These little lines of mine

My name is Godswill Ezeonyeka and I am blessed to be here. I feel privileged but what can I say. When God calls He fills also. That is to say whatever you are meant to do you already have capacity to. It just needs a bit of harnessing.

  1. PURPOSE:

7 years ago, Wordsmith was not a word meet to describe me. In fact I was at an impasse with myself because I really wanted to know what it was I could do to impact my world, but writing at the time was not an option. Probably just a distant memory because rewind some 15 years I had tried my hands on poetry and that was it. But then during my university days, I once was watching an episode of Turning Point and they had this poet perform a piece. As I watched, I had this certainty, call it conviction if you will, that I could do what she did and needless to say I was excited inside because I loved it. I loved it and I wanted to do it and your guess is as good as mine “I did nothing about it”. Till I got an idea that was stubborn, it wouldn’t leave. It seemed as if my mind had a life of its own and soon I had to write. It was my first good poem (at least I think so) and it was more of a release than it was passion.

But then I had this question. WHAT NEXT? Now that I have written. What next?

That question’s metamorphosis is the vision that is Christ A Poet. You can visit http://www.christapoet.com to see what that is about. But this story I shared is to make a point; “Purpose is what directs passion and skill to solve problems”.

Many people writers are familiar with the writer’s block syndrome. But I can tell with your writer’s block on full gear, if your life depends on it, you will write and write well. As writers or artists in general, if your art creation is not for a reason bigger than yourself, you will always be substandard to who you can be.

Purpose drives you when you have the “inspiration”. Purpose drives you when you are sick. Purpose keeps you up late at night thinking of the perfect word to complete a line of thought. Purpose will make you go to your friends, beg them to put on the generator so you charge your phone and write. In general, Purpose takes the excuses out of the game. If you still have excuses (no matter how valid they are) for not writing, then you do not have a big enough reason/purpose yet. Purpose in simple definition is Why you write.

SO WHY DO YOU WRITE?

Before you rush to answer this question lets see what writing can do.

How Books Saved My Life

NOVEMBER 1, 2013

By Lindsey Collins

http://www.literallydarling.com

There is a term (a legitimate medical term), called bibliotherapy, and I think, unknowingly, it might have saved my life.

Bibliotherapy– noun; an expressive therapy that uses an individual’s relationship to the content of books and poetry and other written words as therapy. The basic concept behind bibliotherapy is that reading is a healing experience.

There are libraries that make a practice of prescribing books to people as a form of therapy. The Center for Fiction in New York City actually employs bibliotherapists to give out book prescriptions. I think this might be the most amazing idea.

But back to me, and how books saved my life.

I was never suicidal, but I was angry and confused and hurting. My story is less common than most (at least I think so) but I hope you will still understand. Tragic circumstances took an angry, typical 15-year-old and made me into a walking emotional wreck. Most people who knew me then probably thought it wasn’t a big difference considering what I’d been through, but it was. I am just an exceptionally good faker.

When I was 15, my dad got sick. The disease doesn’t matter, but six months later he was blind. It’s been more than seven years, and it’s a fact that I still have a hard time accepting. When he first got sick, there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t make him better, couldn’t show the doctors how to fix him, and I felt helpless. So I turned to books. And TV shows. Any story I could find with a mystical, supernatural, or mysterious component. I carried books everywhere, weighing down my purse or just in my hands like a personal shield. I needed stories that didn’t require me to think beyond reading the words or watching a screen, and I threw myself in other (fictional) people’s problems. I cried with them, I laughed with them, I pitied them, and I used them. I used them to soften my own problems, the problems lurking in my house that I couldn’t repair. I don’t think I realized at the time, how much my situation was influencing my choices. I picked shows where people had the ability to heal, something I would’ve given anything to be able to do. I picked shows where 16-year-old girls fought monsters, both real and imaginary. In those six months I probably read a hundred books and watched a thousand hours of TV (sleep was not really being a friend at this point). Mostly it’s all a blur.

I’m 22 now. I’ve graduated from college, and I’m looking for a job. Looking back, I think those stories saved my life. They let my mind walk away and showed me that the characters I loved were the strong ones, and that I could be strong too.

This I culled from a site to show something people don’t pay attention to. Writing can change the world, one person a time. Yes many think reading is boring, yes many don’t see why you work so hard to string these words, and yes it all seems futile and you feel not appreciated and irrelevant. But you have your audience and no matter how little or big they are, they are hanging on your every word and they deserve your very best.

