"...do you also sleep with the Eastern builders’ wives..."

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Eng: You cannot fatten a pig on the market day - Nigerian Proverb.
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Hello,

I'm sorry about my well spaced out posts in the last few weeks. As soon as I return to my scheduled life, I'll be back on here.

The other day at the close of work, I asked a colleague if he would like to write a poem...

Me:  Guy, let's do a flash poetry exercise
Guy: What's that?
Me:  We write short poems in a short amount of time.
Guy: Uh huh...
Me:  So, you choose a word and we each write a poem that relates to the word in, say, eight minutes. Then we share poems.
Guy: Let's do it!

It was so much fun, we ended up doing four poems each and then we had to go home. Guy confessed that poetry is beautiful. GUY...CONFESSED that poetry is beautiful. Okay!
The rules were that the poem had to have eight lines, be written in eight minutes and contain the randomly  chosen word.

Here are the ones I wrote:

1.

Chosen word: Inadvertent 

It is only wise that I return home,

To where my sadist father’s bones rot

And my bitter mother’s skin moulds

- Where my heart deserted long ago

………………………………...................

I am their child: at most, they fed me

Though our scores are on hold for beyond here

For now, it is inadvertent that I face my silent fears

And return to put their ghosts to rest.

2.

Chosen word: Evolve

Oh! How Alero has become a woman,

In 72 inches of skin like new honey…

… And with a waist lined with spring like her mother’s,

Her mother - My husband’s first lover.

…………………………………………………

Temisan, my own child, walks unlike a horse

And talks unlike a lady ready to give palmwine to a man.

When this ‘thorn’ in my garden will evolve into a flower,

I do not know.

3.

Chosen word: Window

More than before, these days,

Your jalabia cloak smells of hibiscus incense,

Like the ones the Eastern women make.

More than before, you travel to the East,

To “sell your windows to the Eastern builders”

And perhaps, drink with their wives.

Do you also sleep with the Eastern builders’ wives,

While they burn hibiscus incense?

4. 

Chosen word: Prayer

With this warm dinner, I beg you my husband,

Never wake me up again for prayer.

My faith is like the receding desert

And my heart is in despair.

.....................................................................

Only last week, I rocked my child to sleep

And combed her black, bushy hair.

And I prayed and prayed for her ill to flee

Is dead, like my only child, the answerer of prayer?

[We decided to rhyme on the fourth one. If you've read anything of mine, you'll see that I abstain from rhyme 

as much as possible. This was not the easiest or 'funnest' one to write.]

P.S: Guy is Guy's real name.

Thank you and God bless,

NakedSha.

Wasting Precious Cares...

...Omonoba...
Our people say:

Eng: The world is like a dancing masquerade. If you want to see it well, you do not stand is one place. - Ijaw Proverb.

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 Thank you very much to the beautiful bloggers who recognized me on their blogs for one reason or the other. I appreciate it. Bless...

It has been a long time since this blog had a piece of literature form my humble self. Here goes some'n:

I see threads being woven; they
allow the needles guide them.
I watch blobs of colour; they
recognize the painter’s prowess.
Yet goosebumps defy my skin
In anxious cycles,
I worry for things beyond me.
My eyes reject sleep
and my thoughts run wild
until the cockerel crows:
‘the day may become longer’
‘rocks may become softer’.
But whatever may shine, may,
whatever will bloom, will.
Beyond this scape, I am disabled.
I can only hope for peace and love,
and a smooth journey
like fresh, rich beer
or the albatross’ glide.
And for these, at least, I dream
while I wire my engines wisely
and drive.
Spending precious cares
on things within my control.

God Bless You All,
NakedSha

Do not forget to visit: The Discussion: If You Do Not Swing With Monkeys.

Blind Boy

...Omonoba..
Our people say:

• An old woman is always uneasy when dry bones are mentioned in a proverb 

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Just Read : 'This Child Will Be Great' by Ellen Johnson Sirleaf {Liberian president and first female president of any African country}.

Now Reading: 'Virgin of Flames' by Christopher Abani.
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One creative  blog which I think everyone should check out : http://www.newdressaday.com/
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Ever wondered what a blind person may see? How a blind person - from birth - may dream? I'm meeting up with a blind person very soon; it's been postponed over and over again. Will keep you updated. I wrote a poem:

Blind Boy.

