WELCOME TO POETRY INVOICE

# EPISTLE_03 To The Bad Apples Of you dog-headed glutton I preach Of your little enormous wealth I scold at. For they are glut gained by guilt; From the one-toothed kids. Let your eyes shun the sky,you prodigal. For you are an epitome of shame; Innate with obscenity and corruption, Which as clogged your torrid sight, From being passionate–for the masses. Take up your rod you Moses! And strike the rock of honesty and faithfulness. For a day is not be forecast "beautiful day" Without the wandering of the shining sun, across the sky. So you venal! Ride on the chariot of these words, And feel the breeze, Of tranquility and haven on it. ©Abioye Samuel Akorede. #The_Poetry_Apostle

# EPISTLE_02 To The Angel Of The Night Hey you angel! You angel of the night. Hear the echoes of my voice, And the reverberation of my wailing. To quench that destructive revel Beneath your skirt. And to clad Those two hills Ahead your chest. For they are symptoms of woman Born of decency. Not to be converted by you whore, To symptoms of obscenity, That Caresse soul to purgatory. Hey you angel, You angel of the night I cry, That you should return From your abominable-hood To the hut of woman born of decency, Like a prodigal daughter. And clad your shameless acts, With reticent and courtesy, Like a cat. For beauty exposed, Is no beauty at all. For the beauties of beauty, Lies in decency, And not in waywardness. This is an epistle, With one edge, For you angle, Of the night. ©Abioye Samuel Akorede. #The_Poetry_Apostle.

# EPISTLE_01 (To the proud) Dear you proud This rain of my epistle, Is not to shower you with compliments. But to quench that fire in you, Burning obscenity. To you proud Chirpy not in your deeds. For they are deals to destruction, And inevitable mar to your madness. Or have you seen a star, Standing lonely, Claiming Galaxy? For its glory is innate with its spices, That it can't resist to be alone. Or haven't you comprehend, That the glory of the moon, Escalates from the grace of the sun? For if the moon put on the hat of pride, And the sun stays inert. Where then shall be its(moon) brightness? The brightness blighted with pride. But to you proud I state, To sew for yourself,the garment of meekness, And dwell in the hut of humility. For your feather of pride, Can't endure the tempest of loneliness. Study the broom and the stars, Whose alone is an elusive task. But in group and bound. Lesson from the dove of the sky, Who rules in anarchy—no lea

POETRY INVOICE📝 INSPIRATIONAL QUOTES NINE Submitted Writers: Prince Joe Hon mujeeb Kenzy Agele Ayo Opeyemi Galad Judiasky Tolulope impact YemitteDpoet Holic Pen-ace DKings Undiluted poetry _________________________________ "Nothing comes freely in life, even the air that will breathe isn't free" (Prince Joe) _________________ Quote: "A friend is one who has the same enemies as you have". (Hon mujeeb) _________________ Quote: "To writers, words are pixels that forms imaginary pictures in the mind of their readers" (Agele Ayo) _________________ Quote: "You are the only change your life need" (Opeyemi Galad) _______________ Quote: "The art of war is not the strength or the population of an army but the tactics use as the shield ,lets practice the tactics in our daily life" (Kenzy) _____________ Quote: "Time is precious and few, make every moment count or it becomes a memory to count" (Ju

Hearts and homes 12 Points to show you are a Grief Habitat 1. home will wear you your father's shoes and your feet will be boys lost in a vast city with echoes and owls and bit of memories broken like spines 2. fear will become a known thing, your heart will walk out of this place you will see ghosts changing into new cloths 3. you still cannot define what home is, you miss your mother, you drown in her eyes a body of water with memories swimming like loosed emotions 4. when your father died with the JTF your house became a cave for dusts and birds the sun melts in your head and you 5. cry 6. try 7. die 8. lie to your feet, tell them you want to make a circle with your toes, tell them you want to find fresh flowers for papa's graves, walk again into that street 9. what do you find here now? new life growing through the skull of a place where cloths tear like the skin of barbecued bodies in bombs 10. a little boy is making his throat a pipe of song, his mothe

the taste of family it tastes like dirge, the mourning breaking from the mouth of a new born, it tastes like the bitterness in the mouth of mothers who search for dried skulls of their husbands in a city where angels bear the weight of country men —it tastes like absence, my father's shadow left after him and we still search this room with torches we run our fingers through the walls for directions, something must lead us back home/ for the paths that lead home is broken like heart of my lovers —it tastes like crimson, a testimony of death spilling like oil in the body of a country, my brother fell and we all heard him groan, like dying for a county is as sensual as finding home after a long stroll through his woman's body —it tastes like my mother's body, she broke it for us like bread and we ate like unfathered children, we ate like unfathered demons —my mother's body is a confinement of dirges we all sing with her eyes. © Tohquality

LYRICS OF PATRIOTISM "...the labour of our heroes past shall never be in vain..." is a solo that follow strings of war on our heels, still, we drag these ill songs on a rock to a polling boot where another patriot votes on the chest of sands, maybe with his blood, cos I saw red, red,pint,pint, then dusts. stanza 1: I grew up in the wounds of my mother, and I nursed how pinching her silent moments draw tears to surround her wounds like fallen men in Biafra whose strengths could only guard lifeless things in a home of stones, of cankerworms, of roaming shadows near our dreams; father, a sore scenting stale sanity of democracy. chorus: whenever their tongues trace our ignorance, we become wet in synonyms horny of thrusting revolution. peace: practice a song that throws one in sighing rhythms, and unity: unlearn verses that glued mother to throats of termites, and nightmare roots ,depriving you colours in dream lights. stanza 2: we were thought how deep our hole

LEARNING A NEW LANGUAGE for a better language: rule 1: drop a teary word beside your next smiling sigh, rule 2: find home through rivers scripted on your face. basics: lover, there are words splattered on my soul's lips forming your name in epitaphs between falling tombstones from my eyes in waters moistured in memories that made me search for images of our last kisses somewhere in my heart,my memories,nothing, but... (I dropped three tear drops only for an ellipsis of cries and I moved on into fading love letters). lover, how your blood turned manure after sowing your shadow which now grows in freshness of a stinking dream made me a seeking legend of fine poems in a wordless coffin full of ghostly dictions, so, I became a tourist finding home in everything nourishing vultures in a land of bones, in a soul flattened by feet of dirges — your breaths, in a miracle brewed in bottles of beer for revival in its elixirs forgeting myself in the rolling chills from the t

JOURNEY TO NOTHING i there are two poles next street, stretching memories of mother on its dripping chest — a signpost for all breaths bidding their sons farewell between sighs of a home burying its head under the feet of a night song having father's name as soft lyrics. my lover was an interlude breaking smiles at a funeral of worships,while mother dared a journey to a thorny dusk and became a volunteer of red paints to show her love in a breaking news in February. when we hold ourselves in memories, something holds us in itself as memories too, but who knows? ii this city is the last drop of voice in the resounding gnashes of innocent veins strangulating the tears finding home in boys' skin; their blood describes way to baptism into a river of ashes while another fire starts under a girl's feet, a mountain of fire behind her, where should she find salvation, front? back? under? or just stand still and become a prophecy of rotten tongues? I am holding m