Story of My Life

What is life without death?
What is a seed if it yields no crop?
Life is fleeting, blood is red
Blood is hot, and so is love

The heart beats, it is also red
Adrenaline, the same is hot
My appetite, red sizzling stew
Sex, with a hot red blood

What is life without death?
My wills and desires, an offering of love
For my gifting and dreaming; his gifts to me
And when I say, “You first; You alone”
What He hears: “I love You, my LORD”

Favour Omeje
© 2020

Prototype

So much to say but it all seems shallow
What is it that I have made that time didn’t swallow
Now I say I’m made when I make it to a heart
Lord knows I am no longer at the start

But I live life like I’m a responsible baby
And most of my blood fam don’t know the QuChi
Only time I cry is when I make a battle cry
And when I crack after conquering the pressure

So much to type
But I’m not the type
Seen beyond the hype
I’m a prototype

“Come to me, all you who are heavy-laden…”
But my brothers still prefer to attack the kraken
I have plans but I can’t foresee the next day
So do research when you’re fixing to advise me
Sold at the park, yes I was only beaten by rain
Give me a mic, yes you’ll see just how much I trained

But sometimes the swiftest feet are defeated
And the arm of the mighty get deleted

I put my trust in God, not environment or state
I put my hands to work, some are celebrated late.

Niel Quchi
© 2020

If All Were Medicine

IF ALL WERE MEDICINE

If all were medicine
Jehova Rapha would’ve retired
and left his theatre for vaccine

but
all weren’t about men’s abilities:

For all doctors had her contact, yet
her flow was as a pool –
the woman with blood issue.
but when to the Rabbi’s hem touched
the river ceased
and to her, received wholeness

If all were medicine
His stripes would be no more but useless
and thirty-nine lashes in vain

but
all weren’t about men’s discoveries

For Lazarus was ill
three days being buried to death
yet on the fourth, the man of Galilee cried
there in loud voice, he raised the dead
“loose him, let him go”

If all were medicine
there won’t be miracle
in the name of Yeshua…

But all weren’t medicine,
let’s shout “Jesus
and we’re healed!

Josh Oluwafemi Oloyede
©2020

The Sling

A mere sling it may seem..
That was what it looked to me..
Till its targets were never missed..
A bear and a lion it killed at once..
Maybe it is not what it seems..

A mere sling it may seem..
Yet it seems to save the meek..
The helpless and the weak..
And the gentle sheep I keep..
Maybe it is not what it seems..

A mere sling it may seem..
Yet its targets were oppressors,
He who comes to steal, kill and destroy..
The bear, the lion and the giant..
Maybe it is not what it seems..

A mere sling it may seem..
But, not to me anymore..
For I see not an object..
But an epitome of God’s love and power..
It is the Shepherd’s blood.

Amarachi Angela Ebisike
© 2020

DEAR MeMBER

Because this is the roof, pillars, and blood.
Because I am comforted by the familiarity of your vagueness.

Because in this cosmos I can dream forgotten dreams and sleep will nurse me to greatness.

Dear Christ a poet person,
I want to thank you for your patient existence.
The coexistence of stars is only possible in a wide black sky.

Your bravery must not go unrewarded, making art of the message,
molding messes with massages, balm sometimes, bullet other times.

And because you are, I can be.
Free to fall, no fear for your love is gravity.
Holding me down yet helping me move.
Failure is never as beautiful as when done with friends.
Friends turned to blood.
Blood shared in the cup of Christ.
Christ whom we bleed as poetry.

And when I fear that the art form is dead.
That I am alone, the last of the legends.
That I may never become, for life be too loud in my ears sometimes.

I remember to thank you.
Dear Christ a poet person that dares to be creator in a world where Thanos’ abound.

St. Davnique

©2020

Prints

We are not men who walk down the street with our pants reaching out for our legs
Neither are we those that make their mouth ovens where nothing is baked except their lungs, we are men who inspired the first breath of God
We are tongue-twisting thunder talking teachers
Read that again and see how we make mysteries a cup of tea
Have you seen us move our lips like choir directors to conduct the movement of souls in the world?
These are ways we make the world our brothers, no borders with our words
We are not always wielding what’s rightfully ours
But you can be more than sure what we’ve got is true power
We do not waste our time on spades and knife when we’ve got words lying right on top our hearts
Our battle cry is “Abba Father”, we were not thought to loose
We are on the attack, our victory already secured
The gates of Hades fall at our feet as we deliver those once lost
Ordinary meat doesn’t make up our muscle, ours are made of blood dripping from the cross
Cause we have learned to work out our salvation, by going as the spirit instructs
We love because we’ve been loved and taught to love
We tsunami because power birthed us and gave us authority

Felzpoecy
Ezeonyeka Godswill
© 2020

WILL YOU BE?


The trickle of salted water
Opened up the flood gates of its tap
The fiery gaze of hurt and pain
Like boiling blood
Will you be the hands to wipe off?

The bleeding of the shape I call love
The grief of the cut in two
The loss of the pieces fixed to it
Will you be the one to mend?

Like stones hurled at one
The weight you can’t bear
The pricks it leave behind
Of fear, of poor esteem
Will you soothe my ears?

Steps higher steps above
In doubt and fear
With skills but no grit
Will you be the one to urge on?

My love my perfect
Imperfectly perfect
Frail, grace and calm
Will you hold my hand?

When my eyes are covered with fear
And my hands quiver in despair
When my Feet drown in doubt
Will you be my Anchor

When the day wears a black gown
And the Sun refuses the smile
Hiding the face of the moon
Will you be the voice hope?

Oraegbu Philipa Ada
Olaoye Adeleye
© 2020

Blister Ring

So much to say but it all seems shallow
What is it that I have made that time didn’t swallow
Now I say I made when I make it to a heart
Lord knows I am no longer at the start

But I live life like I’m a responsible baby
And most of my blood fam don’t know the QuChi
The only time I cry is when I make a battle cry
And when I crack after conquering the pressure

So much to type
But I’m not the type
Seen beyond the hype
I’m a prototype

“Come to me, all you who are heavy-laden…”
But my brothers still prefer to attack the Kraken
I have plans but I can’t foresee the next day
So do research when your fixing to advice me
Sold at the park, yes I was only beaten by rain
Give me a mic, yes you’ll see just how much I trained

But sometimes the swiftest feet are defeated
And the arm of the mighty get deleted
I put my trust in God, not environment or state
I put my hands to work, some are celebrated late.

The Niel
© 2020