A beautiful Death

Diamond on her was the brightest
Her fame is known the loudest
Her presence a charming pleasure
Her voice to behold a pleasing treasure

She stretches her heart out
To her his soul bow out
So beautiful that I beseech but just a chance
Even if it all calls for was just a dance
Sweetly this gentle lion
Roar a smile pleasing threshing iron
Man! Gold not all that glitter
Blister, but not all that is cold...

All I do was to love
And to hold a gentle hand covered all in glove
I'm but so young and green
Foolish but feel with so much grin

Much threading a world unknown
Happiness and trust, was all I know
Look at me; I’m but young and free
Sorrow! The world gives but a grave spree

Care I for, was a friendly plans
And only but a gracious hands
Alas, covered with it was a trap
Calmly walk I into her grab

Women of cunning minds
With soft tone covers face with blinds
And give such a beautiful death
Noting more, but regrettable death

FEAR
Shadow that lurks in the night
Even terror that impart a fright
Not only the sight of a gun
Mighty when love is gone

It craves a blissful heart
And troubles with skillful art
It spares me not and no one
Even treasures heart with no fun

Who dares not to fear?
Even Christ before the cross
Who is born devoid of fear?
Is it Hercules and all his great force?

THE VOICE OF HOPE
History we were
Few ages long gone
Peaceful a whole
With no hostile gun

Savages we were called
And animal we were thought
Even our fathers were caged
Like an animal to be tamed

The pains of our fathers
Century echoed not atoned
The tears of our mothers
Showers since, long ago

Literally we were colonized
And our culture criticized
Cajoled to be saved
Only for our mind to be enslaved

Lots of treasures stolen
Both pride and glory
Not even our strength which is golden
Left us but only a story

Though we were later united
But our hearts give no consent
Each minds divided
Left us conflict and war till present

Now our night of peace
Only to awaken to morning of horror
Many lives to pieces
With civil wars and terrors

Where do we go from here?
For it seems we are far from home
And with these terrors and fears
Our purpose shattered as of civilization of Rome

We need help
For we are down
We need hope
Just not to drown

A voice we seek
The voice of hope
To resurrect unity and faith
And onward gone for the peak

THE HEAT IN MY COUNTRY
Much memory forgotten
Such greatness begotten
Many treasures dampen
With darkness and discord to garden
So beautiful to be told
With greatness and might foretold
So much to be known
History and great men renown
So long till today
That our past and might so we pray

Then future we looked
Our history we booked
Nigh we are here
And high we swear
To the beauty of those days
To come now to stay
And the valour of our men
With such honour that trend
That our home now to treasure
With so much ease as breeze of pleasure
To visit o’ pray once again
That our minds and souls break of chains


The heat in my country
With hunger and sickness scorch with gentry
Noble men made thieves
And ignoble of them ‘re known chiefs
Dignity detest our women
Even purity now unknown to brethren
Leaders are made of lies
Leaving our homeland to shatter and cry

Now what shall we do?
To bring this heat to cool
Now who shall we tell?
That ‘ll bring us the victory bell
Oh our god
Oh our creator
Save this COUNTRY!

WRITTEN BY: Adégbóyèga

I am interested.

WhatsApp number:07069700809
email: gboyegamichael28@gmail.com

NEITHER FRIENDS NOR FOES
In darkness they grin
In light they smile
At your harmless and green
With contempt and lies

Closer than your shadow
Is their care and nurture
Deeper and not shallow
Is their hatred in their nature!

Away they are when dark
Only to help when to wine and dine
Alive they are when to ask
Just to plan your fall and mine

Witty they know when to pity
When you fall and faint
And in your glorious crown you look filthy
Then they pray as of saint

Look before you leap
Should be your words and songs
Wary not to slip
Deter your plans slip through your tongue


Cautious of rose without thorn
Dear trouble your mind of bread rubbed in butter
That you don’t break and stun
And your labour lies in gutter

Who should be loved and trusted?
Even the saviour trusted and lost
Who should be embraced and called friends?
Without minding their troughs and bends

I CANNOT STAY
Your calmness and sour touch
Your mockery amidst saintly tears
Your offering of hunger and shame
No! I cannot stay

Your vintage gift of retrogression
Your friendly hands of filthiness
And Your rich clothes of pain
But no I cannot stay

Thanks for a rare lunch of leftover
and a breakfast of sorrow
For your desert of nonentity
No! I cannot stay

Your whip have I tasted
An experience ever to linger
A memory of jeer and scorn
Lae Lae! I cannot stay.


