Sticking with an article series is pretty tasking. But then, it was always a task
Hello, My name is Niel and these are the ChristaPoet Freestyle Sessions. This year, ChristaPoet wants to give you a special perspective to our freestyles. At first, some of these poems were published as stand-alone pieces. But in actuality, each poem is an untitled part of a freestyle session. Each freestyle session is given a topic for the poems to address.
Today we continue the experience of poems from June the 2th. Calm down, it’s from 2021. The topic was ROOTED. Its not that the topic was rooted in any particular thing.
At 7:12 PM, Nonsi John wrote:
From experience, I have found
That art teachers who turned to teaching
Having failed to make it in their art.
Can be either very good and effective
Or just bitter and dangerous.
Do with that what you will.
So, I dont really know what to make of that. We do need our art teachers. But I guess, its all in the challenge for the baby artiste. Up next at 7:22 PM, It was I, The Niel:
Hope, in God is good
Word doses at dusk
There is more to brew
There’s kabashing to do
I have written more books
Yeah so far so good
Some times I’m in a mood
I word paint it real good
But it is better to pray
Than you whine and complain
But I do both, hoping that God will rain food
Even when he does I still brood
I might act ghetto, I have left the hood
So far so good, so far so good
And a continuation at 7:30 PM:
Like a whale shark did
In the soil of my being
Bearing fruit that he did
Like a root for my feed
Feel my branches and leaves
I am rooted in him
Who can separate me
From the life of this tree
From the love of Popsi
In the name of these three
I have strength ignoring
the clashing, wind hissing,
reckoning “God pass them”
in tandem, uproot them
Deep, into the Deep.
And nonstop, I went at it again at 7:42 PM:
I have found from my experiences
There a line between entertainment and evangelism
Are you just fact stating?
No, I don’t even see that in your so-called art
I’m throwing shields up at your two-tongues fart
But shoot away
And root away
I’ve had my say
I’m on my way
Something must have triggered me, because I shot off some more poetry at 7:52 PM:
Allow me to reply – Mmm? -to what you havu said.
Mazi Udeh, havu you seen thisi Christi that I go on about?
Adim rooted ka Jị nọrọ n’ime àlà.
Ọ́ sị na ọ nyere m ndụ na aga
Onwere ihe ga a mata m n’aka ya?
Yes, that was an Igbo freestyle. I feel like Natural english speakers betray their heritage by doing everything in English. But thats a story for another… Like, who is gonna write a poem in Ibibio or Kanuri or Fulani, these days, when every body is speaking English?
Up next, Eremi doesnt fall shot. Here she was at 7:55 PM:
Like little veins
Untreated, rugged, uncomely
They’re like underdogs
They do the dirty work
To keep the plant flirtatious
Tender, they look
Fragile they seem
Yet breaking through earth’s darkness
They build the tunnel
From which life fills the plant
Their marks of struggles and victories.
As scars upon their little arms
With strength enough to hold the earth
While maintaining peaceful discourse
With Earth, seed, leaves, trunk, branches, foliage and fruits
The strong hold that holds strong
the giant above the earth
Their journey in search of water
Keeps the bamboo ever green
Their journey in search of depth
Keeps the oak steady for the wind
By the redwood, they teach that neglecting depths
To reach for the sky
Will cause a great fall
When the winds fight.
I guess they stan functionality
So even when you eat them
Or medicate with them
Be grateful to God who has made them Perfect for support,
and for teachings.
A lot to take in, as usual.
At 9:10 PM, the Lady Damaris:
I was buried
But the joke is on them
Cos I was planted
I had lost everything
The flesh fruit of my accomplishments were long gone
The seed of my soul was all I had left
And I was cast down
I couldn’t sink any lower than this
Little did I know that I fell in the right place
I fell on the soil of his Grace
And in that dark place his mercy revived me
His love activated the depths of my spirit
The light of the Son was all I needed
High above sin level
Now I’m standing tall
And growing taller
Rooted and unshaken
Fearless and unmovable
They can’t understand it
They thought I was buried
Little did they know
I was planted.
Pretty conventional thought forms, I would say. At 9:12 PM, our barrister, Funke stepped in with this:
As I watch an angry man lose control
Vandalizing another man’s property, two in a roll
“Just say sorry”
It will save you and us a touching story
Two angry men
One wouldn’t say sorry because he said he didn’t create the scratch
On the worn out car
The other claimed to have been hit
So who is right?
Food for thought!
My pound of flesh I must have
Was the inaudible voice
Yet visibly audible we saw this thoughts
Two side mirrors in a roll Indeed
Were rooted out
Flung out into the Bush at once!
Mine oh mine!
The words of Christ came flashing back
Every seed that my father has not planted shall
Be rooted out
Anger…oh destructive anger
Pride…the I am better than you type
Malice…Envy…bitterness…fear the list goes on
Including that which comes to your mind!
Help us Lord… oh Lord we cry!
From this little foxes spoiling our vine
Let them be rooted out- and stay rooted out
How does the story end .. .you say?
Ask me for the tale another day
And that was the last poem in a line of…splendid word families
I believe that if you had read any of these poems on their own, you would get a part of the picture. Now you see them together, I think it’s a more wholesome picture. Tell us what you think, and see you next time