VoiceofanInk's Posts
Nairaland Forum › VoiceofanInk's Profile › VoiceofanInk's Posts
1 2 (of 2 pages)
Whew! So I sat in a chair from dawn till noon and read every single page of this series. They've said it all Roy, u've got some prose muscles up your sleeve. Keep up the good work bro. |
Applause Nonso, a no-nonsense poem well spun! abeg, give it a title. |
Have u ever been hit by the magnitude of death violence, mostly senseless and baseless, has caused especially in our 'mother-land', Nigeria? Do you know what it means to loose family members, relatives and friends 'cause some asinine gun-trigger chaps decide to vent their anger on humanity for no just reason? With the poem below, I start my campaign against violence in Nigeria and in the world. This effort may not go far to achieve the desired result but however you view it, that is how it would turn out to be. We can join hand, rather, poetic muse in unity and fight against violence. Cheers. I hope for a day in my father's land When I hold my head high up in the sky And be proud to be called Nigerian. I hope for a day in my mother's land When I'll be treated equally By my neighbours next door. I hope for a day in my place of birth When I can go up north Without fear for my life. A day when my fellow brothers Would discover the purpose of their existence And drop their arms in reminiscence A day when we'll all leave the battle field To return to the fruitful field And sow seeds of national development. A day when the pot-bellied men Would return to their farms And their canoes. I hope for a day The colour of my skin Would not matter to my people On that day, My religion would barely be noticed On that day, My foreign alma mater wouldn't matter On that day, There would be hope for all That day would put an end to violence And corruption. A day we'll all say Shalom! For more poems (non-necessarily anti-violence) kindly visit: http:///lx3ffp5 (source) |
timpaker:Lol...quite dramatic. Love the imagery. It bring the poem to life. |
Times change Seasons change As days roll by So do seasons stroll by Summer arrives in the fore-noon With good-tiding of crispy hair Nay bald oily reflections Of the sun above. Then comes the rains of terror Sweeping the filth of our streets Along with our homes and beds While innocent men peacefully sleep Floating o'er oceans and continents Only to sink in a pool of sweet sleep. One poem for the road A toast to a sunny day A toast to my burnt hairs A toast to my fellow poet Badmusace, I feel your pain. Cheers. |
badmusace: Ur poem reminds me of a poem I wrote earlier ds year. Similar subject but instead of abortion, the subject of mine was miscarriage and it was from an omnipresent(?) point of view.Well-spun piece however, you may have to shed light on the second stanza. Didn't get the full message. Thanks for your contribution. U have added +1 to my knowledge ![]() |
ayd91: "The noise tickled my earYeah. The to-be dad wasn't ready to be a dad so he asked the to-be mum to terminate the child. She refused, they fought frequently on the issue. That's the 'popular sound'. She later gave in and aborted the foetus. I'm sure u understand the moral of the poem. Thanks for ur suggestions. I thought abt the title: 'Tears of an unborn' or 'words from the grave'. Though, I'm still open to suggestions. |
ayd91: Your poem has a nice concept.Lol... thanks for your contribution. The last line: 'today my mother killed me' rightly suggests that the child (unborn) not it's mother was killed. Giving a short title such as 'abortion' may make the reader less inquisitive and expectant. Your suggestions for an alternative title would be appreciated. |
njokusboy: Wow, me likey... I could just feel it.. Nice..Thanks Njoku. Really appreciate your comment. |
25 dozen days save five Did I start this journey Down this old familiar road Everyone takes a bumpy road Just different streets and avenues Some come at a cross-road And breakdown never to rise Others reach a close And never turn back Some others carry a dagger along Stabbing every demon that dares them. I heard the myth at every crossover The stories about the dead The ones that were crushed Even the ones that slept into death Haa...did u see some drop from the sky? Showers of metallic death! I live to hear and tell the familiar story. Glory be to him who glory belongs to. I knew I was to pass through fire As gold passeth through fire 12 gates stood ahead of me I had to wield the dagger of faith And break down every gate. This was no playstation game It was my life! The eleventh gate have I crushed I bursted through it like a mad prophet Only to genuflect before the great I am To be with me as I walk pass The twelveth gate of hell... A happy month to you See you at the end of the gate where we shall cross-over. |
Joshthefirst:There's no harm in improvising and developing a new form of poetry. Talk about *kwanairasabaland* Let's start a poetic revolution! |
Great poetic work y'all. Feeling the heat of poetry in this room. Would love to contribute someday. For now, #HumblyFollowing. |
Don't mention Amber. |
Amberacious, There's *Something about You* Something which I fail to understand It evades me like a *Harmattan Rain* Although *Respect is Reciprocal* Permit me to humbly confess You seem like my *Missing Lover* I stand *Undefeated* Having enjoyed your poetry. Lol, Great collection. |
I open my fluttering eyes For the first time in my entire life All around I see darkness All I feel is numbness. Today my life begins Though no one knows yet Except He who moulded me He, who is I AM. I am, Nothing but a tiny being But I know I shall accomplish great things Though my mother Acknowledges not my presence yet Though my father Knows me not yet I shall be known by the world I have great dreams. It's the third month. My heart is much stronger. It shall grow stronger till it tire Until I'm old and weary And lay in blissful rest. I can't wait to come into the world To stroke my mother's hair with my fingers; To hug my father with my arms; To pick flowers and decorate momma's hair; To be a loving, caring and obedient daughter; To be a leader who would deliver my people; To lead them to victory; To win battles and make my parents proud; To experience true love; To know what it means to be a mother; Oh! How I love my parents For giving me an opportunity to come to the world. The noise tickled my ear I hear the popular sound once more I have grown accustomed to it Since the fateful night I was discovered By some old man poking my body And a lucid object giving light to my darkness. I felt a pain. Is mother in danger? I have to save her! I have to protect her! Kick as hard as you can I have to come out and save mother. Mother wait for me, I'm coming. The noise stops suddenly I hear the sound no more. Stead I hear the sound of mom's weeping. My heart weeps along with her. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you" "But I promise" "Till the day I die, no harm shall come your way" "I shall protect you with my last drop of blood" I wonder if she can hear me. My hearty heart grows stronger everyday Stronger for the battle ahead. It beats, lub-dub, lub- dub. Nevermore. Today my mother killed me. Copyright 2013 Voice of an Ink. |
Mike, U've got a powerful plot told in a suspense-filled environment. The Naija setting immediately sparks a relationship with your audience on Nairaland. I just read the whole story from the first chapter so I may have to draw you back with my opinions and suggestions. In chapter 1, u made mention of Lagos-Ibadan Expressway. It would have been much better if you specified the particular location say, Kilometer 12 just to be more detailed. This is more so important as you later made mention of '500km away' where Michael was. Also, the I think you should insert a little description of Michael such as his baby-looking innocent face when he was seen by the policeman. This would draw a sharp contrast between his character and his looks. It is a well known fact that looks do deceive. Your use of flashback and suspense is commendable. A tremendous work by a terrific and dedicated writer. Please do finish this story of yours. Although comments are encouraging, they may not be a yardstick for measuring traffic on your story. More ink to your pen, Voice of an Ink. |
READ MORE ON #jayloyexten.[/quote][color=#770077][/color] Visited your blog...it seems you are a master of captivating fictions. #Respect. |
[color=#770077][/color] Love the flow of emotions. Powerful imagery. This is spoken poetry itself on paper. Really sounded like a child from the womb. Wrote something similar sometimes ago titled 'the diary of an unborn child'. May create a thread on it. |
1 2 (of 2 pages)
abeg, give it a title.
