POETS ARE GOD

OMG!!!  A fast growing poet that goes by the name "Soul Therapist" says "poets are God"

Just yesterday evening, a young Nigeria poet was interviewed by Gingart blog about how he sees poetry and poets.. He  said "POETS ARE GOD" Believe me when i say am a Demi-God, i create with my own words and i caused things into existence with my words, what other characteristics of a God do i need?

Am yet to know how true this statement is and what prompted him to make such a statement.

Let's hear from the readers and lovers of poetry... Drop your views about this statement

I'm Thankful

Through my life journeys I have met so many people, some pulled me up and others tried to drag me down (note;TRIED). You know maybe I let them for a while, I gave them permission. Permission to step on me, permission to mock me, permission to treat me like trash and permission to make me feel inferior. But then I woke up, I told myself enough is enough, I didn’t want to be their shoe rug anymore so I fought back, it wasn’t easy at first but then I suddenly realized that I have people who cared about me, I realized I was surrounded with people who still believed in me when I was broken, I realized people were looking up to me to be a bigger person so I let go, I picked up from where I left off and I have found joy in who I am today. So I am thankful to all those who believed and are still believing in me. Thank you for being there when I needed friends the most.

Poem read by Emi Mahmoud award winning Sudanese spoken word artist on ed...

Poem read by Emi Mahmoud award winning Sudanese spoken word artist on ed...

FootPrints

Memories of the years gone by… and flashes from the last night’s dream..
Passion for an unfulfilled fantasy..to absolute belief in something that i have never seen !

Every accomplishment … each defeat ;
The lines i crossed … the races i didn’t even compete

The desires from a perfect affair…or lessons from a broken heart;
That familiar smell of someone long after we have part

Those lyrics of a popular old song … or a well kept secret known only to a few ,
An unexpected compliment from a stranger…or the anticipated silence of those i knew

The yes i said…the no i didn’t even mean;
Feeling smiles touch the heart… seeing the tears that didn’t flow and hearing that silent scream

The hellos i missed … the goodbyes i regret,
the places i visited … the books i read…

A collection of dates…time…names…places…the people i met…and with each that hidden anticipation of what else may lie ahead

All these shall forever remain a stamp on my heart and a footprint on my soul

Busy??!!

This became your favourite word unexpectedly.
You were too occupied all of a sudden
N you made me feel like a burden..
I tried to hide it but my eyes were flooded..
Wonderful memories became troubled thoughts…
Now I practically had to beg for the things I deserved..
Your attitude towards me made me unnerved

.

Will You?

Will you love me?

When I don’t call frequently?

 Will you love me?

When my presence is not too necessary?

Will you love me?

When I get too busy with my ambition?

Will you love me?

When I’m out of the nation?

Will you love me?

In the face of danger?

Will you love me?

In your furious anger?

Will you love me?

Now and forever?

Will you love me?

Or will you be like the others?

If

If you could look into my eyes right now
If you could listen to my heartbeat when I think of you
If you could feel the warmth of my hand in yours
If you could hold me and know that your safe in my arms
If you could take a deep breath and sense my love
If you could imagine me kissing your sweet lips
If you could only know how much I miss and desire you
If you can begin to understand these things
You would have an idea how much'I Love You

"GUNNED"