Blind boy, what do you see?

Nothingness?

Flimsy film of darkness

melting into oblivion?

Circles of illusive light

wolfed by pitch black

before light can be seen?

Like a drop of your tears

engulfed by a fervent tide.

Blind boy, you do not see

this bedlam.

The light and the form

have conquered this place.

The sanity here is thinner

than a sharpened pencil tip.

Our plenty light is too much.

The sight of your ear and those

of your skin and your stick

are sufficient for fulfillment.

Blessings,

My name is NakedSha.

MIDNIGHT VISIT by NakedSha

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Yoruba: Ìrẹ́jẹ ò sí nínúu fọ́tò; bí o bá ṣe jókòó ni o ó bàá ara-à rẹ.
Eng: There is no cheating in photography; it is just as you sit that you will find your image. - Yoruba Proverb.
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I like this proverb. Let's think how the ancestors were thinking before Photoshop and co. 
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Before today;s main business, I'd like to share an interest with you. I like to send (and receive) postcards and letters (obviously). So, if you would, let me know and I'd be glad to receive a POSTCARD from you!!! YEY! And then, I'd send you a POSTCARD too of beautiful Boulder, Colorado. This applies to whoever and wherever in the world. In the past months, I have sent out a couple of postcards to some bloggers. So, be part of this.

So, my readers asked particularly for the full versions of the poetry excerpts that I posted last time here. I have posted MIDNIGHT VISIT by NAKEDSHA. Don't forget to leave your comments. :)

Midnight Visit.

Would you peep at my window

tonight? Four panes sit ajar.

I teach you constantly,

the techniques of this thing;

our love. Let’s call it that.

Listen with care, pay attention.

Last time you stumbled into

Butler’s window. He awoke.

Take the verandah tonight,

wear dark trousers and tunic.

Gracious! If Baker should

notice you, I would not

acknowledge you.

I left your bicycle beneath

the stairwell. If Nursemaid

sees you, say the cycle

is your mission. Never take

the back garden. Mother

will hear you creep,

she sleeps as a bird.

And Mother’s done this before,

when Pa was a boy.

She would scold life out of me;

perhaps, Baker will help roast me.

Blessings,

NakedSha.

I die amidst this silence.

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Yoruba: Arúgbó ṣoge rí; àkísà-á lògbà rí.
English: The old person was once a dandy; the rag was once in fashion.- Yoruba proverb.
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The sweethearts of this land called blog(s)ville:

I'm dying in silence here because I would really like to share my new poems with you. However, I am turning a lot of them in for critique and co. and I may not have published them prior to that. So be patient with me. I have decided to share the cropped parts of a poem that I did not include in the final draft though so here's to breaking the poetry silence. You may get the point.

From the poem, Blindboy by NakedSha.

Blind boy, you do not see

Ambitiousness

To look like the rainbow.

Lengthy brows, glowing lids,

Dripping lips, painted hair.

Two stilts for careful walking

The hues of these stilts:

Bronze, turquoise, Umber

Crimson, Ube, tomato, green

Causing awe along the way.

An excerpt from the poem, Midnight Visit by NakedSha

I left your bicycle beneath

the stairwell. If Nursemaid

sees you, tell her the cycle 

is your mission. 

Never take the back garden.

Mother will hear you creep,

she sleeps as a bird.

And mother's done this before

when pa was a boy.

She would scold death out of me,

perhaps Baker will roast it.

Since the bride price...

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Yoruba: Eni tí ó bá máa bímo á yò fólómo.
Eng: Whoever would have children of her own must rejoice with those who already have - Yoruba Proverb.
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My beautiful readers,
I have been busy working towards the new blog. The url and name shouldn't change but I am expanding it and making it into what I hoped it would one day become. 5 months and 81 followers later, I am thrilled and ready to take the next step in my plan book.
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Since the bride price and first night,
Everything has changed
His eyes do not glitter as before
The feel of his skin is like any other

I haven't done something wrong,
Abi?
This silence is like my childlessness
And he never speaks about it

Abi,
One man's love will last forever?
Has my skin fallen
Or has my cooking failed?

I pray for a child, for other reasons
One to love me unconditionally
Abi,
A child will always love their ma?

