baby sis

For my little sis, Uche, on her birthday who probably won’t understand this

Let no man or god
dare me. For for you I live,
eat this foul air, breathe


your blisters, my sore
let me act the whore
take it in the butt
from this world of
fumey, wispy smoke and lying mirrors

leave it be . . .

please, leave it be, darling
for it’s for you, I’m living
stooped to pick my bleeding
head from beneath the guillotine.
Headless, head in hand, darling . . .

like a haunting spectre
I traipse rooms and rules, somber
hid my nitrogycerine, saltpetre*
act like I’m a respecter
of genial religio-political mind vandals

let it be . . .
just for you
let it be
*saltpetre- potaaium nitrate, material used in explosives

My head's JISting

Scatter me
gently
real gently,
baby

Random

I. Am. Tired.
Like. GrandDa's
rickety,
wobbly
Methuselah'ed
bicycle

Eff Good Intentions; Grow a conscience

The poor shall always be with you

Good intentions paid the bills last year.
Now I’m paying my debt.
It’s the truth.

The last time I did a good deed was last year
Now, I’m paying the price
It’s the truth

Bukky told me I thought too much
No wonder I stayed a virgin for so long
It’s the truth

I think better than most legislators
You do too. Let’s be candid.
It’s the truth

Like our political bizmen, I’ve never told the truth
I’m telling the truth now. Don’t giggle
It’s the truth

Our truths tire me now
They are in annoying versions like Microsoft Windows

Forgive the word I shall use next but
F**k truth,
Doesn’t it hurt your gut
when a dude with a B.Sced tie and
a suit of almost good English
pleads you for a note in naira, 20?

PS- GROW A CONSCIENCE

With books in my skull
I thought I knew
And understood

I saw Him.
No, Him and thin Him
And understood I never understood.

What does he see with his face to the Sun?
Does he see light like leaves,
in harmattan, hovering and falling to the floors?
Or, does he see light as nothing but
dripping black ink?

When he hears me speak with my baritone
thick like flood crashing down a waterfall,
does he think me well-fed like a Senator’s belly
or, does he see me for what I am-
frustrated, yet testosteroned;
insecure, but cackling;
broom thin with an Adam’s apple
the size of a baby’s head.
Does he see that?

What does he see?
What does he think?
Does he fantasize as I do
about supple, sleekly glossed lips?
Does he see jeaned, feminine bums with his ears
as they scratch-scratch their way in synchrony with their swinging gait?

Do blind men have wet dreams?
They do? What do they SEE when their volcano exudes?-
Dark, doughy, rotund thighs or
Clinking, clanking coins falling into his bowl in staccato?

Photo by a Nikon guru, Rauf Ayodeji Adeleke)

I am not Nigerian

I am not Nigerian,a dot on Europe's drawn map. My heart is. It is, because It represents the learned confusion of the Old, the corrupt survival of Mid-age and the frustrated promise of the young. That is who I am. That is whom my friends are. That is whom my siblings are.
Mish-mashed symbols of what the truth is. 'Truth is truth', I once was told. Sango is evil and the blonde man's God is good, is the truth the Brits told. I know now, 'Power is truth'; 'Money is respect'. Seek ye first the naira in bundles and every other thing shall be added unto thee. Yes, lips to kiss your butt; tongues to sing your praise; bowing heads and award plaques.
I am Nigerian,not as a member of a geographical entity but because my heart is. Because my heart has been taught pessimism and hope on the same side of the coin. My heart is so Nigerian that even when nothing works, I still support the Super Eagles. That's som'n, innit?

A Correlation between our Safety and Gay Marriage

I am,right now,too broke to buy internet access.I had to steal a lil cash from my aunt to do this.I hope you understand.
Are you aware that I wrote an article of sorts,last month on ds blog,about the Nigerian government. I am writing now about the fact that the executive and legislative arms of government despite being very prostitutious consumers of a prodigious amount of our precious semen,sorry,funds are really not,um...let me be candid...are not efficient, on average.
Think about this. There's been no clamour by any gay rights group for their right to a civil union.I know nothing about any gay rights group in Nigeria.If you do let me know.Parents on the streets are scared for their children.No one wants their schooling offsprings blown to smithereens.
And yet,all our dear Senators av to offer us,in this dire times,from their posh,plush seats in Abuja is d fact that they wd not endorse gay marriage.

