Tomorrow came, sun shining.
Yesterday left with its dining.
Readied for the certain raining
and aged by much experiencing.
Yet very much a stone in a pool,
everyone is someone elses fool.
Saved as caught fishes,
Within their own wishes;
To leave waters so free,
Entrapped in fine twines.
Enslaved, seasoned free;
Saved from these times.
Child, I love you so
and mean you well.
But from me you go,
running away you fell.
This freedom you know,
it hurts you will tell.
Woe to the shepherd,
if his foe is his herd.
And damned is the sheep,
On a pasture they can’t reap.
At birth the bloom will say
what piece in the pair stay,
a plus for lives coupled play.
In structure all living may
grow, roam and breed away,
as only possible since day.
Alas, I fear the body did sway,
hearts and minds too stray,
to please nothing else they gay.
Amazing how easily we forgot,
it’s cold as soon as it’s again hot,
or the raw feel of our thirst
as soon as we had water first.
Pain, only as long as it linger;
ends when joy points a finger.
Many promises we had sworn
are as soon not again our own.
The personal stories we told
long before we got this old,
Or plans we drew up and made
before we realized what we said.
The friendships’ wasted hugs
as quickly, is all stale and bugs.
That shoulder we so cried on
we now see and as quickly run.
Those hands that shook ours
now reach out from towers,
As soon as we forgot again;
it’s dry, but again it will rain.
With what comes where
And how follows when.
For the lost will ever fear
And the found never learn.
Faith lives and all own.
What’s seen is received
And again left all alone;
Like all believed, conceived.
The mind roams no course,
Thoughts feel their own way.
For many, their remorse
To others beacons a bay.
In the quest for source,
The search is the force.
Its hunger is blinding
And its timing, binding.
Many has sight failed,
More will lust then wish.
The senses boxes mailed;
Multitudes fed on their dish.
If mind had one more sense,
It will be its chosen thought;
Which is just another lens.
For faith, it has always sought.
Somewhere in all days;
Witnessed as is always,
In the morning’s blue skies
As in the night’s goodbyes.
It stops the singing,
Matches the hatching.
In its crawling time,
It bettered the wine.
With nothing to give,
It gives and yet deceive.
Wizen the ripened old;
Consumed and still sold.
Young the years grew
And gathered all anew.
Stealth gets its way
As age steals all away.
Daddy smiled and coughed light,
Understanding my explained plight.
Men are lonely and they know,
Yet they conspire not to let show.
These women are assisted all through
By their very own sex, unlike you.
Firstly by mothers or sisters, then peers.
All thrust, show or coax their shares.
Ladies understand the bodies world well
As they grow so guided, you can tell.
The boy discovers on his very own.
And thus, what he finds is his fun.
The other day a lady teased me,
saying I’ve got huge man boobs.
Smiled and tried to make her see,
creation has one reoccurring oops.
Just like everything that is male,
My boobs are for my pleasure;
Not the upliftment of others’ tale,
For God’s a man in all His nature.
Every bit of knowledge is new,
at the instant it came into light.
The boldest fact as we all knew,
is time at hand is truest might.
The captain that has his crew,
has his craft in steady flight.
Time spent well is never few,
when it’s gains speaks right.
Truthfully none lives all alone,
But dead as alive all has none.
The words we are saying now, found us somewhere we know.
Our thoughts are always near, holding us captive right here.
Thank all the heavens for night time,
where will all mankind be without it?
Clarity praises all the days’ fine,
as all these many beautiful it lit.
Darkness had made procreation this bold,
aiding the naughtiness in all the shy.
Night makes ugliness the child of old;
daylight sculptures the beautiful sky.
For sure death of me cometh,
more like my very next breath.
It is edging closely towards me,
certain like it sees where I’ll be.
Living is a trip that keeps going.
Daily it comes, always it’s going.
It is peopled, hectic, never cozy;
Fares as pests all quite naughty,
Only it’s tiny stops are a bit rosy.
Picture from @xinorino
Life is a marathon, not a sprint,
one excelled with dedicate grit.
Commenced without good hint
of who can stand through or sit.
To avoid being quite sorry,
it’s always prudent to worry.
Not just for the tiny bit thing,
but to also laugh, cry or sing.
Good are also ugly and bad;
and can turn fair moods sad.
Most friends’re opportunistic,
indeed their needs are mystic.
Common is the expression;
not quite the true situation.
Rare does the circumstance,
fit the damned consequence.
Whenever the setting changes;
timid viewers face challenges,
same fashion commentators
will become eating predators.
Skeletons still in the cupboard,
are still new, across the board.
Just a step into the near past,
reveals old habits always last.
Tombstones mark old cruelties;
hidden, mean, untold mysteries.
Looks are most deceptive tools, lying to the most gullible fools.
