you had chosen for decades,
when barricaded smiles fluttered within
your hearts’ bars.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Ayodeji, Let me walk this mile with you,
for the world to sing our daily songs.
Let not our tender palpitating hearts squirm
at the sight of tomorrow’s journey.

Let our voices trace paths like ripples
on melted burdens;
and our fingers pointing towards fancied dreams,
that will rest; chauffeured on the rainbow’s colorful smile,
after years of teary downpours.

I want to behold your coupling thoughts,
birthing new generations.
Boundaries, diminishing at your splendour, and days
blooming like orchids in a field of greatness.

Ayodeji, let me be the reason you studied Geography,
and the purpose you chose this rock.
Let me see you travel around your past; shovelling,
and burying every wrong memory till they become
fossils irrelevant to the bellowing wind.

I want to cup your present with hands of care;
and cause other men to stare,
beaming jealously in unclad shame.
I want to rest, forever, nurturing little replicas of you;
when laughter and joy finally own us.

For you, my world will be rebuilt on honey tears.
Tears that will flow as an ocean; rowing your boat
towards my heart’s tunnel of overflowing love.
For you, the earth will tremble at our conquered feat;
a vision written on dotted sheets.

©Edwina Aleme

AT THE MASTER’S FEET

Standard

AT THE MASTER’S FEET

How be it that seven sins fastened
Themselves to this wailing body?
Pride of the mind to remain clueless
Of the stricken woes, conjuring up images
of the past.
Spirits that thawed at my flesh
Gnawing at my daily life; counting stars
That will someday shine before the world
Not drowned in sin.
Seven seconds birthed seven hours
Seven hours evolved into seven days
Seven days crawling into seven months
Seven months singing songs of seven years
Seven years of frolicking with demons of the mind,
Wishes of the being loved beyond these seven demons.
Entangled in guilty love, my sin; of mistakes
Love misplaced on priorities of life.
Men mentioned my name; tongues unbridled
My wealth they never questioned,
But squealed at my very presence at the master’s feet.
He knew me, though I never knew this;
His undying love to set me free, set me free
From the demons that raged within,
That tore me in shreds; pieces without amends.
Here i am at the master’s feet, with tears drowning me
In the river of his unending flowing love.
I am Mary of Magdala, a city that rises in riches
A temple, a castle where I reside,
still not knowing my worth.
I am still at the Master’s feet; breathing in his life
His very life that sent these demons running
At the sound of his conquering voice.
I am Mary Magdalene; filled with love
Love flowing from the Master’s heart to mine.
Not minding what the crowd said
Not minding how their eyes peered;
Piercing like stabbing knives, hoeing out my past,
Calling me a prostitute for joining myself with seven troubles;
sleeping with them daily, from dusk to dawn.
Master, I am not in trouble
I am safe; secured by your overwhelming presence
For every sent out demon, you never left me empty
You filled me with compassion, joy, faith, peace, strength
grace and passion to continue in love for you
For in this I see your love for the church.
My kisses, you replaced with your kisses
Reminding me of how much you love the church.
I mean, no man hates that which he loves
No man can watch his right hand wilt with rot
He makes the effort to cleanse it still
For he know what he feels
Gazing at my eyes you saw my conflicts
Blotting every one of them from your manuscript;
Writing my name in the book of life; a leader
My sins crucified with you;
Dragged my conflicts to hell,
defeating the devil; healing me totally
Setting me free.
Certainly, we are in perfect peace; no more demons
Though they lurk in dark corners
we chase them out with your light
reminding them of who we are; resilient for you
Reminding them of our tears at your feet
The perfumed ointment at your feet
Our hair, wiped with your feet
We are still at the Master’s feet
With this alabaster box of faith;
pouring it all out just for him
For every demon gone, never to return
we hear the number of completeness
spewing from his mouth daily, saying
“Your sins are forgiven, and your faith has
made you whole, go in peace”

©Neofloetry.
22/01/2016
3:11pm.

