Download here
Shades & Shadows Anthology
Download here
Chrysolite Poem of the Month (January 2018)
When did you last read Shakespeare?
You’ll hear his voice in this collaborative piece of poetry which revolves round the stimulating theme of Love and Ego.
LADY of VENICE by Hanniel Mofeyintoluwa Heywhy (The Pen-Lady) & Samuel Amazing Ayoade (Blazing Pen) 🔥
SIRE:
Mistress, the way I lay myself on my thoughts taught me
That I have left my breath in your skin
Worn atop the surface of your left palm
And now, here am I left without the right
of affection, In my right plans…
LADY:
Sire, you were the treasure I daily sought,
The one I chose amidst million others.
You got me flying like a fairy with new wings.
How do I describe the joy that lit my heart?
That for you alone it stayed alive!!!
SIRE:
You were the groove I never wanted to escape
And the waves I would have drowned in
Till you chose to frown away my smiles
And drown them away into distant miles beyond the shore.
I have become a ripple atop a still water
LADY:
A Ruth I want not become in love sire;
My heart beat and leaps for you
Yet a fool for love I want not become.
Love is a beautiful thing they say;
But Sire say, can there be beauty
Beauty without a speck of imperfection?
You pushed aside our little world.
You fault our starry cosmos
Yet you want me to pay for your crime
A Ruth truly I am not!!!
SIRE:
Cast your words upon the waters
And after many days shall I find it
For “sorry” is the way weights wane
And sweet words dissolve the heart’s burdens
For you I stand at the other side of the waters
Maybe, your words will return
And you with your words return, or in-turn An echo resounds…
LADY:
LADY OF VENICE
Here I am at the other side,
Waiting at least for a rose atop the waters
To prove, even if a bit of you remorseful.
Keep waiting as I am till dryness visit of water land.
Nothing kills our hearts faster than our pride!!!
SIRE:
Lady, I have lent a word of the elders
For the price of the tortoise pride
Became a shattered shell, and battered legs
And I, I have swallowed my pride for your prize
To return with this boat of love, and a lot of thornless roses
For distance is of space and not the heart
I my fullness doth void before you my Lady
Let sail us together, beyond this river
LADY:
Oh my! Handsome, here bury I my pride;
For where else do I belong if not thy side?
I doth submit myself like Rebecca, unto thee Issac,
Here I am to water thy feet and thy cattle…
I throw now my pride into the ocean to forever travel;
the journey of no return.
Now I say, let bury us our ego
With the language our lips speaks better,
My Lord, so say I ‘Sorry’, on bended knees…
© January 2018
Posted by Indunil Madhusankha
Shortest African Poem
We, the team at Chrysolite Writerz, extend our sincere greetings to our readers for a happy 2018 with the amazing gift, “Shortest African Poem” which is probably the shortest poem in the world, penned by the president of Chrysolite Writerz, the award winning Samuel Amazing Ayoade (Blazing pen).
Author Bio
Samuel Amazing Ayoade is a writer in all genres of literature, including music. He was born in the mid-90s to a missionary family. He is a lover of God and a teacher of His Word with a practical difference. He has served in several capacities to expand God’s Kingdom on earth. Some of his works have been published on websites (literary and news), anthology and magazines. A graduate of Animal Health Technology (2017) from the Federal College of Animal Health and Production Technology, Apata, Ibadan. He is the President of The Chrysolite Team – an art, literature and media platform operating from Nigeria. He has an acolade of awards of which the most recent is the Wordiator Poetry Flash, which he just won.
Mobile: 08141858259
Facebook: fb.com/Samuelayoade.9
E-mail: samuelamazingayoade@gmail.com
Chrysolite Poem of the Month (December 2017)
Peace and Pieces by Samuel Amazing Ayoade BlazingPen
(of truth, of justice)
Salam alay’qum. Peace be unto you. Peace
Is the way to start a noble war, standing upon a rosary…
.
Wear yourself into the body of a beggar, or a hungry lad
seeking solace in the cover of another human’s belongings
(A human like you but with four feet, a tail and furs)
That is the way to tear your body into pieces
Hurtful pieces. A food for flies. A drink for dogs
That is the way to become a victim of the words of the ‘gods’
that divide the body and the soul, bones and marrows…
Another way to die, is to swallow the pride of an abuse, protest
and cry yourself into a justifiable end, or become the prayer of a cheated orphan
Pleading for justice and solace before ‘men in black’
And watch your soul being searched out of your body by the guns of uniformed men
(Humans like you but with four feet, a tail and furs)
.
