The Fortress

November 27, 2025December 20, 2025Leave a comment

I stand here, witness to a shelter God shaped
not from stone,
but from the quiet, patient ways He mended me.
A refuge lifted from the ruins of every moment
His mercy refused to let define my story.

For years,
I mistook strength for silence
but even the softest prayer can rise like wind,
and mine learned to swell
because God understood my trembling
before it ever touched my lips.

This place, His making
isn’t just somewhere to hide;
it breathes with the memory
of battles I thought would end me
yet left me standing.

Its doors hold the imprint of fears
my Father pressed into the past.
Its watchposts lean into the sky
because He has guarded both my midnights
and every new morning.

Do not call these walls fragile;
they were shaped by the One
who refuses to let my soul collapse.
Every beam carries His assurance,
every layer His voice
reminding me that surviving
is not disgrace, but grace.

I learned a fortress isn’t meant
to keep the world out,
but to remind the heart inside my heart
that it lives under His covering.

So I turn the lock on doubt
and pull wide the openings
where His Spirit enters,
letting courage breathe its way
through every hidden room of me.

So, If you see me standing higher than before,
it isn’t pride, it is gratitude.
Gratitude to the Most High
who raises me, and keeps on raising me.

For even iron can falter,
but the life held in His hands
learns to rise again and in rising,
His stronghold becomes my freedom.

UbdaPoet
©2025

A Literary Rally of Love and Hurt

March 13, 2025Leave a comment

In the Penspeak Community UNEC, February Freestyles were a joy. On February 7, 2025 Iruoma kicked off;

A pilgrim’s journey to a world of plain
where I burned every bridge to find a way
My cardiac compass led me through this rugged terrain
With convictions so strong to betray
I followed to discover, this beacon of light
But each step, was a test of will
And every staking breath I lived
Was a stench in misery to give

Every turn was a sink, in a pool of despair
Every weight crushing, without a care
Yet to this world of plain, a beautiful siege, I found solace
To its music in echieteka, I danced deep to its rhythm
In ignorance of the consequences to come
The demons with enticing melody sing,
luring my lost soul to eternal doom
every move was a compromise
And Peace sold in delicate balance between darkness and light

I’ve found a different route,
where life and light entwine, A world of truth
A world of hope, the saints eternal home.
I see the truth now
And with heart in total devotion
I sing a unique symphony, that echoes the sound of a soul that’s free.

February 14, 2025 A freestyle by Neche Goodnews

We met like faith intended
Astrologers say the stars aligned for us
Palmists tap our palms and declared our fates intertwined
The dibia sees our one future
I don’t really care about all that
I care about what God says for us

What use is a tree without wood, a human without intelligence, a skyscraper without its framework?
Of what use is my world without you in it?
Its uses become less and less till it becomes useless

My one of a kind, my unique, my priceless discovery
You’re not a cog in a machine, not a gear
You’re my complement
My joy irreplaceable
There’s no other you, it’s just you
The thought of another is sacrilegious to me
People pray for a MumZee moment but I got that when we found our spark
Oko mi, Ololufe mi, a furu m gị na anya
Take a seat by my right side and let me show the world my irreplaceable one

Friday 21, 2025 Iruoma began;

Of all terrestrial blessings bestowed
The celestial luminaries that twinkle
Breath that marks the beauty of living
The blessed morning dew that falls
The greatest of all treasures beyond compare
Is God’s gift of his son, christ.

Neche Goodnews then followed through;

A knock on the door, a greetings at the door post, a welcome and an attempt at conversion
A knock at another door, greetings once again, but this time dismissal and rejection is given

The sacred journey of the missionaries
Wanderers of the Holy order
Marked by the Omni being
A higher placement than Cain they are not stained
They have not slain but are prepared to take the pain of the bane

God’s front line, God’s bravest
Courage that dwarfs that of David
Faith that rivals Abraham’s
Only his most daring actually take up this holy order, this great commission

You look flabbergasted, who is this Omni being I speak of that would be willing to do this to his most daring followers?
Whose orders? What orders?
Your heart knows who he is
Your lips shapen to speak his name
He is the one your heart beats for, it’s first love
He goes by I AM THAT I AM
The Bible does well to speak of him in details

Wanna know what those others are?
Have you heard of The Great Commission?
The good news brought unto the world
Grab your book and take notes
You have a lot to learn
Let me introduce you to salvation

That is it for February! Stay loved, stay blessed! The March will be glorious

Authors
Iruoma
Neche Goodnews

Out-Heal the Loss

March 9, 2022Leave a comment

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

Holy Fun Stuff

January 14, 20221 Comment

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.

