Category Archives: Poetry
Hey Ma I wrote you, you ain’t write back,
E don bad reach so? No be like dat,
Your son write you, you suppose reply sharp-sharp,
Meanwhile, where you been dey buy those rat traps?
E get some small tins wey you need to know:
We still dey wait maga – him never show,
I don make new songs but I never still blow,
And now you fit port your MTN carry Glo!
Your husband dey: hin never change much,
E still dey wait im bad son make e change much,
But you know say your son no dey gree fear God,
E still dey job Popsy upon say you don mud.
Johnny wife fit get belle but we no know,
Your granddaughter too fine – she don dey grow,
She resemble your Vivienne wey been don first go,
Speaking of Vivi, una don reunite so?
We don vex, we don crase, sotey we face turn blue,
We wan kill d driver wey make your bus tumble,
We still dey feel d pain, we still dey cry for you,
But we dey strong small small, abi how we for do?
We still dey miss your way, we still dey find your food,
Anytime we see your pix, we dey just turn confuse,
Yellow sisi, nobody fit fine pass you,
But Bible talk say “All things work together for good…”
The last letter wey I write na so so phon-eh,
So I say make I use pidgin wey u go hear,
Hey Ma, what’s it like? How’s it up there?
Mma Dan, reply na, dis tin is not fair o!
Hey Ma, what’s it like? How’s it up there?
Do you yet have skin are you still fair?
Or are you formed different than we are here?
Are you more or less fragile than you were?
Do you smile? Do you laugh? Do you make jokes?
Do you crack Jesus up? He a cool a bloke?
Do you have money there? I’m a bit broke,
Can I send you a beat? Did I hear ‘nope’?
Do you feel? Do you smell? Can you still cook?
Cuz if you could, you would leave some angels shook,
Do you still hide stuff where men can’t look?
Like in your small-print KJV Bible?
Have you learnt new skills? have you changed much?
Do you now read Latin and speak Dutch?
You were stubborn here. Do you now budge?
Nwa Chineke, you still dey go church?
Sometimes I wonder if you can be helpful
When the fam becomes too much to handle
Can I get tips on cooking some draw soup?
I don’t eat that but you know how Dad do!
So what’s the latest there? What is in vogue?
What do Seraphs wear to the high throne?
Do they wear fly kicks and rock gemstones?
Does their make-up highlight their cheekbones?
There are times when I just wanna hug you,
Wanna brag; show you off to my friends too.
“That’s my mom. She’s the best she is so cool,
She speaks slang, cooks well and chops knuckle!”
Do you think that you left at the right time?
D’you hear father’s cries in the nighttime?
Do you see how the pain made us decline?
On the plus side, I got a new waistline!
Your kids wanted to move you to Yankee,
Aurora to Phoenix then to Tennessee,
Our dreams and our plans left us hopped up;
Can you see how everything is fucked up?
Do you still give a damn, do you still care?
You still worry bout me when I’m not near?
I should be with you in some eighty years,
Hey Ma, what’s it like? How’s it up there?
Chill out eternally, Justina Chienyenwa Ogbuehi
17/04/1950 to 31/03/2013
So… “Misleading Angels” was written from my very high horse while I was yet a freshman in Unilag.
That’s about ten years ago. God, I’m old!
I’ve heard of people sent on wild goose chases,
I’ve heard of dogs sent after a fake bone,
I’ve even seen lawyers try lost court cases,
But misleading angels – I’ve never known.
Sit down for a moment and understand,
The plight of our poor Archangel Michael,
Sent to the bed of a supposed maiden-
Only to find she’s halfway gone to hell.
-Or heaven- at least at that time it is,
For at the time she’s indulged in a kiss,
And in a bed, only this time it’s ‘his’,
The Angel reports back, “Your child don miss.”
The man is praying fervently to God,
“Please Father, keep my dear child from all harm,
And from all evil men in this bad world.”
Fat chance! She’s in the devil’s very arm.
In response to prayer, an Angel’s sent,
To the bed of a young lady in school,
He get’s there and he knows not where she went,
Only that her Pop’s a prayerful fool!
Old man, the next time you pray say it thus:
“My daughter is in school – I hope she’s well,
Don’t bother to check her – it’s not by force,
And I don’t want to mislead an Angel!”
Einstein is one of those acts of foolishness that even I cannot explain.
Some tranquil is necessaary,
Even for the military,
When worthy occasions,
Solitude is of essence,
When inspiration descends,
And one must have some quiet,
When the thinking roads he plieth.