Here are the pieces of some child…
I loved to sing lullabies to tinge the ears of cradles
Until a boy soaked himself in his own blood
with heaven in his mouth. He swallowed heaven:
A kind of heaven resting on a white stick – a lollipop
A lullaby… Something else… Then a lollipop
Another stray girl-child on the street of Agege, confused
Heaven entered her ears, Paradise in her mouth but
the feeling of the ‘other parts’ were hell. Hell and a lake of fire
She lost her way because some humans like you strayed her
with a lullaby… Something else… And a lollipop
Yet, these men swam their way out of a toothless justice route
Today, I grow myself into an envoy of peaceless Peace. Or pieces
…In between…
I found another man in the middle of this injustice
(A human like you but with four feet, a tail and furs)
who lived between heaven and earth in peace… And stolen pieces
The way to wear a crown of a noble, or become a god:
Throwing himself into the consignment of a king, with no assignment
Wears the skin of a noble steward with glossy lips of fat lies, no assessment
farts through his mouth, drinks the dividends of the subjects, no investment
Like worms. Termites. He terminates wealth in Rocks, in woods… Masses harassment
But he became a brother in the hood, for sucking blood as refreshment
This type of justice has no tooth, I am lost. Find me… I. Am. Lost. Lost is my name
.
This is the way to crush a kingdom, or terminate a dynasty
Eat your subjects and grow. Grow your cancerous groins into animals in ‘agbada’
Wear the wig of injustice and strike the gavel of corruption
.
Having done all. Sleep. Rest in Peace and your dear nation
In pitiable pieces… You have done well.
Author Bio
Samuel Amazing Ayoade is a writer in all genres of literature, including music. He was born in the mid-90s to a missionary family. He is a lover of God and a teacher of His Word with a practical difference. He has served in several capacities to expand God’s Kingdom on earth. Some of his works have been published on websites (literary and news), anthology and magazines. A graduate of Animal Health Technology (2017) from the Federal College of Animal Health and Production Technology, Apata, Ibadan. He is the President of The Chrysolite Team – an art, literature and media platform operating from Nigeria. He has an acolade of awards of which the most recent is the Wordiator Poetry Flash, which he just won.
Mobile: 08141858259
Facebook: fb.com/Samuelayoade.9
E-mail: samuelamazingayoade@gmail.com
Posted by Indunil Madhusankha
Call for Submissions – THE CHRYSOLITE CHRISTMAS ANTHOLOGY
Amidst the great rejoicing of the festive season, the team at Chrysolite Writerz is excited to announce the news of our latest project, THE CHRYSOLITE CHRISTMAS ANTHOLOGY (Editor-in-Chief: Samuel Amazing Ayoade, Co-Editor: Indunil Madhusankha). We are on a search for Christmas poetry which are packed with sharp imagery and profound meaning for possible consideration to be published in this upcoming poetry anthology. There is no specified limit to the number of lines of an entry, and you are encouraged to send as many pieces as you wish. Forward all your submissions with your personal details and author bio to the Editor-in-Chief, Samuel Amazing Ayoade as a Facebook message on or before the 24th of December 2017. You will be notified personally if your piece(s) are accepted into the anthology, once the review process comes to an end. For any queries regarding the submissions, you may contact the Editor-in-Chief via Facebook. We eagerly look forward to reading your wonderful Christmas poems.
With season’s greetings,
Indunil Madhusankha,
Editor – The Chrysolite Team/ Co-Editor – THE CHRYSOLITE CHRISTMAS ANTHOLOGY.
Chrysolite Writer of the Year 2017
We, the team at Chrysolite Writerz are delighted and honoured to publish on our site the winning poems of the Chrysolite Writer of the Year Awards Competition – 2017.
Our warmest congratulations to the winners on their great achievement!
