Lord of the earth, unknowing.
Born Heroes; living victims.
Black Panthers scared shitless.
Superintendents gone puny.

So primitive. So common. Like dirt.
As is the sunrise.
Aye, it doesn’t make him, nor the sunrise,
Any less a miracle; any less a beauty.
But then…

“Ye are Gods,” I heard Him say.
Creators, made He you.
But it’s sad.
You only live as pawns on a chessboard.
And you die like mere scum of the earth.
Who knew the hashtag was truth, after all.
Men are scum, indeed.

Oh, man.
Pity! PITY!
I mean, you share a last name with Deity!
With Yahweh Himself!
Oh, that you knew thyself!
And, that, to thy sweet self, you be true.

Do not your dreams whisper to you
The destiny of your race?
Do not your superheroes, your folklores, your movies
Point towards mastery?
And power?
And love?

Does not your genius, your spirit
Nudge you ever so silently
To rule from the top of the rainbow?
To conquer the sky you’ve agreed is your limit?

Who has deceived you?
Oh, man!
“Evolve, man!
Eternity screams.
Immortality beckons.

But no. You’ll read this poem, this call,
And just move on.

Nonso John
© 2019


Hell is rebellion
Pulling plug on life source
Drifting off from Definition
Dissolving into nothingness
Like fading fragrance mocked
By the briefness of its glory days

Hell is silence, is crushing grieved cries
Of wild drunken raves, quiet robbery
And the cold indifference of a million Church pews
The stench of pious hatred
The rot of carousing infidels
And the carcass of juggling both these

Hell is bitter dead end to living sweet route mirage
Trap Disneyland, minus innocence
It’s the sick deal Christ scrapes off the table
Evil’s two faced grand joker
Swept aside by God’s deft Checkmate
Process reverse, death-to-Life card

Ikenna Nwachukwu Alexander
© 2019

Lies At Dawn

Without the stars appearing on a special
Night, the Angels singing sweet solemn innocent
Tones, jingles, praises to the mean
World that has seen eons
Of pains, love, gratitude, rejections that overwhelmed
Beauties and ugliness we see as tittle and nominal

I wish to be etched in your heart not as a nominal
Singer, but the beat you call special
The sound that leaves you overwhelmed
Our eyes a spark note of innocent
Thoughts that deified us eons
And mortals who are not mean

Men whose inclinations are mean
Can’t even have us as nominal
gods, but great fellows who are eons
Away from their realms. The one they’d call special
Species of rare grace; innocent
Warriors whose tales gets them overwhelmed

Though life may try to get us overwhelmed
It will never make us mean
Or rid us of the innocent
Company of the earthlight that is not nominal
Or make the moonlight serenade less special
Though it has romanced spirits for eons.

We seem to be overrated eons;
Cowered, callously, carefully overwhelmed
Lovely, little, lowly beings called special
Lower than the angels’ mean
Myrmidons, to the paladin nominal
Praying to be seen as innocent

But words cannot be innocent
We are actually eons
Beings that can never be nominal
Beings grave, gentle griefs overwhelmed
In their search of mean
Means of becoming special

To be as innocent as saint Simeon
The special eon that dwells
In this mean tent.

Simeon Chidi

The Fire of Revolution

If you truly want a revolution
You must be willing to watch your life fade
From before your own vanishing eyes

If you crave for the heavens showered
With bright red flames and blinding white light
You must care to be consumed with it

The rebirth you long for
Isn’t held in familiar bosoms
Is never at home with soft couches, tamed roses and sweet homely dinners

The freedom that’ll last forever
Is an intense joy and a harrowing pain
Stabs of rejection, and lingering loving embraces

If you truly want a revolution
You must be willing to watch your life burn
And glow

If you want a revolution that lasts forever
How about a death that scorches us into unending life?
How about Christ, Revolution Eternal?

Ikenna Nwachukwu
© 2018


Hmmm…Have you walked down this lane?
The lane of the warring voices embedded in the mind?
Where voices rage war in the soft bones of your mind,
Over choices and decisions,
Voices sounding right under the spell of imaginative confusion,
Wrong when castrated of the spell,
Where reasoning becomes afraid to reason,
Cos even in the cause of reasoning choices coated in capsules of poison seize thy taste of choice,
Confused over nothing yet confused over everything,

Drowned in the ocean of counterfeited uncertified voices draining broken pieces of unfulfilled dreams sketched out,
These voices keep on speaking,
That the only surviving cartilage in the brain of my head has been ruptured
Unseen yet powerful and influential voices, trapped in myriads of scorn,
This is an inbuilt ethnic war,
Who can save me from this destiny device,
Where voices echo unraveled solutions and complicated ideas to same thing,
Which do my being become a slave to?