Always knew my love for the beautiful game ; football or joga bonito as some know it would one day lead to me reaping profits off it.  C'mon I had been a Gunner (an Arsenal fan)  for well over a decade ...from the time of Tony Adams to Patrick Vieira to Thierry Henry and to the current crop of players... I had seen it all. From the double-winning team of 2002 to the Invincibles of 2004  and through the trophyless period... I had lived and borne it all... and it appeared I was just about to be rewarded...
    I had become a regular player of Sports Betting or 'Alabi' as some know it even though I was yet to hit a major jackpot.  All these looked poised to change on Tuesday 3rd January 2017.
     A situation where you can use about a thousand naira or less to win possibly  millions could be classified as EMPOWERMENT you know... I was about to be empowered with my using #400 to win #290,000
     All looked set... Just one remained though... For my darling Arsenal to DEFEAT a Semi-team in my words;  Bournemouth. Edakun!  This wasn't too much to ask na and I already considered it done when other matches I had placed my bet on resulted in my favour.
   In the hours preceding  the all Important game I had  outlined what I'll spend the money on,  I had even promised bae some 10% of the total sum like I owed her my tithe . Headed to the viewing centre at 8:00pm with a friend - Rasheed who had similar interest in the game like I did only that he picked Arsenal to either win or draw while I went strictly for the former (a win) .
    I recall him telling me few minutes before kickoff that my ticket wouldn't pass the last hurdle and I replying that Tottenham awaits his.
    Match soon began and within the first twenty minutes,  my hope was dashed! Daniels and Fraser ran the show and my team as well as my ticket to above a quarter of a million naira was not one but two goals down.  I think I nearly peed on myself when the Cherries scored their third goal.  This was clearly my enemies at work!!! I fitn't understand .
   THEN,  hope soon arose . Within five minutes after the 70th minute,  we had cut the lead to one... and just then I hoped for a miracle...but it was never to be.  Arsenal finally equalized in added time but no winner to earn me bragging rights. Imagine Giroud celebrating when he could have made my day,  sorry my night ... Rasheed won the battle of the night as his ticket lived to see another matchday while mine was torn in my very before . I walked home dejected as I wondered why I was GUNNED by my beloved GUNNERS
   As for Rasheed?  Tottenham did the trick last I remember... Him Chelsea team no gree score to win him a little above #300k
   In all,  my love for the beautiful game and Yea Arsenal,  surpasses this loss

By Aipoh David 

August 18

Chapter 2: The Guilt

It was like a joke how a sad, moody and obscure like me could ever say the word “love” to a lady I met for the first time. To many the word is just a word with four alphabets but to me, it’s a force I have battled with for ages. I felt like an enemy recommending an enemy to a stranger using nice words. Love has never been my stuff, I spat on it long ago when the very essence to my life was snatched away by a force many called love and I was told not to question it without being given any reason. August 18. A day I cursed love and vowed never to let it know no peace. Before you start throwing stones at me remember this “Love is a thief” I stole something from me and left me to die in agony of it.

I was at the tombstone wailing when a voice so unpleasantly pleasant spoke to me, offering me that which I needed in my war against love. I later got to know it was the voice of sadness, mother of hatred. Her words were so enticing; at least it got all I needed at the moment.

“Nature has some secrets treasures to unfold if we are willing to accept” a wise man once told me but today under the cursed tree with the breathe struggling moon above my head I questioned this quote and the wiseness of this man, what treasures could nature have other than the pearl it connived with love to steal from me, now it goes about boasting of having a treasure.. A hopeless thief.

Earl, the beloved of my soul, the light that shone in my darkest darkness, the eyes that watched my back and directed my steps, the moments we shared shall forever live same goes for the memory of how you passed away, how do I get to live with them both? Sadness and Happiness, how do I get to live each day knowing I caused your joy and death? How do I deal with the guilt of your death?

After your death I tried to blame God and profane his holy name even when I know he is innocent but I would be coward to do such for how can blame him for the death of my beloved when your blood is still dripping from my hands even after many trials of trying to wash it off. Had I not forgotten the knife on the bed that fateful afternoon, had I not turned you on, had I not made you wet with romance, you wouldn’t have gone to the bed with me foolishly unzipping your bra and dipping my finger deep into your honey pie, you wouldn’t have fallen on the knife that pierced you and caused you to bleed internally which resulted to your death. The guilt of knowing you died playing love with me will eat me bit by bit, piece by piece until nothing remains of this body and soul.

I ran to poetry hoping it would help lessen the burden of the guilt but all I get to write, the lines I get to bring and its rhymes has been sadness rooted firmly upon a guilt I can’t deny, the guilt of killing my most beloved Earl.

August 18

Chapter 2: The Guilt

It was like a joke how a sad, moody and obscure like me could ever say the word “love” to a lady I met for the first time. To many the word is just a word with four alphabets but to me, it’s a force I have battled with for ages. I felt like an enemy recommending an enemy to a stranger using nice words. Love has never been my stuff, I spat on it long ago when the very essence to my life was snatched away by a force many called love and I was told not to question it without being given any reason. August 18. A day I cursed love and vowed never to let it know no peace. Before you start throwing stones at me remember this “Love is a thief” I stole something from me and left me to die in agony of it.