How the times have changed
and their days have managed
to turn our thrones into pulpits
our peaceful abodes into pits.
Mere words now make violence;
sacred scripture praise offence.
Social media taints knowledge,
as our youth mirror our tutelage.
Without these spoken words,
who can tell our mini worlds?
Without the delight of colours,
what’s this ruse sight conjures?
Without directions to guide us,
or passing time that bothers us,
who is certain where they are;
then, now, before ending here?
Is there any more perfect sight
than any day’s twinned twilight?
Then we are all identical twins;
worldwide, same human-beings.
Times have aged into a routine;
one weaned, not born by cooks.
Money now owns worship’s sin,
as many heros become crooks.
Todays’ are yesterdays’ whores,
all their victories liken abortions.
All gains reach emptied shores;
laurels are prismatic emotions.
Time never stops in its track;
It will grow, age, dry or fly off,
But never ceases, end or lack.
Each time rolls in its moments;
Strolling by in its miserly bluff,
Daring all to enjoy its torments.
Picture from @kc_clancy
We walk in steps, fits and starts,
Come and go like beatin’ hearts,
Pacing back, forth, yet onwards;
Winning battles, losing all wars.
Life drills all as an erring soldier,
Demands as needs never older,
For the future soldiers on bolder.
Trust is an egg, floating in the air,
Happy in delightful honest fair.
Safest feeling is only in the hand,
When it’s down to earth and land.
Picture from @MrsZanga
Life’s a long drawn out mystery,
one that we never ever fathom.
Our wishes become our misery; like dreams we don’t overcome.
We daily edge closer to nothing;
blindly holding onto naked cupid.
Our destiny is a very old setting,
until when bold becomes stupid.
Picture from @TheOnlyKemi
Can’t wait to be felt and noticed. Can’t wait to be seen and heard;
To be right here acknowledged.
When not if, a certain constant,
As I stand out in this moment.
For what is now is my current.
Picture from @oj_deji
Cubid is a terrible shot
And misses quite alot.
Maybe it’s those tiny wings
Or self righteous halo rings.
His cute aims for the heart
Always loses from the start
Because love is a mindset,
A selfish reaction to what’s felt.
Eyes make their own shows
Before the pierced head goes.
Their fruit crowned the whores,
Love is forever a game for bros.
Can we ever leave our homes,
Completely be someone else?
Can we change flesh as homes
From within, be of a new place?
True we leave our home nations
Physically, in identity or thought
But the nation stay in emotions
In sympathies, niceties and rot.
In days old and long gone by,
A young Goat, still with speech,
Asked humans as he went by
Their old time wasting pitch.
“Have you seen my wives go by?”
“Wives?” They jeer and returned.
Enquires to, the grown kid comply.
“Wives,” he so proudly confirmed.
“No laddie,” their answer did fly.
“We only saw your full mothers
And your many sisters walk by.”
“But they’re my wives, my brothers.”
Today is the Independence Day of my dear country, Nigeria.
And the following poem by Abdullahi Marcel E-dris sums up how most Nigerians feel today…
“So they gathered
Plotted nothing but pure evil
How much more to be murdered
This they planned and executed
Many times over
“It’s a tale of misery
The people wonder what they’ve done wrong
Killings and maiming everyday
The blood and tears keeps flowing
The bodies keep piling
The earth tired of swallowing
“Where are those we voted?
Where are the so called “leaders”?
Those who swore to protect the best interest of the people?
Those who blare sirens everyday…
Those driven in tinted vehicles…
Those whose children never face such harsh realities…
Those who take party issues more important than lives lost…
Those who fuel these crisis…
Those who careless who dies…
“Our worries deepens
Our cries louder
Our losses more
Our pain deeper
Our fears bigger
Our doubts fatter
Our faith thinner
Our laughter fewer
Our joy weaker
Our confidence in you almost dead
Is that of action
That which will bring lasting peace
Ease the pain suffered
Heal the wounds covered.
This we ask
This we demand.
Yes, most Nigerians are so sad & scared today…..
Rest In Peace Ngo….
We fondly remember your cheer..
Written By Millionaire’s Digest Team Member: Annmarie McQueen Founder & Owner of: Annmarie McQueen Millionaire’s Digest Team, Contributor, Travel & Writing Writer 1. It lets you get the feelings out without having to get anyone else involved. Let’s face it; getting emotional in front of people is always an embarrassing process, no matter how close you are […]
I wish my life was like a poem then I would be beautiful. I would have rhythm, cadence, imagery; my rhymes they would be plentiful. I would have stanzas of separation, my life would be in order. They would build upon each other from beginning to end –– clear borders. Someone would have […]
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I’m not just a name, or an obscure figure; I am like the darkness of the sky, With skelfs of fires, Making them bright, at least they try. I’m the words that string up, The stories in my favourite books; Quotes that stir up, My soul, to every nook. I’m the lyrics of […]
Glowing rain. Striking window’s pane to reach open souls. Stirring puddles, filled holes. Showering my being in steady down pours. Water’s dive forming shapes to encompass. Let it overflow. Reaching feet that need to quench thirst. Drops sink or float on skin. Touch me and be mine. Sweet sounds of calming waters. Poetry.
