Chrysolite Writerz Nigeria is calling for entries on the theme “SACRIFICE” to commemorate Samuel Amazing Ayoade’s 12 Years of writing and 6 Years of Poetry.
*Submission should not be more than 2500 words.
*Send as attachment to firstname.lastname@example.org with the subject line as CSSC001 and your short biography in the body of the mail.
*Winning entry shall be screenplayed and the winner shall co-write a play with Samuel Ayoade.
*All top 3 entries gets a 2month online publishing contract.
*Entry closes JUNE 20.
I Will Pronounce Your Name I will pronounce your name, Naett, I will declaim you, Naett! Naett, your name is mild like cinnamon, it is the fragrance in which the lemon grove sleeps Naett, your name…
Source: I Will Pronounce Your Name – Leopold Sedar Senghor
BACK IN THIS PLACE
I’m back in this place where the moon rejoices
at the hearing of melodious lullabies
sung into the cranium of crying babies
who are stuck to mother’s backs at the end of noon tide.
I’m back in this place where death raises the deads of the cemetry
and hades and the grave bow their ugly heads at moonlight
to listen rapt attention to the tales told by mothers that were alive
on the day when Obatala ‘came’ here. .
I’m back in this place where stones were currencies of exchange
where we display our goods by the quiet road paths
and birds of the air serves as sales reps by lonely roadsides
until a viable buyer surfaces from the side of the hills.
I’m back in this place where all spirits are gods
except Alujaanu which is the only evil one
that swallows our morsels of ‘fufu and eats our ‘mangoes’
under the huge Iroko that sits in the horrible Irumole forests.
I’m back in this place where pestles pound the heart of mortars
and the thistles from this blessedly cursed grounds
sweetens hearts of mortals still
where the birth of a new born is marked by the death of an old bull.
In this place where babies are not thrown in ‘kitten sacks’
but on blessed backs that were bless’d of God
A place where there is no food for lazy fools
Fools who sit on the labour of the masses have no place at home.
Home is not blocks and walls
It is not bricks and clays
It is not delicacies and strife
Home is dry morsels with peace.
I’m back in this place again
I’m back to my roots
Home! Sweet Home! I come
where honey is a feeling and not a nick.
(C) 2016 BACK IN THIS PLACE
Samuel Amazing Ayoade (Blazing Pen)
Award – Writer – Category (POETRY)
GOLD – Micheal Oyeyemi
SILVER – Micheal Ace
DIAMOND – Samuel Amazing Ayoade
BRONZE – Caleb Asset
CRYSTAL – Oki Kehinde Julius
QUALITY POETS — presents her first poetry competition. ‘Remembering Home’ is a theme that is aimed at exploring the very broad branches of Home. Nativity and several other factors are …
Source: REMEMBERING HOME —POETRY COMPETITION
and filing of blades in the battle for bones and flesh.
Stream of blood flows,
across the altar,
that prays the slaughter of men.
Stench of horror arrest the atmosphere,
as grave of silence hides in the room filled with fear
one way in,
the way in out.
empty bodies of souls.
Whose patience awaits the judgement of their ill fates.
Rain of hot tears that blur the sight,
as they approach the altar,
that prays their death
Blood is sold in litres.
Intestines in strands.
Eyes and kidneys in pairs.
Tongues in bits.
Flesh in sizes.
whose courage of wickedness,
are lured by the taste of greed for quick riches.
human parts for sale.
Blood in the eyes.
The lacrimal-glands are dried.
Hearts are wrapped,
in the wickedness of life.
Mercy has died long ago in its birth.
No justice of security in the land.
Wasted are lives,
in those hidden secluded corners of life.
Rise and pray,
a glimpse trip,
into the world of men of the underworld,
who gives scare to our land.
About the writer:
Michael Oyeyemi Sui generis is a budding poet. A student of FCAH&PT
Phone number: 08162333845
Against nature and mother earth
Our actions replay
This clash of interest
On this market place, we began the crusade
Proclaiming unity in diversity
Bring forth your strong reasons
Convince me, Mohammed
Convince me, dear preacherman
These gods which is supreme?
We are, you are; all in one, the war we began.
The broken line runs across my face
Across the streets
I heard the sounds of machetes, guns and bombs
This wall which blinds all together, keeps us apart
Like predators, we maimed, tooth for tooth, eye for eye, the blood bath
Skulls and broken bones of men, the residues of strife
Horror and eerie darkness fell upon the earth
Is this the peaceful abode, we once lived in?
What good is it to avenge the course of a supreme being?
Intolerance, you are the nightmare of every dark path
The seams sown on the page of this combat
Fanning the fiery flames of discord
Set the spear in action
Let the earth open wide its mouth, for yet another season of mutual suicide.