POETRY INVOICE TOP THREE POEMS OF THE WEEK

POETRY INVOICE PRESENT:
TOP THREE POEMS OF THE WEEK

1ST:
DEATHS-TINATION
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These lines are dark in complexion
I wrote them at the middle of somewhere, heading nowhere
They are the crumbs that fell from the art of last night
When my pen became the shadows of desolate bodies
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I was born on the 26th day of the 12th month- from my mother's womb, i was even
I have always thought life would come in same order
Till every seconds tick, with a pinch of oddness
- a friend left, clinging to death in holy matrimony
- my lover says love is sour on my lips, she left
- fate played dice with my heart, leaving goodbyes as my soulmate
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I was taught to live with the scars
Of the bruises in my mother's smile
I grew up with the art of deception
Wrapped in the attire of beauty in men's words
That, it's the only way they set their tongues free
To speak their father's language, not to a woman's ears, but between her legs
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I die at every birth of a new sunrise
Cause, another boy would stray in wounded verse
And another girl would seek the face of death
We were born to walk in circles- it's the only way to reach our deaths-tination
For so long, we've been on this voyage
Running to catch up with life and sanity
But, she keep spinning with insanity trailing her skin
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Tomorrow, another soul would find a reason to live in
the confines of suicide
And another shall write history in metaphors of lost memories- that's how life dances to the beat of fate and its sober lyrical reflections
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These lines are dark in complexion
I wrote them at the middle of somewhere, heading nowhere
They are the crumbs that fell from the art of last night
When my pen became the shadows of desolate bodies
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© Olabisi Abiodun Akinwale
Undiluted Poet
#UndilutedPoetry
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2ND:

MY HOME IS MY SHADOW

Oh my home!
The fragmented walls of a muddy castle,
Decorated with the  wide-mouthed holes,
Open to air like the jaws of an hungry lion,
The hideout of starved little-little creatures.

Oh my home!
The concrete depiction of craggy floors,
The vivid paintings with pale colours,
Revealed by the cracked roofs; that leak
the secret of your weaknesses to the sun.

Oh my beautiful home!
What happened to your shining ornaments?
The gaudy chandelier hanging on the roof
has now been replaced by cobwebs & dust.
My portrait are now fading & wearing out.

Oh my opulent home!
What happened to your well-stocked barn?
Where are the grains in your stowage silo?
They have been attacked by parasite & pest,
Now as empty as the second day of market.

Oh my beautiful home!, Oh my beautiful home!
The wardrope of hanged clothes and shoes
as ragged as a scarecrow's tattered wears.
The room of weary bones, long & loose-fitted
necks dangling freely on paper-thin  shoulders.

Oh my home!
The sound of your name on my dehydrated lip
Is like the cracked words from a broken tongue,
But no where else to call my own home than you
Yes no where else to go, my home is my home.

Fire is burnng on the roof of our homes.
Everyone is running out to the werstern hills
Does running from the fire put off the fire?
Is there really a place where fire can't burn?

Oh my home!
You are the mirror that reflect my origin,
I have no where else to call my own home,
You are my home, you are my shadow,
How do I run away from you my home.

©® Jamiu Ahmed
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3RD:
AND LIBYA SAW OUR WEAKNESSES

and my CNN opened on a breaking news on a dark street in Libya, about Nigerians chained to be sold as slaves.
the television slide and roved over,
their tears shattered and their blood spoke of pains on the blazing ground.
the newscaster hid her face,
the screen went on chaos,
the remote ceased as their tears quaked the entire earth.
from people' basket of wailing, my heart shrieked and three cities were built:
graveyard, hell and death.
This was the totality of manslaughter,
a trade made by Africans against Africans.
they made their souls like an old nest,
torturing their brothers as if night and day are not the same to a blind man.
another ship has capsized in my body and my eyes is yet to find fins.
I have to die for these men!

I will hold down Libya for this blood!
I will decorate their cities with skulls and cracking cackling ghosts.
I will spread black demons on their grounded farmland.
I will break the bones of your infants,
Make their youths desolate to the world.
I will curse their old men and women,
Their rivers  shall be blood like Egypt.
Not in this season will my brothers wail like this and my government is silent!
Libya! Libya!!  When I shall start my dirge, your home shall be my starting point.
I have written my national diplomacy,
the world has seen my woes howled,
I have consulted the embassies of the UN
remember, butter is not made for monkeys!
when those blood shall start singing an elegy, none of your ears shall stand.
the last time I visited Libyan cemetery,
Nigerian dusts was what I saw.
if you see my mother looking out for me through the window,  tell her I have gone to Libya for my countrymen.

I am not a streamline to be wasted,
I will like to see if there are survivors,
I will like to see my people even their dust because I will take them back home
If my government is silent, i won't be!
these are men that have children,
these are women that need husbands,
these are youths, our pride, to run our memories, to sip our memories, to occupy those bed back home.
Libya! Libya!  Where are my seeds seized on your border of sin and destruction?
leave me to a piano, I will play a note of your cruelty and music of sadness!
Bite your own tongue and see how painful it is to engage in a war.
and these weaknesses of my people you won't see in me,  I shall stand like Okonkwo to kill and make life to those who wants to live!
I will anoint your head with sore palmwine that forsake fermentation.
those blood  you wasted are the sap of ancestral trees.

till then,  if see my father looking out for me,  tell him that I have Libya on my palms, our weaknesses  they saw yesterday is not cowardice but strategies and passport to reach the world.
it is a martyrdom, making me to wax stronger.
we walk our sagging lips
through a street of walls and emptiness
we hold our hopes and they fall like sands creating cascaded dreams like a rainbow in the sky.
  Nigeria is blood not water!

Your Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent

REVIEW:
The three poems were selected not because of their language, or poetic devices.  But because of how they communicated with the words and gave us the ability to define life in another form. They have really did a great job. 

Signed by:
Head_
Prince joe
Dec 8,2017.