For I will rather struggle and be rich
I will better sleep late, to be revered
and rather sweat for an eventual rest
Poverty! Poverty! No I cannot stay.

AWAKE!
Awake now Mother
For your children are now slaves
Even in our home we now beg

Awake now Mother
For your girls are now lost
Desecrated are their robes and soul

Awake now Mother
For your sons are but thieves
Coveting others' wealth and sweat

Awake now Mother
For far have we lost
Known no place to be called home

Awake now Mother
For we are lost
But yet to perish

Awake now Mother
For far too long you have slept
Your children call. Awake.

written by Adégbóyèga Michael

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The clashing of pens and wit. Let it begin!

My profound gratitude goes to my Judges Audreytimms and Larrysun. Then to the organisers of this competition. I wasn't a writer, I was a poet. I just tried my hands on it. Thank you Divepen1 for this.
God bless the sponsors. I never expected anything from the competition at all. So when I heard I'm getting 18k which I got, I was so exultant.
Thank you...

Repercussions



Dirts they poured floated alongside houses.

Rookie
They call her Ruka. He calls her rookie. She got pregnant for him, and aborted it without his consent. Now, she's dead and he's jailed.


cc:
Divepen1
Larrysun

One More Step

Asake chuckled as she typed excitedly into her phone. Her mother's footsteps echoed as they descended the staircase.
' You and this phone', her mother complained.
' Leave me mama', she mumbled. ' I'm not...'
She screamed as she missed a step and sent her Samsung S8 crashing, screen first.

The Survivors

The pang of hunger mixed with the windy rain couldn't stop Joel as he carried the stiff corpse of his daughter. The painful gun wound on his arm, the weeping of his wife, and the terrible silence of his ten-year-old son gnawed at him as they escaped from Damaturu and Bokoharam along with other survivors.


Divepen1
Larrysun

Here She Goes Again






Joshua glanced at the hot, busty lady as she left. He missed his chance with her again. Staring at the Vaseline bottle, he locked the door.

The poem really showcases the true picture of Nigeria as a Country. We really do need a Voice of Hope in this country. God bless my country, Nigeria.

A VOICE WE SEEK: THE VOICE OF HOPE

History we were
Few ages long gone
Peaceful a whole
With no hostile gun

Savages we were called
And animal we were thought
Even our fathers were caged
Like an animal to be tamed

Pains of our fathers
Century echoed not atoned
The tears of our mothers
Showers since, long ago

Literally we were colonized
And our culture criticized
Cajoled to be saved
Only for our mind to be enslaved

Lots of treasures stolen
Both pride and glory
Not even our strength which is golden
Left us but only a story


Though we were later united
But our hearts give no consent
Each minds divided
Left us conflict and war till present

Now our night of peace
Only to awaken to morning of horror
Many lives to pieces
With civil wars and terror

Where do we go from here?
For it seems we are far from home
And with these terror and fear
Our purpose shattered as of civilization of Rome

We need help
For we are down
We need hope
Just not to drown

A voice we seek
The voice of hope
To resurrect unity and faith
And onward gone for the peak

Her Baby's Picture

When Ogochuckwu saw her baby's picture, the intial pain and the gory details flooded her memory.
Her husband, Thompson, stood outside the door, but she kept folding her clothes into her travelling box.
' I don't know what to say?' Thompson grumbled.
She inhaled loudly, opened and shut her mouth in despair, dropped the picture of her dead baby, and zipped the bag.
He stepped into the room .' We were fighting and...'
' Getting angry again? Come, kill me too?'
She carried the travelling bag which reminded her of her baby's coffin, and left his house and his life.


100 words excluding the title.

Thank you Audreytimms. Picking me enriched my love for you..

This might really ignite into my core... perhaps a challenge will raise the dying morale. good job @ divepen

I'm very much interested! this should be fun.[color=#000000][/color]

I'm very much interested! this should be fun.