NOT ALL BIRDS FLY

Standard

NOT ALL BIRDS FLY

What is this,
a cage?

See,
No free bird
wants to be caged,
for simplicity laces
their wings,
as they spread
their them to fly.

Listen,
no caged bird
wants to be recaptured,
with its wings clipped;
and then left to chirp
painfully, while it peers
outside; its neck secured
with strings of steel.

All birds love to be free,
but a bird caged for long
can’t accept freedom,
even when declared free,
for it hovers, circling
that cage, unaware
of its unlatched door.

Allow a bird to fly;
soaring high.
Perhaps the eagle
has a story to tell you,
for no bird that loves to
fly high wants its wings
clipped, and stopped
from embracing the clouds.

©Neofloetry, 2015
17/01/2016
8:21pm

NOTE TO MY EX

Standard

NOTE TO MY EX

Dear Ex-Boyfriend,
I am sorry you got left in your dark shades,
Watching me behind closed doors,
Wondering what my next move will be,
Who my next man would be;
Surfacing from a cocoon,
and breaking out into a butterfly,
To rest on my nectar of sweetness,
and to express with joy the beauty he’s drawn.

Ex-Boyfriend, I’d love to see you cry,
Weep tears like whipped cream,
That will slur your voice, wrapping your past
Sending you to the cocoon where you came from,
So you can unlearn the wrongs you learned,
And become a caterpillar, and eventually a butterfly,
To appreciate the beauty you lost,
And the nectar you once poisoned.

Dear Ex-Boyfriend,
No precious gem bargained to be lost, but found,
But you found this one and lost it forever.

©Neofloetry, 2016.

MY TOMBO FLY

Standard

MY TOMBO FLY

My bobo,
na you be de only fly,
de only fly wey enter my tombo.

I know se
as you fly fall inside,
de tombo catch you well well.

My friend dem
dey vex say you chuz
to fall inside my glass,
but dem no sabi se na love
and long throat for me
naim catch you sotey
you fall yakata!

My bobo,
na you be my only fly
wey enter inside my swit tombo.

I hope se
as you fall inside my glass,
na so de tombo go still catch your bodi,
sotey you go find way
to make our tombo love
stand gidigba, till you pay.

©Neofloetry, 2016.

MY TOMBO

My bebi
Na yu get de only tombo
De only tombo wey I fit enter

I know se
as I fly fol inside yo tombo,
Yo tombo com swit wel wel

Yo frends dem
No vex reach my frends
Wey chuz to petch for doti
but see as I gum inside yu laik poti.

My bebi,
Na yu get de only tombo,
De only tombo wey fit full my bele

I hope say
As I fol enta yo glas,
Na so your bodi
go com dey totoli
Sotey yu no go wan make I comot go piss.
Awa tombo love don hai
I hope say yo bride price no go HAI

©IfeanyiBernard “Prestige”

WHICH DO YOU PREFER

Standard

WHICH DO YOU PREFER

I found myself in a restaurant,
The waiter smiled, then a little chat.
I clasped both hands, and then a nod,
Picked up the menu in a plastic card.
He looked again and said to me:
“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”

I glanced at everyone in there,
Buried my head to search for thrill.
I smacked my lips and swallowed hard
At every food that caused a stir
He looked again and said to me:
“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”

I picked ogbonno and ewedu soup,
Some pounded yam and afang too.
Maybe oha or banga soup will do
I thought of my angry stomach’s growl
He looked again and said to me:
Ma’am, which do you prefer?

Can I have some native soup to taste
Some seafood to quench my hunger’s fate
Do add Ofingo and fresh shrimps please
Mgbe, Ngolo, Isam for my tongue to tease
He looked again and said to me:
“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”

The atmosphere was getting cold
This waiter gave a look so cold
Upset, I asked for some point and kill
Some Peppersoup to keep me warm
He looked again and said to me
“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”

I tweaked my mind a little bit
I spotted kekefiaye on the menu list
Can this be done by half-past three?
I waved my hands in sheer delight
He looked again and said to me
“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”

My heart began to pound so fast
Agege bread, the perfect meal at last!
Ewa agoyin, dear, please do combine
This might just be my lucky day!
He looked again, whispering to me
“Ma’am, which do you…prefer?”