This anger is eating me up
And my barrenness is my curse
But if my husband comes home early
I will ask him if my breasts have fallen.

THE EAGLE BROKE HER WING and DOUBLE NOMINATION

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Yoruba: Ògèdè ḿbàjé, a ní ó ńpón.
Eng: The banana is rotting, people say it is ripening.- Yoruba Proverb.
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Thank you so much, my beautiful people for nominating me twice for the Nigerian Bloggers Awards. I am so thrilled and I am thankful that my blog is an inspiration to others. Alright, actual voting begins on the 31st of May so please go ahead and finish what you've started :). Bless you all.
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Today was amazing. Our friends  have been here and when there are a lot of people at our house, there's liveliness. After hiking in the morning with my brother and friends, we returned and played games, volleyball, etc. And had good food too. Okay, so I would like to share this before I take a bow. Have a great week my people!

THE EAGLE BROKE HER WING!

To:

Short plays, Cold Saturdays
Sweet acid, bitter wine
Blind eyes, Autumn leaves
Plastic pillows, dry rivers
And:
Shallow love, scattered beads
chaotic homes, broken limbs
foolish old, ugly brides
empty Amazon, black skies
For:
Lazy children, jilted lovers
fast summers, slow winters
sour oranges, hungry farmers
brown grass, thin glass
And:
Last laughs, sore eyes
draught and famine and pain
withered roses, blackened violets
loveless marriages, selfish gains
Friendly traitors, wordless books
burnt soils, ashy plains
Few fathers, many men
Many children, many orphans
For:
Finless fishes, friendly snakes
Spotless cheetahs, hairless bears
stout giraffes, voiceless birds
string less guitars, fur-less coats

To and for everything mundane,

Like flowerbeds with more thorns than roses

Especially the wingless eagle.

Next time...

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Even if your mother's food is not sweet, when you go out, you must say that her food is the best. - Nigerian Proverb.
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ENJOY !

Some of  these thieves do not have souls

The ones who would steal and kill and destroy

And then leave their prints on the sand

My innocence was not pure white, like snow

Or pitch black like the moonless sky

But it was there; off-white.

And of course, they always go for the best

No one steals rotten mangoes

Or over-boiled Zobo leaves

And after I fought with the anger in me

And screamed, and pleaded

I thought the soul in you would wake

No?

No. So those your claws left a scar

I wish you had just gone with my off-white purity

I'm used to sorrow, I would have overcome it

But no, you had to leave the scar.

Who even taught you wickedness?

I swear, your teacher did not teach you well

Next time, do not scratch beyond my skin

You evil thief. No

When they ask, I'll tell my children I had a bad fall

If they are not wise enough to see the truth,

If my eyes do not drown as I lie to them

Like it does, each time I look at the scar.

DISCLAIMER: I actually acquired the scar on my right brow from a vehicle accident but I have written from the perspective of an abused woman... 

Her Blessings and Her Curses.

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Yoruba: “Wá jeun.” “Ng ò je.” Ó fogorùnún òkèlè to obe wò.
Eng: “Come join me at my meal.” “Thank you, but no.” Still he eats a hundred mouthfuls, just to taste the stew.-Yoruba Proverb.
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I am sorry this is coming late. Happy Birthday T.Notes. I wish you a blessed year from now on and I pray that you will be what you have set out to become. This post is dedicated to you. Blessings, blessings, and more of God's guidance.

I have posted the link to the audio version of this write-up. It was originally scripted and recorded on the 20th of June, 2009. It's relatively old. I thought I'd share. Please bear with me; the original video actually has pretty images and lovely background music. Here we go!

Please follow the following link:

HER BLESSINGS AND HER CURSES...

I hope finals are going great! Have a blessed week, people!

NakedSha.

PawPaw is darker than me.

...Omonoba...
Our people say:

Igbo: Okuko mmanya na-egbu ahubeghi mmanwulu ara na-ayi.

Eng: [A drunken fowl has not met a mad fox].-Igbo Proverb

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This poem is dedicated to Blogoratti. Happy Birthday Sir; I pray that God blesses all that you lay your hands to do and that your name will be called across the seas for GOOD. Have an awesome day.

...................Ocha......................

So, I am clothed in white skin
I am a white man, with black blood
I mean, the blood of a black man
The sun has not kissed me yet
Do I smell? And so it abhors me?
Or what else may suffice as reason?

