Out-Heal the Loss

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

Vital sines


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.

So, still on Vital signs, which was where we stopped yesterday, I told you I’d be back today with the rest and here I am.

TC came in 9:02 AM:


*Vital signs*



If its of utmost important
Then I need to know
If it’s needed by my body to keep on living
Then I need to know
What’s this maintenance I hear of that is invigorating to life
I need to know

I hear of signs that provides
critical information about my mortality
Pulse rate checked
Respiratory rate checked
Body temperature checked
Blood pressure checked

Result says body is still fit to eat more red meat
But I’m still concerned
How does one check the inner man’s vitals?
I need to know


Yes and then Eremi came through, at 10:31 AM:


I ain’t a doctor ‘Niel
How am I going to get this nailed?



Body Temperature!
Sizzling Hot
Like a girl on fire
Burning down
Every thought
that thinks it’s higher than God’s love
I burn for God,
Rather He burns for me
Through me
As light and warmth
To a dark and cold world
And like the burning bush
I still ain’t consumed



Pulse Rate!
I dunno how this rates
I can’t even remember my dates
But I know there are days it’s faster
Days when I rage like Jonah
Or when like David I charge for Goliath’s head
Or when I feel so in love like Solomon that
I can’t control my beats
There are days when it’s slower
Those days when I hear
Peace! Be still
In other words
Be still and know that I am God.

Breathing!
In and out!
How many times now
It has become as one
The abundance of love as air
So present everyday that it’s ignored
Some abuse it
Some use it to violate others
Some don’t even know it’s there
Only unconsciously drawing
In and out
Nostrils as pencils
I choose to be aware
Of it’s invincibility albeit seems invisible
So I’ll consciously breathe
Knowing love is what I take in
And love is what I should bring out



Blood Pressure!
Little dudes called cells celebrate
Running here and there with platelets
All within the connecting tunnels- arteries and veins
They all seem to know why they celebrate
Unbeknown to the one they celebrate
Life! from the rates that dates back to when we were first celebrated
Life from a pulsating heart
But soon enough they get tired
So He who makes them excited
Provides another solution asides nature
Eternal life!
Revitalized by his broken body
And by His blood
Life unending
With cells never tiring
Having no plans to retire
An exchange that outlives time
That is the pleasure of this blood.
That now flows in me


Vital signs checked!


I believe that if you had read atny 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.

Man With The Mic

I fear for the man with the microphone
He must speak that which was spoken to him
But does he listen only to speak to the crowd
Can he listen enough to listen while he speaks

I wonder at the woman with the microphone
Laid out in beautiful worship before her Lord
Does her feet still know the grounds of this world
Will this dance of transcendence translate or transform

I fear and I wonder at the man I could be
Microphone in hand, driven by more than I can transmit
I pray that my eyes and heart never know another Lord
That I never be left on my own with a microphone

I wonder at the people we will be, microphone in hand
Telling of his love, revealing to all what they need to hear
More than words we can describe yet we raise a sound
So I pray with the microphone in our hands only Him will be heard


Ezeonyeka Godswill
Oraegbu Philipa
(c) 2022

Baby Girl For Life

Baby Girl for Life
Old age is setting in.
My system does not digest milk anymore.
I take pain relievers every morning
For sleeping late and waking early

Asides animated video
I don’t know what else
People do on snapchat.
I downloaded tictok for that
‘Put your head on my shoulders
But I could not figure it out

Oluwa!
I am becoming my mother.
O ma shey o!
My ‘baby girl for life’ mantra
Has become a caricature.

But I am enjoying old age
I lovvvvvvvvveeee it.
The most beautiful thing about
It is freedom to be.
Learn. Grow. Make mistakes.
And if you are lucky,
All at your own pace

You would think I am 50. Lol
I am looking forward to 30.
I will throw the loudest party.
Haha. You know I am lying.
I will probably coil up in my bed,
Having lazy conversations with God.
Oh. I am the lazy one.

That is, if I get to 30 of course.
My high school group posted
Many pictures of the dead among us.
Left me wondering who the next is.
Life is fleeting.

But that’s fine.
I am knocking out checklists.
When it’s my time
I will go like a baby girl.
Because what?????
I am a baby girl for life.

ChyD
©2021

The Forested desert

Its appearance was like a desert
Burning hot and bare in projection
I was already heading that way
So I’d rather take a look at it myself

The closer I got, the clearer I could see
Little green blades spouting out of the seemingly hardened clay
Different colours, shapes and sizes of flowers were opening up
The sound of life was faint but loud enough to be heard.
And the dry air was now blessed with the fragrance of tranquillity

Each step unfolded pleasant surprises;
Suddenly, those blades had grown so tall
Held up by thick brown stands
They spread their Afros like umbrellas against the harsh rays
Colours were lifting with wings and their chirping was high pitched albeit pleasant to the ears

When I looked down, instead of a shadow I saw my reflection
Clearly staring back at me upon the flowing waters – so clear and Pure
It followed a path as though controlled by the melody from a Piper’s pipe
And out of it came cold peaceful air that filled the Forest

Oh, I just called it a ‘Forest
I could vividly remember it was a desert I saw
So dry it could crack a shadow casted on it
Right there, I couldn’t even see my shadow
For the rays of the Sun barely pierced through the thick afro leaves
And oh, what beautiful glitters it formed on the water surface.

It’s a transformation I thought only existed in Disney world
It happened so fast yet slow enough that I could have sworn I was there for hours
But it was so real
So peaceful, so cool, so fertile and so perfect as it appeared before me

“Until the spirit be poured
upon us from on high,
And the wilderness be a fruitful field,
And the fruitful field be counted for a forest.”

It wasn’t just a dream,
it is real.

PearlyThoughtz
©2021

Wheat

I have never seen Everson but my brother he is
And he’ll never sin on my scene, never bother with it
Young Charles and the step-fam would be arguing things
But they tried to eat and clean mouth so forked in our things
UC typing with no network
Cast your words and let’s work
Electrifying verses versus, we wrote culture shock
That reminds of Godswill on the LinkedIn thought
When I write nowadays
I’m Kendrick in my brain
When I’m emotional, I’m Drake
I give UC catarrh like Wayne
I should learn to edit
Ed, Edd and Edit
Today I was writing slower, with no beat when I read it
And yet I found no timing like I used to back ’13
I feel the neck of Nonso pendulum-ing in reprimand
I read my counterparts and there’s no doubting, I understand.
No buts about this, discipline, I need to robot; Oh God, the speed is messing with the taste of the yogurt.
Uh
I’ve known the height and yet the might was not the way I reached it
No poltergeist, I’m hunting light and all the ways to reach it
Beyond delight, in day or night, I sought to not be rigid
To please the wise and, like a kite, be gliding high in reason
Back
To
Work
One week of intermittent prayer
Constant in the fact that you will see me there
No foul play, I am not a Layer
The season is for harvest so I’m switching gear
Trousers and Head gears
These were the past cares
And don’t get me started on a vaccines being scares
Plans of the antichrist, I’m laughing past tears
I thought of saying it earlier on my family group
But they’ll call me disrespectful and I’m getting in soup
As long as souls are told the gospel, I am cool with the loop
Light is always gonna win, when it’s dark imma stoop
Make dem no go use me shine, “Sorry” no be control-z
I’ll be studying all that time, Me and Mine be on the beat.
We’ll be praying and researching, from the back to front row seats
Then I’m studio-ing it all, yeah it’s QuChi and the Wheat!!!

Niel
©2021