First Place Winning Poem – Chrysolite Writer of the Year 2017
REDEMPTION by Ogedengbe Tolulope Impact
Once upon a time…
We walked around on earth’s diurnal course
Like vagabonds without the essence of life
We walked around with the testament of death
Written upon the slates of our souls.
We walked and grew with the feathers of time,
Chasing after the shadows of dead dreams
Like fugitives meandering the tortuous paths
Of dead end with darkened hearts.
In the vanity of our grovelled minds,
We began to build a ladder of babel
For posterity to leave a lasting name
But the almighty God saw the vain attempt
And confounded us with confused tongues.
Amidst those shattered wreckage of illusions,
We were dispersed like dry pollen grains
And scattered abroad the surface of the earth
Like sheep without a shepherd’s touch.
We became lips of confused languages,
Feeding upon the swinish husks of sins
Until the redemption of the purchased possession
Which brought us back into a glorious liberty.
Now we come together in oneness of mind,
Building our world with solid bricks of trust
And despite the diversities of our tongues
We sing together the universal song of love.
Second Place Winning Poem – Chrysolite Writer of the Year 2017
THE WORLD AND TONGUES by Mesioye Affable Johnson
The world is too loose,
& what holds us are just tongues
finding a language in a confused wind
to call fluttering men like us,
– say a boy milked by war
beside his mother drenched in lullabies,
– say a girl who men gives well memories
in depth of a man gargling fame in Lagos,
– say a widow dripping wishes on fine stones,
– say nothing finding home in a city’s smiles
& a city’s smiles finding home in nothing.
Fire is the crow for those who are late
to wake up, like Borno. Water is the
voice of men carrying deserts on their bodies, &
sand is everyone’s tongue : Of men keeping
memories in engraved dates, of boys
too impatient to learn
lyrics of pebbles in their mother’s absence
before singing tombstones. To live is our smiles
running motion of tired leaves,
I tell you, no one is homeless. There are rooms
below our feet calling men to abundance,
calling us people of sands, they are tongues too,
ask Ozubulu’s blue shirt designed in elegies.
Tongues are songs that sings us, & at dusk again,
we’ll lend these rooms our city’s tongue
because the world is a call and response &
we cannot afford to give what we do not have.
Third Place Winning Poem – Chrysolite Writer of the Year 2017
MISUNDERSTOOD by Patience Emudianughe
Your father spoke to your mother and she never understood
She served war when he asked for peace
But How does one find peace in strange words?
How does one serve peace when they hear war?
Her parents told her peace was at home
buried in the words she knew
But she ran towards the war drums
Your fathers tongue was honey
but when words flowed
A thousand thunderstorm ranged
Your father spoke to your mother
and she never understood
She sighted love in a war drum
and she ran to embrace it
Her parents pointed out letters
that she knew
but she buried her mind
And now she serves war even when she wants peace
Posted by Indunil Madhusankha
FO EYE WEY SHADO NEVA SEE LAIT
We, the team at Chrysolite Writerz are delighted to publish the poem, FO EYE WEY SHADO NEVA SEE LAIT on our blog which was placed first in the competition, PIDGINIZATION 2017.
Our warmest congratulations to the winner, OLUWATOBI OPEMIPO PRECIOUS.
FO EYE WEY SHADO NEVA SEE LAIT
Laif na laik cha-me-le-on
E fit bi white, e fit bi lemon
Laif na laik woman wey get belle
E fit born Paul, e fit born Pele.
Bot dis puem wey you dey read
Na only wan kulot e dey wia.
Dis puem wey you dey see
Na only wan song e dey sing.
Dis puem no get mouth,
Bot e get pipul wey e dey greet
Dis puem no get hand,
Bot e get pipul wey e dey hail.
Dis puem na fo boiz dem
Wey eye don see sorrow see death.
Dis puem na fo men dem
Wey hustle hustle neva mek am.
Dis puem na fo pikins dem
Wey belle neva see bread see rice.
Dis puem na fo we two
Wey dey look baba God eye fo clue.
Dis puem na fo widows dem
Wey husbands don kpai comot fo laif.
Dis puem na fo girls dem
Wey mama don abadon fo street.
OLUWATOBI OPEMIPO PRECIOUS
(Winner, PIDGINIZATION 2017)
Posted by Indunil Madhusankha
CRUISED et CRUSHED, A Story Co-Written by Samuel Amazing Ayoade & Lawal Oluwakemi
Read this poignant story revolving round the pathetic plight of a child who undergoes ruthless abuse at the hands of a pervert.