What shall I get my mouth to eat?
Ekpang Nkwukwo, my eyes did spot
Fura de nunu, Masa might just be fine
Or fresh Abacha with some Palmwine
He frowned so hard, then said to me
“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”

It’s now sundown, and still no meal
I had to make a simple choice
Of bole, groundnut or some barbecued fish
Or nothing at all that fire had killed
He leaned over, then whispered again
“Ma’am, is this what you prefer?”

He heaved a sigh in displeasure
His countenance, of one bemused
Just then, I found another delight
Guguru ati epa at the end of the list
I smiled so hard and then said to him
“Sir, now, that’s what I prefer!”

©Edwina ‘Neofloetry’ Aleme.

Note:
*Ofingo, Mgbe, Ngolo, Isam (Periwinkles): Names of seafoods as called by the Riverine people.
*Ogbonno, Ewedu, Afang, Ekpang Nkwukwo, Fura de nunu, Masa, Bole and barbecued fish. (Some Nigerian delicacies)
*Abacha (Snack food made from shredded boiled cassava, usually accompanied with sauced cow skin, some bitter leaf called utazi and shredded oil bean seed (ugba). Popular in South Eastern Nigerian)
*Guguru ati Epa (Popular snack of among Lagosians)

===========================================

IDIOM-VUTAM (Pounded food)

Ekein Atala is empty-stomached,
The Odam-ekein announced,
“There must be a fattening celebration!”
Then called he the Imosi and Imivtam.

Atala clan clustered, and deliberated,
“What do we prepare for her?” One asked.
“She should be fed lusciously, Osuo-Atala knows!”
Imatam and Imelem happily exclaimed

Odam Ekein called the cooks,
“Prepare a recipe for Atala’s delight!”.
Mortar sat; ready to be appeased
with boiled Ogbro and fingers of Iblain bibi,
Kpoi, Kpoi! The pestle tirelessly did pound.

Edi drooled without complaint,
Fresh fish announced its willing presence.
Awe, islebein wuwo and iyeyen showed interest
In the aki, they giggled like little girls.

The firewood was lit with fire sparks,
Odinga aki sat butu on the tripod.
The towns people, cheered and danced;
Bubbly with joy, Odu mixed, kputu, kputu, Kputu!

The aroma satisfied Ekein Atala,
And their nostrils glued to the whiff.
” What shall we name this new child?”
A voice pierced through the noisy clan.

Without much ado, the King stood;
“We shall name this delicacy, Idiom vutam,
For it suffered pounding to be sweet,
To fill up Atala’s empty stomach”.

©Edwina ‘Neofloetry’ Aleme.

Note:
*Idiom-vutam is a traditional delicacy of the Atala minority clan of the Udekama (Degema Local Government Area) people of Rivers State. It is mostly known by other natives as ‘Onunu’. Majorly prepared with pounded boiled yam and ripe plantian mixed with red oil, and fresh fish native stew with native spices.

*Odam-Ekein (King of Atala)
* Ekein Atala (Atala town)
*Imivtam, Imosi (Women, Men)
*Imelem, Imatam (Young men, young women)
*Osuo-Atala (god of Atala clan)
*Ogbro, Iblain bibi (Yam, ripe plantian)
*Awe, iyeyen (native spices, often used for Peppersoup delicacy)
*Islebein wuwo (Fresh pepper)
*Odinga Aki (Couldron-like pot)
*Butu (An old pidgin word for ‘Firm’)
*Odu (Native Stew)
*Kpoi! Kpoi! (The pounding sound from mortar and pestle)

Edwina ‘Neofloetry’ Aleme is a Port Harcourt based Spokenword Poet. She is a graduate of Theatre Arts (Playwriting/Screenwriting major), University of Port Harcourt, Rivers State, Nigeria. She is also a trained professional makeup artist from the House Of Tara Makeup School. Edwina is one of the co-founders of a fast rising poetry group called FIGURES OF SPEECH (FOS). She has written many unpublished works, performed on several platforms around the country and Ghana, and she is a lover of the Art in totality. She loves listening to hip hop and soul music, draws and paints as a hobby.

