WELCOME TO POETRY INVOICE

Body of lost thought Let my body drink into the melodies of the night. And my eyes damp every night fireflies. Let my heart flow backwards to its vein, and a simple loose of wild side Let me drink to stupour the blood of the unannoited , and write storms like the chosen Let me fill up this space as i tumble rumple words like a child's play. Come we can be together Let me know the first butter-feel-fly you felt on that muddy walk. Dart them with dot's and com's that connect my senses Let scribble the name(s) of these in the colours of your heart, and paint memories worthwhile. Let walk on clouds and sit where the crimson wave rests. And name mother's concubines on the stretch on her thighs. #Jolade

THE BEST WAY TO DIE They are rivers beneath  every tongue of man, Which burn the purity out to a metaphorical pebbles, Pudding the puffing to a river of ghostly room. I had once written my shadow with a broken pen, But it faded like a sliced smoke from a durry. . If life throw you into dreams of scattered incubus, Break your tears with a rod of   no visible shadow, And speak inbetween your bright written palms, For every human is bounded to be broken-ness, Which we will all live to be burn with the  flames. . The pillar of death hold two rivers with a language, They're written in  Scriptures of survival and death, For no one knows a rhythmic pattern of death, But we can all see every human's destiny  buried, With drenched agony of tears from a thousand soul. . My mother told me some tales from genesis till end, That can swallow a whole city into shattered vanity, She said I am a replica of Adam's ribs with a mark, I shouted and moulded every night from

HOW TO KISS      Take her to a room that spells the lyrics, Of silence at the bank of a dying darkness, Where your eyes becomes a light to behold. Hold onto her hands;let her feel your breathing While looking directly to her salty bleary eyes. Move a step closer to her world vibrant chest, Let your body collapse on her fountain front, For she will adjust the movement in her eyes, Like wanting to push you towards the wall, Don't stop. Ramp your hands round her waist, To gasp her mind for breathe at a low haste, When you hear your name called at that time, Don't go.it's a distraction.You're lucky for now. Tell her words that can wet the fire in her mind, Let your words form various sleeping tablets, For she will dance to the beat of your mouth, And lock her eyes till its help get up folded, Don't be scared, don't run away from yourself; 'Cause you're  to feel your body witnesses, To burn out fear into rivers of boldness. Trace your le

BOYS - a river of thousand legs like raindrops Cos our mother's thighs is a believer of wrong statement directed by golden tongues. -the entrance of our lover's paradise is a book crushed like angry wind & the result is a rose of miserable funeral booming like empty sand so when we find nothing like paradise in the heart of our dwellers we wash our feets 3 times in the mouth of death like children running into shadows of tasty salt. -home breathing like gods in the chest of ibadan for boys calling their father's name an illiterate & a city of blood flowing through the body of a city somewhere in Benin -we are gathering the dust of angels to shake the mountains of gods on red carpet cos the world is a phrase river knitted by the voice of owners & strangers --- -but if those wild thoughts on our faces are singing us temptations of nothingness --- then we cast ourselves into rivers of burnt children cos our lives are hug on the rope of

My mother's prayer : Hush! In Jesus name, father we rap our minds Into the storm of a sea voice; where memories are birds of fire  carrying our words into litters of money. Who knows maybe our enemies are vehicles driving us to a road of beautiful sadness; but I know,those roads are empty bottles of blood beers & fading covers-- like a solider falling into scripted series of singing waters after dead storm. "Mother,prayers are always hiding beneath our feets anytime we curse our neighbors" Hush! Father, forgive us our sins & trespasses for we are made of nature sand of time where songs are familiar with our holy-ghost & our living souls are challenged chemistry balancing with the tears in our eyes; because there's nothing holding us back not even the man in casting colours that gives us propaganda of dead-law-papers to sign. "Mother,what is propaganda when our shadows are not feeling the same with us?" Hush! Father, yo

LAST NIGHT i Last night, i saw her in the eyes of a young girl who sat beneath the twinkling stars to fetch memories of bitter sweet for merry moon with seasoned smiles to drink from the jars of teary tales. I saw her wearing the grief of love like two separated lovers with broken hearts who silently mourn in solely sadness the direly death of their treasured love murdered along the street of torn trust. ii Last night, I saw her in the eyes of a young girl who sat beneath the twinkling stars wearing the pang of neglect like two separated lovers learning the lessons of absent love. ©Tolulope Impact 2018