Privacy must prevail,
When dreams must not go stale,
The whiz must be alone,
When mental engines drone.
It has been a source of bother,
Why you got no kid brother,
Leave lest I be vexed,
Your mum and I want sex.
By the grace of the good Lord, I should debut my new ‘action hero’ next week. Stay….tuned?
Una well done o!
Yes, e don tey. I know.
The worst part is that I come bearing no reassurance that this will change. Indeed, my writing juices have not flowed much. I thought getting a bb would help the matter but alas, no such luck.
You see, these days, a brother is without employment. And a jobless Cikko is an uninspired one. It’s how I function. This situation should get better real soon sha. Emem?
I also need a netbook. My big 17″ laptop is groovy but not great for typing at 2am in the morning when the craziest ideas hit or for taking with me into the crapper where all the best stuff is born. Donations are allowed of course!
On to today’s post. I wrote the first three stanzas when I was in ss2. I couldn’t remember the rest but I really loved the idea. So I rewrote it yesterday. Hopefully, the thought process feels the same. Enjoy…
If pehsin die today no vex,
Na God want am like dat,
No let woman break una neck
Weda she tin or fat.
I know why I dey tell una,
Woman don do me so
Na one girl dem dey call Tina
Wey make me catch gono.
D first time I been see dat one,
My head turn upside down
My plan den na to hit and run
God hear dat one come frown
I waka meet d babe and den
Omo boy start to rap:
No do, no do, lyrics no gel
Na im she tear me slap
Shakara sef na normal tin
I just gats to change style
When guy man start to drop kishi
D babe come begin smile.
E reach two weeks before Tina
Begin dey gree for me
But after dat e no too tey:
She come show me bobbie!
But bobbie no be food at all
Man must to chop complete
If I say Tina no sabi,
Na lie: her tin too sweet.
One day my Johnny no respond
When I wan piss by force
E pain me sotey I wan die
D tin wan tear blockos.
“Tina what is this you have done?
Why you give me gono?
D tin wan scatter my pomo
You go say you no know?”
D gyal come look me up to down
Come hiss like village snake:
“You get luck say I no kill you.
Idiot. Waka shege.”
And so my country people
Na so d matter end
Tina carry disease give me
Come follow weather blend.
He who chops and runs away
Must chop again of course
But if you chop Tina commot,
Ya mouth go commot pus!
Hey hey!!! It’s been a while. know I promised to come with a post based on all those titles y’all gave me but my head’s been clouded! I see some freedom on the horizon sha. This means I shall blog more regularly in future. Having said that, today’s post is a poem.
In truth, I took poetry seriously before fiction and blogging ever came along. What you are about to read was written at one of my lowest points. Yes, I get depressed too!
When all you have of a smile is a memory
When being at peace with earth is a felony
When tears and grief are an essential part of me
When nightfall draws curtains on my tragedy
When melancholy is the best cloak I wear
When I’d rather jump off than stand and dare
When the waters, once pristine, are now unclear
When my being, my essence is stilled with fear
And the full-bodied smile is now worn thin
And the will is lost to muster a grin
And there’s turmoil without; turmoil within
And the doors once ajar now shut you in
And the head is bowed not in mirthful praise
Not in joyous extolment of all His ways
But in solemn bereavement; a stricken haze
Fingers lifted, counting days
Nature’s illusion – that hope lies ahead
That the future’s a dancehall for those who choose well
Well, I’ve chosen my bride: my misery I’ll wed
I cradle my head. And bask in the ebb…
In my defence, i was havin a migraine plus I was plied wit medication when i wrote this mush-puddle… But if this sort of ramble is your thing, have fun! And heck, I might write more. Who knows?
A he-Venus’ Hallucination
And every time I wince in pain, you still convince me to remain,
And every time my grip does loosen, your words tell me to just keep pushing,
And I do.
I was a man of good old action,
Then I lost zeal, then I lost traction,
Then I collided wit the wall that we call fate.
You brought me steel, got me reacting,
From my fall you got me standing,
And where a wall once was I now see an open gate…
Once I was a firm believer, that to get a girl u must deceive her,
Me not Pope.
So am I drunk or high on coke, that I rescind those words I spoke?
She says ‘hi’, I say ‘what’s crackin’
She says ‘you’ and now I’m laughing,
And I never knew Nirvana until this,
So, playfully she kicks my shin,
Now I’m glowing from within,
And paradise must be the only greater bliss…