Author: The Niel Quchi

The Word, Poetry and the stories in between

Out-Heal the Loss

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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 see the last of the February 25th 2022 poems. Topic was “Regeneration”.
Yesterday, we went through the ladies who all posted inside the 11th hour. So today we begin at 12:10 PM, with the CaP goddess, Chika St. Davnique:


I feel pain every time I think of my sister.

And I’m not thinking about myself when I think of her.

I’m thinking of all the ways in which she was alive.

I’m reliving the moments in which her smile lived.

And the pain I feel, it’s not selfish.


So no.


Adjust your lenses


And somewhere around this period, she got into a sensitive discussion with MeerahZoe. Now because some parts of the discussion was in voicenotes, I will give you a summary of the most important point made during the argument. The rest is honey and milk for CaP members. To join up, GoTo the “Join Us” tab

They were talking about different people’s reactions to loss. Chika said: As Christian writers, w hen we write, we owe it to the world and our audience to say what is true, and not just what we feel at the moment. Infact, whenever we want to be so subjective, we should state that this is us and just our perspective. Making absolute statements based on subjectivity has to stop.

At 12:36 PM, Chika St. Davnique made some some more poetry:


‘Please hold on while your transaction is processing…’

I’m staring lost in thought.
My mind, a multiverse of directions my thoughts wish to take.

Another line from a poem my father taught me floats into my brain…

‘We have come to the crossroad, and I either leave or come with you’

So I go with it.

The thought that we are always in the midst of a transaction. Always coming and going from an exchange. Always living or dying, giving or leaving.

The machine is still grinding, my body is still standing.
I wonder, does the man behind me know I’m lost.
Or is he lost in the endless start of things?

Is he coming and going from worries?
Is he in a loop of misdirection? And does he know the dimensions of life’s transactions?

Does he know what matters? Is he exchanging his time here for true treasures?
Or has he bought into the lie that he owns real estate in Time’s garden park?

‘Thank you for banking with us’

My fingers move of their accord. Cash in hand, I hold the physical equivalent of my time. I stroll on still lost… in thought trains.

Like, are we living or dying slowly?

And what is breathing if life is lived in beautiful moments?

Why does it come in cycles of the same patterns?

Are we living lives once lived?

…car honk and I remember to find myself.
Here.
On the road home.

Kinda like life, right?


And then, at 12:38 PM, catch a glimpse of what MeerahZoe was saying during the conversation:


This in itself is not a bad thing.
I’m a mental health advocate, and I know that self care is not selfish.
I also understand the human impulse to defend what we feel or are experiencing.

I was actually talking about the often masochistic need we have to hold on to pain even when we know it is crippling.


I have to say, I understood both their stances…but I just wrote on at 1:53 PM, probably with the mind to de-escalate the matter:


Black gems;
– made of what I used to call trash
– make me valuate my answers
– prayers sneaking outta coffins
– studded both my belt and cufflinks

What else?

I didn’t heal when you hugged me
I felt hate from my sulking
But I knew that was not important
I’m glad you haven’t kicked the bucket
Glad you haven’t kicked the bucket

Big wolves leaving bite marks
Farm hands turning lone sharks
My heart used to have cracks
Now it’s powdered like its custard
So I give it up to Father
Me I know he’ll take me farther
Speaking healing past the storm’s parts
Wash my eyes with water God spat


After a bit of silence, probably because I write mouth-shutting stuff, at 3:45 PM, Hanna Azubuike:


Please stop burning my eyes with how one should mourn a loss. You have healed, you have forgotten the pain you went through. Help with the Word if you must say something. Let her fully heal before you share how you mourned yours. You will never understand the closeness either. Let the eyes be dried before you point the picture and the different colors.


And at 5:49 PM, Imani Dokubo finesse with a few words from her beautiful:


Things die quickly when plucked from their source.
Root, the plants source.
God, the believers source.

Regeneration never happens without a source.


At 6:44 PM, the final freestyle of the day was delivered by Cap founder, Ezeonyeka Godswill, an enigmatic leader whose words always clear the air:


Writing is vulnerable. To war with the worlds in your mind so that you can birth words is sacrifice. We bear in our hands bleeding mysteries as we concise conscious constellations into careful captions. We know not all is said but what must have been said. The world wonders at writers not because it cannot produce as they do but because writers learn through the pain of introspection how to transport seedlings of thought across mind so that on the winds of communication the death of a world can find regeneration through the planting of these words.