And yet it torments me
My white hair is steadily paling
Honey once fell upon my skin
And the sun bleached it
My eyes are constantly wandering
Like cycle rims, like clockwork

And they call me Wokocha
Wokocha: White man.
Who reminds a Llama of it's 'beauty'
Who reminds a skunk of its 'scent'
Who says to  the Proboscis Monkey
'Ugly one, Ugly one?'

I have spent hours under the sun
But my pores have turned red
When father is angry at me,
He calls me 'yellow pawpaw'
But indeed, pawpaw is dark
Pawpaw is darker than me

But mother reminds me daily
That across the Ocean are Ochas
Men and women who are bleached
So, I hope  to go there someday
I'll meet, and perhaps marry an Ocha
If the ship will ferry an Albino, like me.

Who sings better than the Robin?

...Omonoba...
Anyone who urinates in a stream should be warned because any of his relatives may drink from the water.-Nigerian proverb.
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Pure grape juice

will always be rich purple;

will always be rich purple-red

and never without the slight lime-like tang!

So when I met that one callous, foolish man

the way he sang was quite familiar

as distorted cymbals in rumpus

he befouled music

Okay, in fairness

He did have a bit of  rhyme

And of course, he struck a C once

But then he said his song was better than the birds'

Oh that accident. That profane desecration of music

I laughed, then I pondered for about two

Which, the nightingale or the Robin?

Thrush or Canary?

Since when has

the clay taught the potter

or has cider become close to wine?

Learn from me. I learned to sing from the birds.

Pure grape juice will always be rich purple

And pure grape wine; always red

don't ask where the tang's from

Sip, relax and learn.

Abracadabra...Amen

...Omonoba...

Our people say:
Igbo: Agwo emeghi nke o jiri buru agwo, umuaka achiri ya hie nku.
Eng: If a snake fails to show its venom, little kids will use it in tying firewood.-Igbo Proverb.

{Me and my guitar, Sotee}

I have some silver, no gold

Would that soothe you?

Would that suit you?

You may take all

You may have all

My silver and thread

I'd plead with you, beg

That you leave for me my guitar

If It's cold, I'll strum to warmth

If it's hot, cool chords then

I'll be making music

like abracadabra

No,Not magic

Abracadabra

Amen.

<3<3<3<3<3

My father's palmy has the sweet taste of his sweat.

...Omonoba...

Our people say:
Igbo: Üdara dachiri üzö mpïwa gü ya.
English: An udara fruit that falls on the side of the road is asking to be eaten.- Igbo Proverb.
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A poem I wrote.

Many fathers have spoken

But my father’s words were most profound

Many women have cooked

But my mother’s food was most tasty

Many ladies have cared

But my sister’s care was most tender

Many men have loved

But my brothers’ love was most anointing

Many fathers have brought home wine

But my father’s palmy had the taste of his sweat

The taste of his toil

His palmy was most strong,

And quenched my direst thirst

The man is tall like an Iroko tree

Big like an elephant

Harsh like the sting of a broom

Yet his strides are swift like an eagle,

Paced like a cheetah

Yet his silence is golden

His silence, is wicked

His silence is harder than words

In his silence I pray for death

The man I call my father, paale

With words softer than soap

And words as strong as the palmy he brings

And as soothing as the song he sings

His wife, my mother, maale

Whose dress is wet from my tears

Whose pot of soup has been emptied

Whose ears are blocked from my cries

That woman, her ways are simple

Yet her thoughts are thick

She cannot eat, when I am hungry

She cannot sleep, when I am awake

She cannot smile when I am crying

Her left arm is my bed and her right is my whip

Tomorrow, they will be frail

And no one will bring home wine

No one will cook me Ogbono soup

No one will shout at my foolishness

No one will calm down my stress

But will I be able to cook for my children them?

Will I have for them, what maale had for me?

If I may ever fail, may it not be here

May my sun be my maale

And my moon be my paale

Let their ways guide my earthly steps

Like the smell of my mother’s food guides me home. 

I hope everyone has a blessed week and that we NEVER for get family and how they are the only ones on earth who love us unconditionally irrespective of anything. They always love us no matter whether they go about the things they do the wrong or right way.