Tag: sunday

Not Perfect, Worthy

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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.

Nonso John
(C) 2021

The Changed Man

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Behold all things have become new
and the old lie in a forgotten heap
childish memories of me digging
underneath my bed on a Sunday morning
for where I’d tossed in my old pair of shoes
nowadays the changed me keep them up neatly
on a rung of wooden stiles the carpenter calls a shoe rack

Bible sleeps on a bedside stool
for a constant bath in Holy words I reach
across to it as often as I go
drink in words that lead, that guides
same letters in the book, a new meaning on the morrow

I remember mom’s narration on Joseph
please tell Dolly Parton
I share same story with her Coat Of Many Colours
only I took mine to many tailors
at the price of my chopped sandal soles
shoes on worn out feet
grazing gravelled road as they bleed
thank God, praise God I sing
because no longer do I handpick rags
all I see are tailor-made suits
my wardrobe is a rainbow of clothes
none having no holes

Nonetheless what I have outgrown is
the filthy old man inside of me
that cheated at elementary school
and purloined mum’s ten kobo
when she was busy at the hearth
One day aunt Betty suffocated my wrists inside mum’s purse
and gave me her two kobo
number eight of the decalogue says, ”Thou shalt not steal”
I hear you ma, my heart thumps with complete remorse
Tell that to the birds, coo that to baby lions
Whisper that in the ears of insensitive politicians
and the starved masses reaping where they did not sow
maybe they’ll pause then retrace their steps
and make way for the new experience.

Rebekah E.
© 2020

Sunday Perfect

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Praise the Lord
I knew I shouted in response
But for the life of me I wonder
Why my eyes are closing in slumber
Maybe we should get a more interesting pastor
And I’d get more from my day at church

So I believe all that he says
But he has no idea what I’ve had to face
Its easy to talk when on that stage
Tis so sad but I’ll listen anyways
Maybe we should get a more compassionate pastor
And I’d get more from my day at church

My shoes hurt and I’m already hungry
We should be done by now one could imagine
So the fact that I zone out is no mystery
Might as well do something else, anything really
Maybe we should get a more time concious pastor
And I’d get more from my day at church

Wow wow oh wow I think my mind has gone numb
Our Pastor is absolutely the bomb
But I have not a clue what He’s shouting about
I’m trying sincerely I am and still dont know
Maybe we should get a more down to earth pastor
And I’d get more from my day at church

Like seriously… not again
I feel like last week cos this service is exactly the same
Am I the only one tired of this routine we run
Whatever happened to the dynamism and creativity in us
Maybe we should get a more flexible pastor
And I’d get more from my day at church

Oh my God, I cant believe he said that
He should know better after all he is the pastor
Hasn’t he heard, hasn’t he read or is he just clueless
oh no, he said it again nonetheless
Maybe we should get a more informed pastor
And I’d get more from my day at church

I always thought the worth of our day at church
Depended on the choir or the pastor that preached the word
See church was always meant to be a gathering of believers
For fellowship, cohesive growth and strength the Holy Spirit our teacher
Just maybe if we could all look up to Jesus and no one else
Everyday would be worth more to a perfect end
and then I will get more from my day at church.

– Ezeonyeka Godswill
(c) 2016

Everyday Jesus – Sunday (A poem)

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Hello sunday
So soon
Here you are again
You evade our hearts
With some kind of feeling
“Go to church”

Blimey, sunday
A little observation
Men! Yes human beings
Most of them aren’t sincere
Whenever they see you
They adjust, and re-adjust to be called the just.
We are pretenders, offenders
We carry the bible on your evasion
Just to claim timed salvation
Poor decision, poor innovation

Listen sunday
There is a lot going on
Disgusting things.
On sunday, is when my fellas will carry their bible to read
Or even loud their stereo, listening to christian songs
Or even raise their voices, singing to be noticed.
O sunday, what have you brought on us?

Sunday, maybe I am the one getting this tough, so rough
Maybe it is not your fault
It is a default thing
Men invented it
We allowed the busy scene of life to get us carried away
Or you caused it?
Nooooo, not you
Nooooo, Not us
Ooooooooooooohhh!
I think it’s us
We are lazy
Lazy to face the facts
Enemies of ourselves
We are always carried away
Away, like a sheep.

Sunday, maybe it is not us
Maybe it is us…
Sunday, it is us…

 

By the Alchemist