Enough said; REGENARATE NOW, In the name of Jesus!!


Authors:
Chika St. Davnique
MeerahZoe
The Niel Quchi
Hanna Azubuike
Imani Dokubo
Ezeonyeka Godswill

Regeneration on Women’s Day

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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.

I had told you in the first part of this piece, that these poets wrote 18 poems on this day, 25th February 2022. I want to do a sort of back and forth with the period that I draw pieces from. This time, I am continuing my account of a more recent time.

The topic is Regeneration.

And I bring you Zoe Ziva, writing at 10:33am, on the 25th of February:


That same Spirit that raised up Christ from the dead, heal your mum and heal my pastors wife too.

Vitalizing, regenerating, nothing broken, nothing missing.

Cardiac arrested, arrested the evil one, our prayers will not cease, this peace will not rest in this, for she will see the light of day on earth, stand on her two feet, her memory will reboot, amnesia would not be a name.

Your mum’s eyes will regenerate, God’s healing balm still has Gilead on it, now it resides in our heart.

Our faith will rise, our hands lifted, we do not forsake our own mercies, we choose to trust in The King rather than observe Lying vanities.


Since I’ve been younger till now that I’m grown, I’ve always seen that faith always wins.
Even in our time, this testimony would be so.

Rejoice.


And at 11:05 AM, the Elegant and Elusive Imani Dokubo:


I join you in prayers
I agree with you in faith
Her sight is restored
Her healing permanent

She sees clearly
The goodness and mercy of our God never runs out on her

We rejoice not in the future but now, for the end we have seen clearly.


Again, let me paint the context. So, one of us, Ade, had just written a freestyle spurt in which he indicated that his mother had just undergone surgery. We all subsequently dove into praying for her through our poetry…very touching stuff.

At 11:08 AM, Aebube with the kiss kiss emojis, wrote:


Just a turned ignition and boom
Men set off in tripedation

It’s not a holy feeling, the jitters are killing slowly
It made me sorrow only

Tell me I’m going to heal really quick from this fear and trepidation, this isn’t some perdition
right?

Of course it isn’t
For Christ paid the ultimate price so I’m forever freed from its shackles

My life is not on hold I’ve been unshackled from the chains of fear, the word alone regenerates me

For he has not given me the spirit of fear but of sound mind and power

Who I’m to agitate about tomorrow’s out come when Yahweh is there

He is the way, the truth and the life, for him alone I mount with wings like an eagle yet do not faint

My strength renewed, no cent used.


She posted that, and after a few minutes, at 11:50 AM, she continued:


They tried to bury me
Not ones
Not twice
For the third time I’m being covered with earth

Fascinating right?
So much they didn’t know
Ohhhh men carefully calculate

With vigour they plan our undoing yet
Ignorance deprive them of their sight

They can’t see right
Though all calculations seemed just perfect

They buried themselves and thought they’re done for, here we’re spouting a leave

With our lips pouted in mockery
They’re left in awe
Our God’s way smarter

We’re his seed buried to regenerate
Just like him we rise
Again and again we’re crowned with Victory to stay above and not beneath.


And then, my darling MeerahZoe, wrote this at 11:53 AM:


What’s more beautiful than a birth?
A rebirth.
The beautiful promise of a second chance
A do over when you’re done over

Twice I’ve lain in the fetal position
The first time oblivious to my existence
The second time wanting to end it

See pain is selfish, you only feel it when you’re self focused.
The man who invented diversional therapy would be out of business otherwise.

Twice I’ve lain in the fetal position
The first time oblivious to my Father’s company
The second time too self-seeing to see Him

It’s easier to ask for a break and a do over,
Blaming the God who supposedly didn’t give it
Than it is to see that the new life He gave you is all the practice you need to be reborn

But pain is selfish, and I would rather reject His comfort than put in the work.
Our faith walk however is sometimes like school, you don’t get past any stage without doing the work.