I was at the tombstone wailing when a voice so unpleasantly pleasant spoke to me, offering me that which I needed in my war against love. I later got to know it was the voice of sadness, mother of hatred. Her words were so enticing; at least it got all I needed at the moment.

“Nature has some secrets treasures to unfold if we are willing to accept” a wise man once told me but today under the cursed tree with the breathe struggling moon above my head I questioned this quote and the wiseness of this man, what treasures could nature have other than the pearl it connived with love to steal from me, now it goes about boasting of having a treasure.. A hopeless thief.

Earl, the beloved of my soul, the light that shone in my darkest darkness, the eyes that watched my back and directed my steps, the moments we shared shall forever live same goes for the memory of how you passed away, how do I get to live with them both? Sadness and Happiness, how do I get to live each day knowing I caused your joy and death? How do I deal with the guilt of your death?

After your death I tried to blame God and profane his holy name even when I know he is innocent but I would be coward to do such for how can blame him for the death of my beloved when your blood is still dripping from my hands even after many trials of trying to wash it off. Had I not forgotten the knife on the bed that fateful afternoon, had I not turned you on, had I not made you wet with romance, you wouldn’t have gone to the bed with me foolishly unzipping your bra and dipping my finger deep into your honey pie, you wouldn’t have fallen on the knife that pierced you and caused you to bleed internally which resulted to your death. The guilt of knowing you died playing love with me will eat me bit by bit, piece by piece until nothing remains of this body and soul.

I ran to poetry hoping it would help lessen the burden of the guilt but all I get to write, the lines I get to bring and its rhymes has been sadness rooted firmly upon a guilt I can’t deny, the guilt of killing my most beloved Earl.

August 18

Chapter 2: The Guilt

It was like a joke how a sad, moody and obscure like me could ever say the word “love” to a lady I met for the first time. To many the word is just a word with four alphabets but to me, it’s a force I have battled with for ages. I felt like an enemy recommending an enemy to a stranger using nice words. Love has never been my stuff, I spat on it long ago when the very essence to my life was snatched away by a force many called love and I was told not to question it without being given any reason. August 18. A day I cursed love and vowed never to let it know no peace. Before you start throwing stones at me remember this “Love is a thief” I stole something from me and left me to die in agony of it.

I was at the tombstone wailing when a voice so unpleasantly pleasant spoke to me, offering me that which I needed in my war against love. I later got to know it was the voice of sadness, mother of hatred. Her words were so enticing; at least it got all I needed at the moment.

“Nature has some secrets treasures to unfold if we are willing to accept” a wise man once told me but today under the cursed tree with the breathe struggling moon above my head I questioned this quote and the wiseness of this man, what treasures could nature have other than the pearl it connived with love to steal from me, now it goes about boasting of having a treasure.. A hopeless thief.

Earl, the beloved of my soul, the light that shone in my darkest darkness, the eyes that watched my back and directed my steps, the moments we shared shall forever live same goes for the memory of how you passed away, how do I get to live with them both? Sadness and Happiness, how do I get to live each day knowing I caused your joy and death? How do I deal with the guilt of your death?

After your death I tried to blame God and profane his holy name even when I know he is innocent but I would be coward to do such for how can blame him for the death of my beloved when your blood is still dripping from my hands even after many trials of trying to wash it off. Had I not forgotten the knife on the bed that fateful afternoon, had I not turned you on, had I not made you wet with romance, you wouldn’t have gone to the bed with me foolishly unzipping your bra and dipping my finger deep into your honey pie, you wouldn’t have fallen on the knife that pierced you and caused you to bleed internally which resulted to your death. The guilt of knowing you died playing love with me will eat me bit by bit, piece by piece until nothing remains of this body and soul.

I ran to poetry hoping it would help lessen the burden of the guilt but all I get to write, the lines I get to bring and its rhymes has been sadness rooted firmly upon a guilt I can’t deny, the guilt of killing my most beloved Earl.