Tears trace broken lines across a face weathered by a mother’s journey
Written by Jacob Ibrag She reminisced on how her sister used to listen with intent, and how she always reacted to her stories with compassion. ‘Why couldn’t have I reciprocated? Why couldn’t I have listened to her voice when she needed it?’ Photographer Unknown
Written by Jacob Ibrag Give me the cliché movie type of love where you whisper ‘I need you’ across the room on a random Tuesday just because. Photography by Marta Bevacqua
Walk slowly, by Danna Faulds It only takes a reminder to breathe, a moment to be still and just like that, something in me settles, softens, makes space for imperfection. The harsh voice of judgment drops to a whisper and I remember again that life isn’t a relay race; that we will all […]
Written by Jacob Ibrag Ring finger vacant. Would it be alright if I changed that? Photographer Unknown
There aren’t pinpoint developed or under-developed nations. The difference in development levels of nations are classed according to proximity to the best examples of the two extremes of the stages of development. Thus the term developing is firstly relative to both extremes. The seemingly endless process of developing is still quiet evident at both extremes. This fact is open dispute and debate.
Stagnation in under-developed nations isn’t permanent either, but the term aptly describes the state it appears to be in presently, just as being termed developed doesn’t describe the former. Development isn’t an infrastructural state, principally. Development is mainly attitudinal; a state of a culture and not the process it had under gone to get where it is. Development isn’t a stage a nation is but the state of the circumstances that surround the entirety of the national entity currently, not where it is at. Development isn’t a stage but a process, it isn’t ever finished but dynamic.
Here is a poem by Portia Nelson that might help us see that if we ever want this misconception of what development really is to end, we must do things differently not merely shutting little people up when they crave for true development.
There’s A Hole In My Sidewalk
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in. I am lost….I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the side walk.
I pretend I don’t see it. I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I fall in….it’s a habit…but my eyes are open.
I know where I am. It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
I walk down a different street.
BE YOURSELF by Georgie Sicking, 1921-2016 When I was young and foolish, The women said to me, “Take off those spurs and comb your hair If a lady you will be. “Forget about those cowboy ways come and sit a while, We will try to clue you in On women’s ways and wiles. “Take off […]
A fruit was hanging from a tree I tried to reach it But it was too high up for me The more unreachable it was The more I wanted it It was probably the same fruit Eve ate The one that made her naked and vulnerable What a strange fruit it is That I would […]
I want to be a butterfly, so beautiful and free To fly above the humans as they admire me Admiring eyes, and wondrous smiles survey my majesty Do they ever realize how the beauty came to be The metamorphosis from a tree, twelve legs and clinging tight Beginning with a crusty shell, no loveliness […]
Most grown men were previously of the opinion that they should always have the major say in their romantic relationships. They realized too late that they had succumbed to female charms unconsciously. Like most people they discovered they aren’t built outwardly as they are inwardly. They lead themselves on with the false hope that they could blunt the sharpness that heralds the things they covet the most, like most women so pitifully do. Majority of men love the attributes of the women they end up with, not the women and that is their undoing.
Women aren’t on the same level playing field with men. A woman yields for the man to thrust himself into her life. When she momentarily refuses to yield and he persists forcibly, that is defined as rape. When she is coerced into giving in unwillingly, it hurts hers and she ensures it would practically displease him too in the long run. The woman wants favours and still wants equality, leaving her man with the vague decisions of what are actually his strengths, choices, rights and his initiated ideas. His admonitions and inclinations are shredded with all the belated unexpected outpouring that follows the subsequent sense of abandonment dimly registering in his complicated thoughts, when she gets her way as always.
Yet she will still hurl varied insults at his person, distorting and trampling facts. When the fragrance of the truth is confronted, it will always smell quite feminine. There are no legal statutes governing the woman’s natural strength sapping and ego violating antecedents, that always ends with a fuming fretted man.
Strenght of a Woman
Written by Jacob Ibrag The little girl looked at her father and asked him why she bled after collecting a fresh cut from a sliver of paper. ‘Some people like to think that it’s to remind us that our hearts are still beating. I think it’s to remind us that we can heal and become whole […]
I hear the Raven daily, but I do not see him in his tree …. I see the stars shinning brightly at night, but do not hear them, Tears flow from my eye’s but I do not feel them, My heart aches but I try to squelch it. The Raven speaks of messages of magic […]