Peanuts for Writers

This poem is culled from my unpublished Collection of Poems titled Love,Thoughts and Melancholy.It's long but It's so interestingly realistic that you will be through before you know it.

The poem also give an opinion on the question on the poll.

PEANUTS FOR WRITERS

Peanuts
When the ramblings are greater than the deep thought preambles
The lyrics of mumblings and weed
Are rich in pockets but poor in nuggets
Peanuts for writers
Journeying in dangerous filth
Of scrapping paper and internet dustbins
When the mere shouts of jollying and gallivanting
Needs no journey to be what needs to be


Pea
The nuts are getting cracked
The bad ones are getting glad
Paradise for the bad
Hellish smiles of worn clothes and burdened heart for the good

‘man , be grateful’
‘I am’
Grateful that nobody reads,
Little ratio with all sense of scrapping rationale
Grateful that MILLS AND BOON gives Amanda and Teju Cole, ‘fisan and ‘dare trouble
Grateful that nobody knows the readings as much as they know the CONCERTS




This is a heavy cross
Many horsewhips landing on the back and near the eye lid
To be a writ in the uncommon book of ordination
To be a madman troubled by the tales and the cymbals of the muses
Is a cross crossing like the corner piece; the proud home of the terrible witches
Rushdie must shake hands with JAYZ
For what draws them apart is not only the senses
it is far more than 50cents



‘I will be wished away soon by family
For nothing is my salary’
I am the salary of mankind
They buff and give nothing
They spit into their voices and clad it in their hatred
Thank God, their voices have a separate throat.

Peanuts for writers
Peanuts for writers
Though proud and regal in scribbling
Conjoining phrases in the sanity of spaces
The mad ones have the loot
The jives
The laughs
The cloth and clout
The murders
The robberies
The healing miracles
The strategic politics
All well paid like the gluttonous god; the mouth
And his cousin the stomach
But the keeper of remembrances
Left in the beggarly embrace of nil existences.




Eat the groundnut like a chipmunk
Be rough and scraggy
Walking into the sun- ‘so hot, nice global warming’
See your others from the same university and find it hard to eat
Find it hard to get married as you’re marred even before marriage
Rage within, smile and inquire
That earns you a slap from a useless policeman
Get shot and die- a reportage turns the hand to a pottage for the earthworms



If you like yourself become a writer
Become a writer
It is a severance from the goodies
All you will earn is respect
But respect cannot eat three square meals
Respect cannot bask in the euphoria of the times
A name that has no stomach
A voice that has no pocket
A mouth that eats peanuts
A hand that types till daybreak and beyond
If you like yourself become a writer
Blog till you die
Whether your blog makes you better than the blockhead!


Life has thrust upon the writers, a life to write
words begat everything
God is a writer
ALAS, we are the devils cast upon the earth to propagate the divine gift.

HE takes time to write the book of life
and the sequel, death
Invoice in, Invoice out
Writing will outlive man
But can the writer outlive hunger?



HOPE, I SAY HOPE
Amidst the peril of Soyinka
ALL MAY END WELL LIKE A CHILD’S STORY
HOPE, I SAY HOPE
But all mankind struggles for the single space
The doorway of hope is small in NIGERIA
The heated saucepans too many.
HOPE IN STRONG BEER
HOPE IN EMPTY LAUGHTER
HOPE IN WORLD CUP TICKETS
HOPE IN the awards but pretend ‘I don’t write for the awards’
‘Then I guess you write for the failures’-in the fragments of failed royalties.
Peanuts for writers
Lengthy scribbles breeds shorter audiences.

Laughing! When it's not Funny

You don't need to know what happened during the great flood if you were in Ikeja, Lagos, Nigeria, this evening. It was a great flood but this time with less disasters.
It was raining heavily and even the gutters were vomiting their contents on the road. the road meant for cars became very close to being used by Speed boats. I was drenched, so drenched I was competing with Yemoja in wetness.



But I was laughing. I really don't know laughter filled my throats these days. I wanted to curse but I just couldn't ...I was so cold I need a warm embrace from...(haahahah)
Women were shouting on top of their voices, passengers were complaining that the buses were not as good as umbrellas. the air was a backlash of angry airs. My shoes were soaked, my socks sucked till it began to convulse. It was all good though, it was some form of baptism.


Today of all days, today that I almost got my first memo from one of my no-nonsense editors. Today... but after the issues were sorted out-that's what I can tell
you.Then I was shocked, so fast? so fast! As in, so fast! but I think the angels waded in.

After all the troubles, I can only say I have been prepared for the worst. My past failures as a growing child and as a student in the University have made me
tough at heart and with enough pricking pins to kick back. I am left in this wide pool of life and I am learning to swim. I have grown my gills. I am left to
grow my skill. I love reality than fiction. I love harsh reality than fictional hope. I have gotten gashes but I have decided not to stop the gashes in this warfare of thoroughfares. In many trains of traducers, I have fought. What else do you want from me but laughter.