On this particular day, April 9th 2021, freestyles started at 4:00 PM, under the topic “Holy”. I think it’s important to note that the writers and Editors of CAP are mostly working class people. Some of us attended the same university and know each other’s styles and historical progressions. And now we have each grown to take up deeper levels of our careers and deeper bonds with each other’s writing.

I kicked off the session at 4pm with this:

Busy Friday, up for air like I was diving
Made in Heaven and I am chosen like Joe Biden
God
Taught my hands to war and gave me tools for thriving
That’s how God do, I cannot be shy too

Yes he said he would do it
And I’m trusting him through it
All I needed was light, when I saw it I knew it
Old and dead was I, but His Word is renewing
He gave me Life after Earth, and the power for during

Set apart now, yes, you can call me Holy
Kingdom focused like a soldier when I tell his story
P
I’m past tense, and now I’m comfy with evangelism
And I don’t wait for Easter to tell the world Christ is reason

Okay, so there are times and seasons that Sitz im Leben these sessions. For example, this set is from the Easter period of 2021. A lot of times, some of us would simply draw lyrics from the context, and transpose that with the topic at hand. But some us, like me, would ignore the topic mostly or adhere entirely to it. This brings us to the next freestyle.

Nonso John, in my opinion, can’t be said to really be freestyling. He’s too practiced for that. He would write, edit, restructure, all that. At the end, his freestyles would be…

Just check this out; coming in at 6 minutes after 5pm, Nonso John :

I’m human.
Trust me, I am.
I wear my pants one leg at a time.
And, believe it or not.
I cry. I fall. Yes, I even fart.
Ew.

Sometimes I feel worthless.
Like collateral damage. Expendable.
But, come on. All said and done.
We all know an Old Shot’s a Nigger.
Once every day; twice on Sundays.

Barbarians and Predators
See them threaten to Terminate us.
But as imperfect as we are,
Our God don’t use no erasers.

Perfection is not me.
I’ve never claimed it.
But, He who called me?
Come on. Dude’s on Fleek.
Faithful. Holy.

For me, the level of perfection, is a mixture of annoying and intimidating. But that’s our Nonso John. And he was probably trying to stay simple the whole time. Either way, I, The Niel Quchi, continued the spree at 8:01pm:

I’ve
Long time been a faith fool
Grateful being saved, Dude
Living dead like Voodoo
But I’m just a branch he bears fruit through

And I fall sometimes just like the price of things
When i don’t recall the price of him
But he’s faithful as he’s always been
But he’s faithful as he’s always been

Amen. Very brief and to the point; but then, I wouldn’t say that this followed the topic. Xhika came up next… I forgot that this is not WhatsApp. So, in Christapoet, there is a lady known as Chika St. Davnique. I have to restrain myself from telling you her nickname within CaP. I spell her name with an ‘X’ where the ‘C’ is. Here is St. Davnique at 8:48pm:

I’ve not known many things
The result being many thorns
Many torns
Many turns

The world isn’t ideal you see,
We sea-saw every now,
Again,
Between here and hiding
Between there and finding.

And aren’t we all fake fools?
Confessing ideals but rooted in our reels
Our reals
Our ins
Our inch shallow depths

Aren’t we?
Hoping to high heavens that a faith full God stays real.

Stays reeled in
Riveted on showing us what’s real in us.
Even if we never find real in us.

I’ve not known many things,
But I’ve known Him to be true.
To be ALL, absent none,
Faithful and holy.

Yeah, a testimony of her experience of God’s holiness. Though I feel it is kind of normal to attribute holiness to God, in comparison to poetizing the concept in and of itself. But truly, what better description of Holiness is there than Yahweh himself. I came through again at a minute after 9pm. I remember I was walking to Mindsmith’s house as I wrote this…Yeah, I like to walk and write:

I passed by a guard sitting unguarded;
Who starts life without the One whence life started?
Giving birth in a trance don’t make you transparent
Saying “Apparently” won’t make you a parent
But I think the ball is passed
Textbook poetry is fast
Four lines the structure
If it was on Twitter, who’d follow Instructions

And next was the very beautiful Zoe Ziva. I think Zoe should be at least a year old in CaP by the time of this article. Here she goes, on “Holy”, nine minutes later, at 9:10pm:

First created as dust, with the gene of him who failed, I looked at myself as worthless and the least of righteous like, even if I tried my best to be the “most righteous” it was like a filthy rag?
I gave up!