Rains of confusion has embarked on a rescue journey at the central park of my head,
Taking rest at the hallucinated desolate field of lost,
The sweet and gentle voice of procrastination has embalmed its statue in me and silenced my voice of reason placing it in the solitudinal grave of eternity,

I wear smiles wrinkled on the inside,
Spraying the perfume of faded smile to avoid panel of questioning,
Inner pimples has eaten deep my dimpled mind of rest,
Hiding under the cloaky face care of MARY KAY
To bring out the dimples amidst the pimpled troubled mind,

Which voice do I cling to?
The sugar coated diabetic voice or the fading- like silent voice embedded with thorns and water logged pathway to destiny,

OH!!! OH
War of voices within…
My soul has become aged at the peak of my youthful mind,
Let me think and make one… my permanent abode for a gloomy doom await the confused mind making choices,
Follow me on my journey but with cautioned silence.

Kanu Nonye

© 2018

Everyday Jesus – Hymn 311

“I could not do without thee”, said the priest.

The pianist proceeded with a familiar tune, the choir joined, and the rest of church sang along.


I could not do without Thee

O Savior of the lost,

Whose precious blood redeemed me

At such tremendous cost.

Thy righteousness, Thy pardon

Thy precious blood, must be

My only hope and comfort,

My glory and my plea.


As the first stanza went by, I couldn’t help but imagine the cost of my redemption. I tried to wrap my mind around what Jesus must have gone through for love.


A man had a lover who he gave up everything for, including his wealth and prestige. He gave her his attention and showered her with gifts. She lacked nothing but yet she wasn’t satisfied. She gave herself to riffraffs and vagabonds who had nothing to offer her. Her lover couldn’t give up on her despite her promiscuity. Life however caught up with her and she contracted HIV. She felt bad for herself and knew she deserved to die. She didn’t want to cause her lover more pain so she ran away but her lover went through thorns and pains until he found her. He said to her, ‘I don’t care about what you must have done. I still love you. I’ll transfuse your blood into mine and take yours. I’ll die of the HIV but I want you to live’. Shocked and guilt stricken, she told him she couldn’t accept such offer. ‘what if I go back to my old ways? I don’t trust myself. I’m sick of myself. I disgust myself’, she said. Her lover said to her, ‘my death would take care of it all’.


Isn’t it amazing? The story is unbelievable… I mean, it’s not even ordinarily possible. I heaved and shook my head to clear it as the church began the second stanza.


I could not do without Thee,

I cannot stand alone,

I have no strength or goodness,

No wisdom of my own;

But Thou, belovèd Savior,

Art all in all to me,

And weakness will be power

If I lean hard on Thee.


Another exciting thought hit me. And I thought…this could be it.


Melania Trump did nude photographs during her modeling days but she’s now America’s first lady. According to societal measure, she definitely doesn’t deserve to be the first lady of America but she is. Her past doesn’t matter anymore, just because she married to Trump. Her critics would still greet her as ‘Her excellency’, if they are ever opportuned to come before her. She has a covering and her prestige comes from association. Her weaknesses became power because she leaned hard to Trump.

Exactly how I’m a beneficiary to Christ’s sacrifice just by the reason of my belief in him. My husband is the King of kings…chew on that!


I could not do without Thee;

No other friend can read

The spirit’s strange deep longings,

Interpreting its need;

No human heart could enter

Each dim recess of mine,

And soothe, and hush, and calm it,

O blessèd Lord, but Thine.


The third stanza brought my consciousness back as I remembered “The lady, her lover and her Lord by T.D Jakes. There are issues and aches that rise up in me, that even I do not understand. So how do I explain it to anyone? Only my manufacturer, I imagine, can understand. T.D Jakes while trying to explain a lover’s role and Jesus’ role in a lady’s life said, “But, in the stillness of the night, when he has gone to sleep and there are pending issues on her mind, it is her Lord who works the night shift and watches over her in the dark. He is the one whom she can talk to when her words cannot describe what she is feeling. Her husband may understand what she says, but her lord understands what she feels”.

No human can enter the deepest and darkest part of my heart to soothe, hush and calm it. Only the Lord.


I could not do without Thee,

For years are fleeting fast,

And soon in solemn oneness

The river must be passed;

But Thou wilt never leave me,

And though the waves roll high,

I know Thou wilt be near me,

And whisper, “It is I”.


Finally the last stanza came and tears rolled down my cheeks. People have left me and I have left people. Some people left because they couldn’t cope with my excesses and I don’t blame them one bit. Others left because I couldn’t meet up with their standards. I don’t blame them either. I pushed some away and they left. I cried over some and still didn’t even notice some leave. Some didn’t leave by choice. They promised never to leave but death took them away and it’s sad that nobody has power over death. Through all these human helplessness and limitations, I found someone that come what may, will never leave. “And though the waves roll high, I know thou wilt be near me, and whisper, “it is I”.


The church chorused an “Amen”.