  1. Pursuit.

I am for the most part a poet. This means I try a lot of stuff, and I have learnt much. This platform is a bit limited for a proper transfer of knowledge but instead of giving you fish. I will tell you why and how you could fish.

First, you are only as creative as the amount of skill you have access to. What you dont know you cannot be creative with. Grow your skill.

Lets take poetry:

Poetry is the genre of literature with the fewest use of words. Prose and Drama get the liberty of using a tonne of words to drive home a point that the rhythm and rhyme constrictions of poetry will give you only 8 syllables to do same. Like every art form, there are rules. You have got to learn them. Some of such is:

  1. Rhyme and Rhythm: Lose this and you don’t have a poem. Your ability to string words in such a fashion that the mind of the reader travels but you still have control of where it goes is key to creating a good piece of poetry.

Disclaimer: Not every poem rhymes but all poems have rhythm.

  1. Structure: With many types of poetry at our disposal, an understanding of structure gives you a guide to follow. So when you choose a structure, you stick to it and get the best off it.

Examples of structural decisions:

Number of lines per verse

Rhymes or no rhymes

Language of choice

Story etc.

Find them, understand them. This applies to most forms of writing.

There is a lot you can do with writing but if you don’t seek to know you might find yourself stuck in a circle, writing the same things. And then writing gets boring both for you and the reader. So seek skill!

One easy way to learn is to watch and learn from those doing stuff you can’t yet do. In the story above… The poet in question was Janette…ikz. I presently have almost all her videos available on the internet. Infact I presently have over a 100 poetry videos. I am not sure of the number because I have not counted.

Also exercise is key. Take time to try new stuff when you write. You might not get it now but you will get better if you start now. Subject your work to criticisms and take them well. In 5 years time no word said to you will mean as much. And by all means write! Write! Write!

One more thing.

There are two kinds of writers. Those that wait for inspiration and those that draw inspiration out of its hiding place.

All these I am pointing is to say; When you have purpose, you have a reason to write. When you acquire skill you are equipped to fulfill purpose.

Finally…

These little lines of mine I wrote is a spin off the popular children song (I’m sure you all noticed). And like this song I hope this time we shared gives you a reason or an answer or inspiration to know you have what it takes to change the world in those little lines of yours.

(C) Godswill Ezeonyeka

2018

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Letter to the Boy

Being single could make one appear socially awkward, especially, when you get to 24. People would ask a lot of why questions and before you know it, you are out of perfect replies. It could be maddening, you know? Especially, when they see you converse with a pretty lady, then start with their 1000 rule advice on how to win her over, as though you had asked their counsel on how to get a “bae”. It could be ridiculous too, when a lady tells you, “upon all this your sweet mouth, you dey claim say you no get babe”, as though being a good talker is all you need in order to be in a relationship. dat one no too dey pain me. I get more annoyed when fellas try to point out a girl for me just because she has the kind of hips that are very close relatives of Abakiliki mounds and breasts that are large enough to suffocate a toddler. And on more occasions, a complexion that is characterized of an over ripped pawpaw. They would just shout “wow” like Jesus Christ got born again… I know you got the juicy part of such tales in your head.

Then, if you are not careful, you would settle for the glaze on the utensil without considering the type of material it is made of. That’s me waving a “welcome to Hell Street”, because, all you will ever dream of is, an exit strategy from this business that you entered into without much consideration. You know how you just end up scheming on ways to get her hyper pissed off with you and end up asking you for a break up, but when it fails, you start rehearsal of your 360-word break up line. And when finally you are done with the inscription on her heart, she starts seeing all boys, guys, and men, (forgive the redundancy), as an evil she have to live with. However, because emotions still run through her veins, if no one wise enough is close by to advise her rightly, she becomes a formidable heart basher, who only cares about your little change, in an exchange for the toy of herself, remember you made her to start feeling like a toy.

5+2 efforts

Religion has been nothing but a complex language,
A puzzle that never gets solved,
In the folds of my grey matter,
A mosaic with lots of mystery pieces,
A mortar of rules

There’s nothing my brain detests more
Than figures that never add up,
Or records of extraordinary events,
That stare nature in the eye and disobey her
Yet I find myself in their midst

All I know is we sniffed your mist,
The broken, sick and lost,
All we want is to get fixed,
And from the smell of what I’ve heard,
I knew you would quench,
The desert of a thirst we had

I had a hunch about our lunch
The idea of you feeding us,
These swam of crowd
But not with the 5 loaves and 2 fishes
Mother wrapped in case I grew hungry

You reminded me of math class
Another world of confusion I melt into,
But right there in my very presence
You made integration simple
5+2 equaled 5000 and 12

That day, I went home
With waves wrapped around my hairs,
All He needs is my little to make big
All He needs is my life to make it worth it

 

Olaoye Adeleye
(C) 2017

GENERATIONS

I have really wise friends
I have really smart friends
And then I have these other friends. These ones I don’t know how to classify them.