Damien Gray by Mohammed AngelPoet Jide

DAMIEN GRAY
My life is a series of spiral loops, it
has no beginning………no end…..
and so I shall start from the
middle with which I believe would
make the most sense.
My name as you might have
guessed is Damien Gray. Not
unlike the legendary Dorian Gray
who sought to capture
immortality within his portrait.
I too once sought immortality as a
boy, amongst other foolish
dreams of a young lad born into a
world of cruelty.
Perhaps in another life I had been
a poet, for at lonely nights I find
myself longing for the sea; the
parallel lines of the perfect
horizon, the calmness of the black
waters as they
rise………….fall,,,,,,,,,,,,,rise,,,,,,,,,,,,,,fall
…..like the summer haven of the
golden age. Like the swiftness of
the strays of my thoughts and
dreams…………………
And oh! How much I love the
setting sun; the piercing red
shards of the golden Elysium, the
way it dies behind the gentle
horizon, like a beauty queen
hiding behind the veils of a
curtain………. Oh! How much I love
the setting sun…… I wished it was
mine and so it was.
I have schizophrenia or that is
what the doctors say, but there is
far more to my story than just a
tale of a paranoid delusional
doubled personality freak…..
I see people as they are and as
they are no more. In short I see
death…….pale bloodied
doppelgangers of men women
and children………they are lifeless,
soulless, putrid………….i alone see
them, I alone feel them and I
alone am terrified by them.
I first discovered my ‘gift ’when
beautiful Emma, my darling wife
whom I loved dearly even now in
death, departed this world to
reside into the pages of
oblivion………….
I saw Emma’s corpse two days
before she died, not in a dream,
not in a nightmare, but with my
waking eyes. The deceased Emma
loomed in our house, following
Emma everywhere she went like
an obedient dog refusing to
depart the sides of its master; the
cadaver’s neck had been slit, it’s
skull had been bashed, and its
hair had been lank…….. like the
winter leaves of the cedar tree
fallen by time.
It smelled, and with its
hideousness, it brought it
hopelessness……….
Two days later, my ears were
tongued the news that would
forever shatter my soul. My dear
Emma had been found dead by
the lake. Her skull had been
bashed, her throat slit………..
Murdered by an unknown
assailant.
Five years later, through misery
and pain, as I slowly accepted the
curse with which the gods had
seemed fit to punish me, I began
to realize my fate; I was destined
to walk the earth a man………
broken, hopeless………ever seeing
death, never to be believed.
On these warm pages, I bleed my
heart out for Mr. McKenzie, his
beautiful wife laurianne, and their
little Tobias………. Had they headed
my warning they might not have
been burnt to death in their little
cottage at the far edges of the
mountains. And oh! Mr. Gruber
would not impaled by the blades
of his sword. My heart weeps for
Victoria, Keith, Rufus,
Samuel……………
But now as I spill my heart with
the ink of my quill, I now realize
something I had failed to realize
so long ago; maybe these deaths,
these tragedies were fated to
happen………… maybe no amount
of pleading, threats and laments
from my part could have undone
that which had proven inevitable,
for who would believe the
gabbles of a ‘schizophrenic’?
And if so, then my fate is
sealed……………………………
Today is the 14th of May 1914
and I sit in this dark room with
nothing to occupy me with but
my thoughts…………. I let my
dreams, euphoria and exuberance
fill in the ambience of the
deserted room until the footsteps
of the man now approaching me
from the distance diminishes
entirely………..
He moves with the shadows and
breathes with the silence…………
his dead face show subtleties of
peace I had never found in
life…………….
I say nothing as he stares at
me…………. His mundane blue eyes
show a glint of hope that I had
lost on humanity so long
ago…………..
He leaves the room.
My name is Damien Gray and
tonight, I welcome the cold hands
of……..peace. I hope my story finds
its way through time and I hope
that when it does, I shall be
remembered…………. Not as a
prophet, or a supernatural being
of any sort but as a man………
flawed……… a man whose dreams
however maimed, however
diminished, still pumped along
with his beating heart……………..
his dreams to walk the waters
soar the clouds…………… his
dreams to fall in love.
Perhaps my spirit shall find solace
in the warmth of the sun which I
had desired to cleave on to for so
long…………….oh! how much I
loved the beauty of the sun, I
wished it was mine and so it
was…………… and so it was.