Email: neomakievi@gmail
Phone no.: 08064528857

IDIOM-VUTAM (Pounded food)

Standard

IDIOM-VUTAM (Pounded food)

Ekein Atala is empty-stomached,
The Odam-ekein announced,
“There must be a fattening celebration!”
Then called he the Imosi and Imivtam.

Atala clan clustered, and deliberated,
“What do we prepare for her?” One asked.
“She should be fed lusciously, Osuo-Atala knows!”
Imatam and Imelem happily exclaimed

Odam Ekein called the cooks,
“Prepare a recipe for Atala’s delight!”.
Mortar sat; ready to be appeased
with boiled Ogbro and fingers of Iblain bibi,
Kpoi, Kpoi! The pestle tirelessly did pound.

Edi drooled without complaint,
Fresh fish announced its willing presence.
Awe, islebein wuwo and iyeyen showed interest
In the aki, they giggled like little girls.

The firewood was lit with fire sparks,
Odinga aki sat butu on the tripod.
The towns people, cheered and danced;
Bubbly with joy, Odu mixed, kputu, kputu, Kputu!

The aroma satisfied Ekein Atala,
And their nostrils glued to the whiff.
” What shall we name this new child?”
A voice pierced through the noisy clan.

Without much ado, the King stood;
“We shall name this delicacy, Idiom vutam,
For it suffered pounding to be sweet,
To fill up Atala’s empty stomach”.

©Edwina ‘Neofloetry’ Aleme.

Note:
*Idiom-vutam is a traditional delicacy of the Atala minority clan of the Udekama (Degema Local Government Area) people of Rivers State. It is mostly known by other natives as ‘Onunu’. Majorly prepared with pounded boiled yam and ripe plantian mixed with red oil, and fresh fish native stew with native spices.

*Odam-Ekein (King of Atala)
* Ekein Atala (Atala town)
*Imivtam, Imosi (Women, Men)
*Imelem, Imatam (Young men, young women)
*Osuo-Atala (god of Atala clan)
*Ogbro, Iblain bibi (Yam, ripe plantian)
*Awe, iyeyen (native spices, often used for Peppersoup delicacy)
*Islebein wuwo (Fresh pepper)
*Odinga Aki (Couldron-like pot)
*Butu (An old pidgin word for ‘Firm’)
*Odu (Native Stew)
*Kpoi! Kpoi! (The pounding sound from mortar and p

THIS ART OF POEMS(Part 1)

Standard

THIS ART OF POEMS(Part 1)

Upon this crafted art of poems will the twist of fate resonate
It will cause a stir in the hearts of men doused in hate
They will foresee their doom; the ones dug and planted
In the shadow of secrecy that forestalls their flawed integrity

This art will spell out their lost future wherein they’ll be bound
With the chains of their fallacies and witless wits of shame
Their eyes will turn their pupils against them; frenzied in pain
Spine-chilling wrenching of hopes they stole in the game of blame

This mastered art will never die in a million years to come
It will break the concrete-hardened fists of life’s puppeteers
It will shred their stoned hearts; weakening these triumphs
The ones they claimed violently behind the stages’ curtain

This great art upon which lost faith will resurrect
Will open the shutters of a billion flickering eyes
In the shadows of men locked in their minds for years
They will embrace the truths spoken from atop the hills

Selah…

©Neofloetry, 2015.