For when you hear their thought process, you will wonder if this part of the body called a brain is vestigial in some animals.
When they utter words, you automatically want an occupation with hammers for every thing they say make you want to break their head.

But then I got to thinking;
6 years,
10 years;
200 years from now and these same ‘not so senseless’, poor in making decisions, and utterly tiring friends of mine would be known as ‘the ancestors’
A status men will begin to idolize.

I see us use a whole lot of our mind’s compartment to believe things that were told to us by people who couldn’t figure out simple things, I mean, some of the very learned of them actually argued that the earth was flat, like a table.

Hollup!

I am not even talking about the unlearned ones from your villages that birthed those you now call grandpa. Just imagine it.

They told you to pour drinks on the floor for the ancestors and you agree, well it’s *Omenala, so it can’t be broken.
They said a woman should be shorn when her husband dies and well, who are we to not obey the voices of ignorance passed down to us?

We carry knowledge like tentacles on a snail’s head but still slip back into the cave of ignorance we use to shell whatever good we can make of life, just because we have been told to ‘stand on the wisdom of the elders’,
Now guess who said that? ‘THE ELDERS’

I feel this is rigged.

Then our faith, love, strength, and even humanity is subject to a broken past called tradition,
Something that might have been suggested by a ‘not so smart’ old man who was only opportune to live before us.

So I take a stand today.
I will relate with the rules of the ancestors like they were still alive now
I will weigh their wisdom based on how wise it is, NOW!
I will not waste my time in their myth, only to satisfy their dead bones long gone with the sands of time.

I will make decisions now and then advice younger generations to learn from my words, but before I go from this earth;

I will let them know I wasn’t the wisest
I wasn’t the smartest
I was as man as man can be

And most of all;
As they grow, and find better ways to do what I said couldn’t be done,

They shouldn’t be afraid to discard my letters and fly the plane of their imaginations to outer space and back.

For no matter how sacred we decide to treat the scrolls of heroes past,
And bend always to their judgments on matters, using them as the ultimate yardstick to measure life.

I dare say that many of them were also as confused as we are at some points of important decisions,
And to crown it all, some chose wrongly.

Which only goes to say that we with them were all normal humans.

And if I won’t let another man dictate what I do and decide I run my life, I’m including the great ancestors too.

 

*Omenala is the Igbo(Nigerian Language) word that means tradition

MISS FORTUNE

This is a story about a girl in her twenties and a guy in his twenties; late.

They went
On a date when every other person walked into the mall hands in hands and shoulders;
That’s today.

Their fates already sealed by the late mr Kori and little Miss Kate.

So I know, and you know that he would be leaving this evening with a no,
And she would have dodged another bullet of a man sent to rent what’s left of the tattered clothing of her shadowed past,
Park into her heart with no rent.

Brothers and sisters, you relate with this right?

How often do we already decide what he intends, from the last person we met who was from the same tribe?
Has the same look, with a similar beard, same complexion, from the same country;

How we now act like everyone with the same ‘dark’ name plays the same bad game has left me wondering;
If this field will ever be fair.

I mean, long before I came along your path someone, somewhere already did my name a smear, so all I do with whatever I do, or do not, would be to remind you of him, how awful?

And when you can’t seem to box me you still find a box to box me, your low blow finds a way to make ‘all men, all women, the same’

Dear dearie;
Just because we all carry the Y chromosome doesn’t make us the same with your EX, the same way your X doesn’t make you miss Kate,

Our meeting was not a mistake.
I am not Mr. Kori.
I wouldn’t choose quick seconds over the trust you give;
I wouldn’t love you and leave;
Or maybe I would, but please

Let me not pay for what he did.
And don’t let him pay for what I did,

And if you can do this for me, I promise to hold up my own end of this bargain, and not think you only came for the money,
not let you pay for all she did.

No I’m not saying ‘snap out of it’, I know you still hurt, you are human so you should feel;
but let’s consciously drink from these bars tendered to heal;
And in a short while from now,

A little walk from this bar; we would have drunk to fill.

For only then would we walk into the mall, hands in hand,
And maybe, I would be fortunate enough to get a ‘Yes’ by the end of the night, this time from the real you, on this date, the day we finally let go.

Let’s face it,
Nobody is really real with all the weight;
So we can lose the hate, and plan to love again, today.