Standing on my feet again, I hope the sight of the ground from this angle is enough to remind me the next time
That a righteous man can fall seventy times
And rise up seventy times.


Today’s article has consisted strictly of women. I did not really plan that it should be so, but so it has come to pass. Today also happens to International Women’s Day. It makes me wonder, is there a local women’s day?

We hail the woman; for her tenacity, patience, kindness, beauty and industry.

Happy International Women’s Day


Authors:
Zoe Ziva
Imani Dokubo
Ebube
MeerahZoe

Regenerate Now

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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.

Normally, I would take us back…

We were at July 2021. But I have decided that we going through poems pretty fast. Plus, do you really enjoy such a long of poems?

Who knows?

Please comment.


So today, I am taking us to February 25th, which was just Last Friday. The topic was
“REGENERATION”.

I started at 9:36 AM:


I heal cause I dwell with the Christi
Stab wounds from the practicality
And I do not stop to speedometer, I just get with it
And Yahweh it is
who took the U from my Mourning, F from my Falling, and love is my winnings


And Godswill-sama landed this revert at 9:50 AM:


Quiet nights tell tales of noisy days lost in the silence of rested busyness. The death of a day is so comforting that we look forward to doing nothing as we lay in surrender to our humanity in hopes that we will rise again. We will work again. We will hope again and the day will come again.



And there, at 9:51 AM, was Ade:


I pray my heart is fertile enough,
To plant seeds of faith in my mind,
And water it with prayers and words from the Bible,
I pray dead cells receives a fresh breath of life,
Stones removed from her line of sight,
If three days was enough to conquer hell and buy my salvation,
I bet it’s enough for a miracle to grow,
I pray one way or another,
It’s enough to witness a surgery,
Performed on my Mum’s eyes,
By the hands of He who formed man from clay,
I pray He regenerates her eyes using spit and mud,
For my knees won’t hold again,
Tired from lifting the heavy burden on my shoulders,
So I cry for help on bent knees,
Building lines of communication to God’s ears
I hope this prayer build’s my Mum’s faith
And if I don’t see a miracle performed before Monday,
I know He’s waiting in the theatre room,
Making sure no mistake is done as,
My mum goes through surgery to correct her eyes,
One way or another, I know she will have her sight,
Fully regenerated, fully healed,
My trust is built on nothing but God’s word
And this is my reality!
A prayer for Mum!!!


And this particular spurt change the group’s sentiment about freestyling that day. It had become a testy matter. Eveyone began to pray for Ade. Ofcourse I won’t post the prayers.



At 9:53 AM, I continued:


I threw a smile to my foe and he said,”Cheers.”
I have lived with my pain for a few years
Onlookers point fingers at the pointless
“Do you want to be healed?” I said, “Lord, Yes!”

And I strayed, all the dogs came for megabytes
No time when I no dey take prayer fight
Back to back victories and a can of Sprite
If you’re thinking Chibuikem, you are very right



I will stop here for today. There were 18 poems from this day…just for the record.


Authors:
Niel Quchi
Ezeonyeka Goodwill
Ade

The Roots of God Trees

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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.

Stay rooted.


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:


Dip deep
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
Engraft them
Deep, into the Deep.


And nonstop, I went at it again at 7:42 PM:


Ahem

Listen here!
I have found from my experiences
There a line between entertainment and evangelism
Are you just fact stating?
Painting syllogisms?
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:



Mazi Udeh,

Allow me to reply – Mmm? -to what you havu said.

*Clears throat

Ehnnn

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:


Roots!
Like little veins
Untreated, rugged, uncomely
They’re like underdogs
They do the dirty work
To keep the plant flirtatious

Roots!
Tender, they look
Fragile they seem
Yet breaking through earth’s darkness
They build the tunnel
From which life fills the plant
Bearing proudly
Their marks of struggles and victories.
As scars upon their little arms

Roots!
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

Roots!
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.

Root!
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,
for growth
for healings
and for teachings.

© PEARLYTHOUGHTS


A lot to take in, as usual.

At 9:10 PM, the Lady Damaris:


*ROOTED*

They thought
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

To rise
And rise
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
Sir…majority chorused
“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!
Pause….
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


Authors:
Nonso John
Niel Quchi
Eremi
Damaris
Funke