I have learnt to prepare for the worst.

Now I am just reflecting. No disrespect to my boss. In fact, I love her and her leadership technique.But before, I would have being in tears even after
the saving grace. All that innocent fear is gone at life's gun point. when you learn that there will be many Gun points, you prepare yourself with
experience or other techniques to prevent being gone.

Life is teacher with grey hair, big spectacle like a retired postman, laughing at all of us for hurdles we cross, we manage to cross and fail to cross.

Churning Spades and Spinning Yarns: We are going Roundabout

Churning Spades and Spinning Yarns: We are going Roundabout: "We are going Roundabout on the Roundtable Rounds upon Rounds Punching the punching bag to denegrating pillows We are Rigging, just as we al..."

We are going Roundabout

We are going Roundabout on the Roundtable
Rounds upon Rounds
Punching the punching bag to denegrating pillows

We are Rigging, just as we all Rigmarole
In every hub that vents, lies a mole

Our Father who art in heaven...
in Hallowed... these hall of godfathers

Yet we have the patience of the pastor and his parishioner
ready to perish for their commission and commissioners

President, all that we know about you is dent
dented
Contestants, you are doing a good job at hiding your satans
Electorates, the fool nobody rates
the fool that bears the brunt of beer rates.
Nothing to add but adverts.

my love

my love
thy hair is one kingdom
the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers

thy head is a quick forest
filled with sleeping birds
thy breasts are swarms of white bees
upon the bough of thy body
the body to me is April
in whose is the approach of spring

thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song

my love
the head is a casket
of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulder is an army
with victory and with trumpets

thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgiveness

thy lips are satraps in scarlet
in whose kiss is the combining of kings
thy wrists
are holy
which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
of silver

in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes

thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense
Written by e.e cummings

Churning Spades and Spinning Yarns: Bearing It

Churning Spades and Spinning Yarns: Bearing It: "My lover would leave in the morning at 5 o'clock Oh sorry-off to work before 5'o clock she will tell me my fight was seduction and that sh..."

It is BUT Fear

It is but fear of a paint
to sit beneath the pail

It is but fear of a painter
to paint what is stale




It is but fear of a portrait
to be ignored by the grand visitors



To miss the reference of the holy grail
is but fear of a priest



It is

IT IS
but FEAR of mankind to fail

Bearing It

My lover would leave in the morning
at 5 o'clock
Oh sorry-off to work before 5'o clock
she will tell me my fight was seduction
and that she enjoyed us.



My lover will come home late at night
and will not seek me-thought I am there unhearing the tales of terrible traffic
By 4'o clock, she will spur for a fight
that fight!



IS IT AN EARLY MORNING DOSAGE?
WHAT IS ALL THIS ABOUT?
SO THIS IS WHAT ALL THIS IS ABOUT?
the world is a hybrid of pigeon holes and roundabouts
what we feed on, is not what we live on.



She wants what I don't want
-to make babies-I guess, I don't really know what she wants!
When I want her to hold
she leaves me in the cold
to rein over rains and the lonesomeness of the early rays




My love leaves at 3'o clock
with a quarrel of some sought
I AM FINDING SOMETHING TO EAT
TO MAKE ME HAPPY
JUST ANYTHING TO FINGER AND TASTE
TO ANYTHING TO DIP IN A HASTE-told my elder sister the tale.

She knocks loudly at 4'o clock
Open
And without caution, rushly gets what we both want
SPONTANEOUS!
Conflict and climax like a book by anybody worth it.

Wait
Wait what does she want?
She will be leaving at 5'O CLOCK
with her unstable heart being crested
with my unstable mind still feasted.
Femi Morgan

Memories through the lenses of lesser words

Picture 1: Reading a poem from an anthology to a couple of friends on my birthday. A lot of them enjoyed it. For those who endured it thanks for not spoiling the party with grumbles. For those who did, thanks. Now to your tents oh Israel.

An exclusive with Nigeria's motion picture dame, Kate Henshaw-nuttal, published on Tell Magazine. She is not only an artist but a woman of fine words and intelligence. Guys should find this kind of woman.

Coherence

Coherence

Are you dumb?
that's just a question
has nothing to do with you

there is no need to strap yourself
to the wheels of mystery
to the wiles of philosophy

there is no need to win at all cost
for what was once found was once lost
all the costly
runs to the fellowship of fishes beneath the river



As I await a descent publisher to get his acts straight
There is no pub to drink like a fish in water
my lady of silence
I am running mad with rewinded issues
and scripts upon scripts
Milestones heaped upon milestones
without your caressing grace
without the warmth of your smile
without your fingers...
without the excitement of mischief

gardens are guarded
goals are goaded
graces are strangely grappled
but the weights
by life is lightened by you
With you,I am a calmly colored Art Work
published in the most distinguished heart
flipped with heart beats
always left open.