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Testimony time… Story time… History studies…


As a family, they gather together to share a word of exhortation or two. One thing leads to another and a long storytelling spree breaks out.


It is a hazy late Christmas morning. The harmattan weather is rather harsh on everyone. Father is coughing. Mother lets out a sneeze and a “Jesus is Lord!” outcry. The two siblings giggle at the sight of the dry and cold weather challenge their parents are facing.


“Somebody praise the Lord…!” Mother’s voice breaks into a ululating chant. She wipes of a spec of dried catarrh on the side of her right nostril with a ply of tissue paper.


“Halleluyah!” everyone choruses. Father is checking for a bible passage on his tablet device. He finds one, smiles, and asks in a sing song manner


“Does anyone have a testimony to the glory of God?”

“Yes. I have one…” the younger sibling retorts

“Me too…” Mother says smiling

“Okay, let us hear it. One minute each.” He says

“ONE MINUTE EACH!” the older sibling emphasizes. Mother shoots her an unreceptive look.


The older sibling casts a long wry look at both parents. She sits facing her younger sibling, as though to say “I hope this doesn’t turn into a long boring story o!” the younger sibling smirks her lips, sits pretty, adjusts her sitting position, and lets out a “Praise the Lord somebody!” in a soft feigned British accent.


Three minutes later, the older sibling is frowning at everyone. Father is typing away at his tablet device. The pings from social media notifications fill the sitting room. Mother on the other hand is constantly interrupting the storytelling testimony session with her own version of the past incidents told. Father is nodding his head, but not concentrating on the tell-tale session.


It is mother’s turn to tell her testimony of the “goodness of the Lord’. The older sibling begins to get oversensitive. She looks at the clock beside her. “Oh God! This is going to take FOREVER” She mumbles under breath. Mother likes to tell stories in a rather fascinating way. She is detailed and every scenario comes with a vivid description of past incidents and how “the good Lord never fails those who put their trust in Him.”


Five minutes later, the older sibling cannot contain herself enough to join in the morning prayers. Father is still typing away on his device. Younger sibling relaxes herself into the chair. She is sleeping. Mother picks up her phone as it rings out loudly. She answers in a low tone.


“Hello, please can you call me back in the next five minutes? We are having our family devotion.”


Father places the tablet device beside him on the side stool. He stands up and begins pacing around the sitting room singing praises to the savior of all mankind. He starts to pray in an unknown tongue. Mother joins in. Younger sibling is still sleeping, her mouth agape.


“Let us pray!” father says. He notices his younger daughter sleeping. He walks up to her, pinches her knee cap. She jerks back from her sleep.


“Pray. Thank God for giving us His son for this season… Pray. Pray!” He continues fervently


Older sibling opens one eye to look at her Father who is by this time deep in praying fervently. She takes another look at the clock. It says “9:55am


“Dear Father God, I know this is not right, but help my parents understand that I have to go out before 10:30am. Amen!”




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OCD (Clean Jane)

OCD (Clean Jane)

OCD (Clean Jane)

This is how it started

This is how it all started

I am not startled





I am here

I am there

I am walking forward



All this is in my head


This is how it started

All these must me p-e-r-f-e-c-t


I am not sorry

Kitchen; spotless


I have to check again. Please

Table mats; colors match!

Oh dear, I see a patch




I am walking forward

I have to walk backward

Door; shut

I am looking at my shoe rack

They need me back…





I could write you as lines of poetry

Racing through generations of untimely feats won

at the feet of self-discovery;

a journey not taken on unsure islands

yet, taken to explore your many side like stanzas of a poem

As the laid out canvases of an artists’ finest works

hung on the walls of your forming days

growing up like abstracts interjecting time,

and spreading your wings; jutting into the sky

gazing at the clouds, and ignoring the grey chunks;

Each definite arrangement; deliberate contours

calling for your attention.

You see them as smoke screens; like fog

willing to make you born again into the hands of the racing clock

Your wings are spread wide

You taking leaping soaring steps like Mario; super

Like a young eagle learning to fly

Learning at your master’s feet; yourself

who’s teaching you to fly with wisdom in your belly

across valleys, and above mountains

Still, you are flying, but with grace’s locket around your neck

This isn’t the first time she kissed your cheek

She promised you more at every flight

Your feathers are flapping through

wadding through each memorable skyline,

like the paddles of a canoe;

arms spread wide, waving at the smile that the ocean

shares with the clear blue sky.