But before I was through, He tapped me and said He’ll rather be the One to give up His life just so I can be recreated no longer by dust but by Breath(The Spirit)

And He did.
On the cross He whispered “It is Finished”

So there! I was created a new being and Gene, no longer traced to dust but now to The One who recreated me.

So when the devil tried to deceive me telling me I’m not worth it and good enough,
He tapped me to remind me; and all I could hear was:

Faithful, Holy.

I like that her poem spurt was inherently evangelische. I was writing all the whole, in the background, still walking. So at 9:26pm, I wrote:

Up the hill to Smith’s I walk
NEPA’s taken light ofcourse
But i won’t call them unfaithful
Because they get no faith from us

I have found I have tailor my ways
So that nothing takes the time I need for giving him praise
Can you just imagine who was giving us chase
He whose words freestyled ants and milky ways

Would you look at that?! Beautiful right? And at 9:50pm, Eremi struck the last chord of the day:

Yesterday was quite cloudy
It felt like the travelling rain
Decided to stop at my terrain to greet
But it didn’t
Flashes of lightning like swords fight pushed though the thick black clouds
It was an intentional scare I thought
And my thoughts slept with me

Now I’m thinking about it
How is a God whose voice is louder than the thunder speak so softly
That you could hear distinctly in stillness?
I remembered a time
I also wondered what lights really is
You know
Stepping into that flash of light as in the lightning
Light in light?
No shadow of turning?
How is that even possible?
How will light so fill a place
That it will cast no shadow

Hold it! What could Holy mean?
All white, flurry, smells like sweets?
Holy!
Set apart!
Yes, I later learnt what it meant
Separated for the divine
Who is actually The Vine
The one from whom we got our alias – the Branches

I was told that the Vine isn’t just a fruit tree
That it’s a tree that creeps
Better put infiltrate
It takes over
Just give it time
It’s so beautiful that after it’s done with the host
All you can see is vine
Branches faithful to the course
Actually bring forth the fruits
Occupy till I come
For you are a chosen generation
A holy priesthood
They are the ones
That become the Light in the light
The ones that there is also found no shadow of turning
God is light, in Him there’s no darkness
You are of God Little Children
The glory of the vine had made us one
As they are one
Abiding in Him as He is in the Father

How did I start this gist?
I hope it still rains today
Who knows it could make me think of another gist tomorrow.

And that concluded a beautiful session of really nice pieces. What do you think of each poem?

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:
Zoe Ziva
Chika St. Davnique
Eremi
Nonso John
Neil Quchi

The 2nd month of April

January 13, 2022January 13, 2022Leave a comment

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 the a freestyle session. Each freestyle session is given a topic for the poems to address.

Unfortunately, I didn’t save this session’s topic, so I would love it if you leave a comment telling us what you think this season should be named. The first piece came at 10;22am, from the one and only Eremi:

To the one
Who was still forgiving sins
While hooked on the cross
By the nails of those whose eyes were veiled
Too blinded by their deeds
They could not see the grief
For the fulfillment of what’s to be
He said nothing against them
And for their salvation
He pleaded
‘Father Forgive them
They do not know what they do’~
Love’s perfect excuse

To the one whose death
Not only caused an earthquake
But struck death with a deathblow
Cracking the graves open
So life floods the veins of the dead
And breath, their nostrils
If only death knew
There’d be a prison break
He’d have opposed the crucifixion
But how would they know
They were blinded by their deeds
They could not see the grief

To the one whom hell couldn’t hold
Because he was too hot for the heat
Too strong to be pull down
For 3 days Hell saw Hell in Hell
Its principals displayed in shame
The Lord of the Worlds
Went to the lows with His judgement
To take back
What man lost
And to give ’em a taste
Of what His offsprings will do

To the resurrected one
who has reconciled humanity and divinity
Our eternal link to eternity
And our surety for divine royalty
Our High Priest
The one
Whose coming brought hope
Whose death brought redemption
Whose resurrection brought victory
Whose ascension brought the Holy Ghost
And when He comes again
It will be to take His own

To our resurrected King and Priest
The effulgence of God the Father
One with the Holy Spirit
To Jesus our Lord
Be the glory forever. Amen