It emphasizes the need for paying constant attention towards children irrespective of their age, and also the importance of imparting sex education to children starting from a very younger age.
The authors dedicate the story to all those who have undergone incidents of abuse in their childhood.
Download the story as a PDF file here, CRUISED et CRUSHED.
Posted by Indunil Madhusankha
The Song of a Dying Soul – Samuel Amazing Ayoade
THE SONG OF A DYING SOUL
Please let go of my hand, son
For I may not make it to the other side
Of the river – I have known weariness
My throat is soaked in bitter throes
I am choked in the cold heat of death warrant
I was a soldier- a gallant one
But my enemy has found me today
I have sold my soul
To vanity (I did not know)
For all I did was a vain entity
My integrity, I kept in vain – an identity
Lost in the sea of insanity
Ayinde, sanity demands that you watch your steps
.
Labake, allow me to break you today
For definitely, I shall not return from this journey
I am sorry for the rose I gave you
I am sorry for the ring – and those times
When living room became- boxing ring
Labake, I have broken my vows- I am sorry
I wish I had another chance
To rewrite our love story
I never knew it will wreck this way
May I say for the first and last time: I love you
My dove, let your heart perch on the branches of green
.
Daughter,
I have a garden beyond the golden sea
On which I sowed seeds, not little
But today are these eyes open
That my wheat I sowed amidst thorns
Forgive me Asake – that I could not care for you
I did set my heart on vanities
Daughter, let your seeds dis-virgin the earth
.
Let go of my hand, son
For I may not make it to end
Of the river- I Have known weariness
My throat is soaked in bitter throes
But I will wait for you at the shore
Beyond the lilies, I’ll stand
Till you finish the course of your soul
Goodnight…!
.
Samuel Amazing Ayoade BlazingPen (2017)
BREAKING INTO WATER by Mesioye Affable Johnson
(The Chrysolite Poem of the Month)
I borrowed a garment from a burning river & tried fixing it
into mama’s nakedness but my face was a silent man too
walking alone in a wet street mothered by memories.
there is beauty in everything bitter:
lessons that your tongue stretches into a feet
reaching places tasting like the skin of thorns ,say grave, say Borno,
lessons that you only know home is a den of dreams caged
with flitting aroma from a woman’s lying body,
lessons that one’s mouth is a showroom of plague
where mothers trade in losses tagged on their sons as price for peace,
lessons that peace doesn’t less things that kill a dream
but leaves its bodies to wander in walls of nameless nation, lessons
that safety here only follows the dead & forsakes the living. My sister
was beautiful, no wonder she tastes like a pint of squashed bitter leaf.
bodies like this are light in a widow’s room of watery songs,
bodies like this show best ways to see light between tears of a maiden
whose husband got married to splitters after vow with sandy silences.
to be sweet , forget beauty. so some girls shaded my tears
making collages on my face that looks like their mother’s last sigh,
& there are boys under my chin becoming frames upon which
every bitter cheek is fitted in to build home for cobwebs, so
I wear ashes painted with watercolour from colours of water.
every noon is like forming a paper boat which consumes wreckage;
falling in fragments too heavy to journey the cries of a widowed land
into gallows of dryness. Tonight, we do not know how hungry
dawn will be but we do know dilution in songs is an appetizer
for all men going into the belly of dead things whose crunches
are lyrics wetting the breath of a city strangulated with nightmares.
here, even as an old man you form a boat, you load your children’s dreams
into it, forgetting how heavy in hunger they are & how they could become
a soil while tears, a seed growing on a nation’s chest where you planned
tearing the next noon for your creativity — wave where women wear
odd rhythms for their sons’ silences.
every man here is a singer, locate a microphone in their thighs, cos
yesterday, a man forced songs into another man’s boxer shorts
& I don’t know how to chew lyrics that follows a gun’s voice,
I don’t know the type of music this is &the more I try adding sweetness
to my mouth a bit, I dissolve like a cube of sugar
in hot things like the hell on my face. father was baptised in fire.
Posted by Indunil Madhusankha
Chrysolite Writers 