OF WATERS AND THE WILD If we begin this tale from the left, many will see the sons and daughters of tomorrow emerged. Did God really said "let there be light"? Or was it a planted falsehood in hearts? Are we really wet in the image of God or in the complexities of the devil? Who are you by the way? When was the last time you check the complexion of your life? Wildness pulls the trouser of sanity For Wild has power, water has rocked humanity to succumb. I have counted the number of my days on earth and carved it on the pumpkin leaves. I have nothing to worry about even if death comes today. I have started cackling again in the forest. This light will bear me witness that I came, I warned them of hazard of falsehood, I held a tilted peace among men, I graced the World Series of pains; Yes,  this light will bear me witness. The fire place is made for lost dreams when they are found in your eyes. No one knows where the wind blows. Let this note play in your b

FEBRUARY . . The letters of her name led me to the beach Opened my ears to tossing waves Dissolved me in the colours of water And my body broke into a poem- here is a piece of me . F- Flowers, music, art, silence, memories, nature, poetry, rainbows, beauty and butterflies; this place is spinning into a lullaby, the preacher said this was the earth before the test . E- Every turn reminds me of a friend, the last time i called her name, a leaf fell from a tree, God clad his lips with diverse tongues . B- Bob left with a word, i sowed it on the soil of my heart, it grow into my mother's image, it was beautiful living in her illusion again-life itself is a mirage . R- Reminiscing times is like living in songs, the wind filled my body with birds, i sang and became free- it's what we do when our skins find solace in storms . U- 'Until we forge a face out of the sun, we'll always see our reflections in dark mirrors' - said a man whose mout

SEX TAPE - EPISODE 1 [The author of myself] BY PRINCE JOE. I knew for so long that i may not live long. My life had been simple but rigid. So rough like a rustic skin on fresh water. The way things goes make my conscience stunt into nothingness. I was 12 years of age when I lost my sister in an accident on our way to school. Then, I knew nothing like my life is fooled of myself, even though I tried to write things right: I still gets into -- dissapointement that always make me a body of melancholy admist my mates. My sister couldn't have died, if not for my sluggishness and my account of putting things on an unserious note. The incident actually happened like a dream that flashed my memory like the day I escaped death in the hands of bullet during a war between some gang members named:Aìyè, a very notorious people. Immediately my sister was hit by a car, I was still on a slow moon walk like my legs were gone off from my body - empty. My sister was grumbling in pains and str

WELCOME  to a literary INTERVIEW with a prolific writer:Mr. Jide Badmus. Ahmed - Host Jide Badmus - Guest Ahmed: Welcome, sir We are happy to have you here. Ahmed: _Can you please give a brief introduction about yourself?_ Guest: My name is Jide Badmus. Some call me JBard. I am a husband. A father of two pretty girls An electrical engineer, a poet and a author. Ahmed: _Sir, can we know what made you go into poetry? Guest: It is a part of me. I grew up writing stories for my friends, siblings and parents to read. I took a liking to reasing. I found myself trying to put thoughts into words and trying to create stories . Ahmed: Oh great! It's in your blood It run through your veins. Guest: 2002 was when I wrote my first poems. I wrote two love poems and somehow lost them. Ahmed: Aw, sorry it's happened Guest: I found the poems when I was cleaning my room later in the year and read them. I was surprised I cooked up something as good. It felt like I was reading a s

SLEEPING BEAUTY OF AFRICA A  beautiful girl mother never wanted She crawled over the Mediterranean Sea, searching for a home. Till the moon came from where life began She slept on a loamy soil that became Africa. She became a glittering stone that spoke the golden language With breathe like the fragrance of an apple. Foreigners fell at her feet; To artistically worship the curve of her thighs. Her beauty became a worthless treasure When her breast fell in his - Europe’s hands. Who drank the oil flowing between her thighs He entered her dream to steal her precious resources. Africa, your beautiful daughters are not coming forth Because your ugly sons refuse to die. If you knew Idi Amin would waste the seeds of your womb You would have let Sankara killed him before he lured you to sleep. I was told you are sleeping to keep your dreams alive But those dreams have been shattered by your blind leaders. Your beauty is fading, you are now naked before the world Rise up, be