That was a long poem. It feels like when you go to visit a rich or older person and You are planning to stay for a little while but the truth is that they determine how long you will actually stay. So you sit and enjoy their luxurious habitat. The piece also felt like a prayer. Next up, at 11:56am, Godswill must have lifted his head and saw the time and decided to jump in:

It is weird that bad can really mean good in this world
But we are shocked when power adorns humble clothes
In a generation hell bent on self gratification
It comes as heresy to think that self sacrificing is key to satisfaction

Enter Easter

The makers melodramatic response to man’s malady
Helpless, lifeless body of a condemned man on a cross
The picture of a sovereign God-king winning wars unknown
Victory did not look like they expected but he was never working with their standards

And that is Godswill for you. He likes to be thoughtful. He is Christapoet’s founder and a great friend of mine. Speaking of me, I wrote next, mixing English with a bit of pidgin English. “nielquchi” at 12:09:

Been a while since I freestyle wrote
Inspiration never left me though
People always want a new dish
Yet their hunger never changes

Been at home trying to plan ahead
I speak life in my charger head
And my plugs let me owe or buy ahead
I think Grace has gotten to my head

And Shalom told me ’bout a waist problem
I showed her power wey dey waste problem
Issues up, I speak a way through them
Blessings rush ya, no be Putin

Ok, so I can be very… starry eyed, when I write. I just let go and let the words flow, even when I am given a topic. But no need to be defensive. Next up at 12:44pm, was Godswill again. This time, he wrote using my style. That conversational tone…check it out:

Daniel made me think of authority
Told my mind there is a place to reach with my dexterity
Yet I am reminded that freestyles are fun when I read Daniel’s piece

Here is to the skilled master hand
We write to preach, inform and understand
That’s like a swordsman is with his blade
We freely wield words with authority no one gave

So much fun!! And that’s that freestyle spirit. When you are so practiced with a skill that you can play with it. Well, I didn’t see his spurt till much later in the day. And when I did, I wondered why no one had replied. I wrote next, at 4:21pm:

Calm down
We are soldiers. Soldiers, calm yourselves and read the battle.
The world is so designed to take your guns and kill your mettle
To freeze your fingers, make you deaf to simple calls of duty
And I’m no captain but I took the oath and know the beauty

What’s a devil to a son,
Or an ailment to a shot of Holy Ghost power screaming “You are Healed”? Oh Lord!
What’s a heart before the Word, or snakes and scorpions creepy-crawlies sneaking through my affairs? Oh Lord!

Calm down
We are monsters; Morning Stars risen from a night of lifetimes…
The times and trends may shuffle but My King never lies.
Yes I bathe in glory and I count my points in won souls
When they saw my dreads in heaven, Jesus said, “I told you!”

What’s power to the Abba, or tycoon to a typhoon?
Jonah told me when you’re drowning, even fish are friends too
What’s depression or despair to the Spirit-led
We are pencils in his hand, mine is spirit lead

I almost want to take screenshots of the group’s reactions to some of these pieces, but I will leave it to you to show us how pleased you are. Kindly leave us a comment and like and share also, so that your people can be blessed in enjoying Christapoet freestyles.

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:
Eremi
Ezeonyeka Godswill
Neil Quchi

Baby Girl For Life

November 19, 2021November 19, 2021Leave a comment

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.

October 31, 2021Leave a comment

Sorrow may lasts for a night, but joy comes in the morning.
Ebubechi (Psalm 30:5)

201020

October 20, 2021October 20, 2021Leave a comment

A boy stared with sightless eyes at the starless sky

The smile across his neck would be pretty if it wasn’t bloodshot…

Like one of the many bristles of the brush, his head held ink, dark and red, ready to paint you a picture.

Of what dead hopes taste like on the tongue of hearts tired from trying

Just this morning his eyes held a song,
His knees said a prayer.

Someone lied to him, said there was salvation in the dead fingers of a nation’s anthem.
Told him to keep faith in the green-white-green textile

He came out with a song, just this morning…

So now the boy gazes.
Undead eyes pregnant with horror.

There are missing pages in his story. Hungers never spoken.

And today, we offer paltry libations of honor, to the heroes whose mangled bodies paint our history.

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Christ a poet

one word at a time

Tag: Morning

The Fortress

A Literary Rally of Love and Hurt

Out-Heal the Loss

Holy Fun Stuff

Baby Girl For Life

201020

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