Each dip you take reminds one of baptism; newness

Now your time has come, with your hands clasped,

like a prayer of atonement to the heavens…

Even though the sky be grey,

yes, be it for a season; a period of showers

it will be like angels assembling crying for joy, and

welcoming your announced feat

that time you planted your feet, and set to fly

like the bird that you are, soaring;

cutting through the mirrored blue sky

and the heavens applauding as your kingdom come.


© Neofloetry




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Freed by Love

Freed by Love

We, unaccustomed to courage

are exiled from sheer delight

where we live coiled in shells of loneliness,

until love echoes our names from a distance

to liberate us from darkness into light.


Love finally arrives!

in its train come fresh ecstacies,

reviving fading old memories of pleasure;

blotting off histories of numbing pain.

now, we are bold

as love strikes away chains of fear

from our souls.


We are weaned from our timidity

In the flashes of love’s light

we dare to be brave, and

suddenly seeing that love loves us

in what we are, and will ever be.


It is only love that can set us free.


(c) Neofloetry, 2017



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I find it really difficult to understand how and why most people are comfortable with people who live a stereotypical life. It just beats my imagination, seriously. When you decide to be yourself and not want to live other people’s lives, these same people will come at you with all forms of abusive content.

Many years ago, I used to be at the mercy of people around me: always looking up to their opinions about my looks; my body size, butts, boobs, dress sense, how I talked, walked, how I chewed my food, how I smiled, etc. (especially growing up with tomboyish traits). What I didn’t know was that I was unconsciously stuffing my wonderfully made self into a confining casket. I was slowly killing myself. It affected how I related with these same people and those I was yet to come in contact with. I was my own correctional murderer. I tried several times to murder my true self over and over again until one day I took a conscious stand to being lady-like and very different from the norm. (I am still under construction)

Every day we find most ladies trying really hard to impress the opposite sex, especially when you are meeting for the first time. You’d have to put everything in check before you stepped out on that date (trust me, the guy may not even care about the whole enchilada). I see these ladies put a false character just to grab their attention, and at that point they lose their sense of ‘true self’ (call it whatever). I have seen and read stories from other ladies who at some point made same mistakes, and at the end of the day, truth shone on them (most times they realise this when it’s too late).

In as much as Social Media is good, it has increased the rate of falsehood in the lives of many young men and women who I have named ‘internet Masquerades’ all in the name of impression and exploitation.

I believe the reason why God created a variety of things on earth is just so we all can realise how a combination of all kinds of people make the world a better place, where people can just be themselves without having to tread the path of falseness (mimickery or whatever it is called). Being a STEREOTYPE seems like fun, but it is cloaked in falsehood and has driven many to their early graves or Waterloo.

I am an advocate of ‘Be your true self’, and will always preach this gospel. It is not a must for you to get in ‘formation’ of others for you to get information about who you are. Search yourself and you will find you. When you eventually find ‘You’, do not be arrogant about letting others know, but just nicely tell them how you have grown to accept you for you.

I wish you all the best in finding yourself and not allowing others determine how you portray yourself.


(c) Neofloetry



it is dawn, and my awakened thoughts race,
driving me through a river’s journey.
i listened to the rivers speak of new birth,
and i am wide-eyed to celebrate
before the seas and under the clear skies,
as my happy thoughts stand naked watching the waves
flowing, and cascading like waterfalls of rushing emotions.

i surrendered my rainstorm of tears,
singing to this birthsong, like a mad note
burning within me; inextinguishable.
my feet found the theme of life, of beauty, of love, and dancing,
gathering dust on the soil of this grand land,
this revelation unscathed; an unfailing declaration
of a new beginning.

like the blossoming of flower,
and the succulence of tasty grapes; i see a sweet soul
like magic, enchanted; lightening all that is dark,
and all that has become religion;
like a poem simply written without questions of departure
or remembrances, or cackles of rambling.

when gods are possessed
love begins singing a tune to build a bridge,
connecting loves’ purity and hates’ ambiguity
you are never alone, like the clustering of sequins; glistening
your words are like a totem of new beginning
announcing your birth at the riverside of applause
somewhere in the forest of life
on march twenty eight.


© Neofloetry
(Scribbled thoughts from a collection of poems a river’s journey and a field of echoes by amu nnadi)




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.





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…



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




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




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”