Tag Archives: #poerty

Nightwalkers

Nightwalkers

when 5am meets you outside, the birds will sing songs foreign to your ears, the cold would be so wicked your fingers grow numb from pain, your skin will reek of sin and cheap life.   remember, this is not the life your mother wept to the Gods for.     https://diaryofajadedgeniuz.wordpress.com.

Classico by SIR A-ONE

Classico by SIR A-ONE

*classico: My variant of classical.
Not poetry. Just bunch of lines (Raptry).

CLASSICO BY SIR A-ONE

Fully wrapped in a multi-user dungeon,
Now relaxing in the air
Who shall I fear?
Elizabethan or contemporary?

5 Diluted documentaries
Or pure documentaries?
My penmatization
Is far better than their fake dramatization.
My penmatis personae

10 Is more action packed
Than their dramatis pesonae.
My inkhrenheit
Can flash Drive
Their wheels,

15 My ink drive
My driver.
Now my ink is turning me on
I’m pensturbating
At the top of the literary shrine

20 Menstruating my ink to the core
Like an arrogant whore.
Burning the Literary Shrine down
With daily destructive criticisms

25 Home and abroad.
I’m as rough as a breaking news
But thanks to my beautiful muse
Who is jailbreaking me out soonest.
My poetic licence

30 Is in my vehicle;
With it, I ‘bus the line’
Burst in a ball of poetic flames
Hungry looking poets gazing at me
As if its breakfast time.

35 No dinner these days
Situations and circumstances
Surrounding my wallet is far
Too big,
It is even bigger than Nigeria’s problem.

40 Trust me
I’ve seen a lot meaner streets than the
Ones you’re used to.
Security men are here,

45 Come to my street,
Goats mount every nook and cranny.
I think I’m too insane
My literary shrine rat shall maim
Every evil spirit in human clothing.
I was born November 22nd

50 Many years ago
November the dry season!
I was born in a dry season
To reign on Earth.
After my exile

55 Remember me as ‘words innovator’
Or the ‘words coinage master’.
I know I may not be here too long
But after my exit
Many may not be able to eat for about a month

60 Countless will lose thousands of litres
Of water in their eyes.
Heads up
Eyes closed,
Preachers harvesting lies with the sickle

65 Of truth
Ford-driving corruption with no passenger
To talk with, while the journey
Continues in an endless destination
Of pain and regret

70 Carefully laced in the fine pot of deceit
Taking the ark of the convenant
From the Literary Shrine.
Pen robbers
Looting other writers’ lines

75 When no one is there
To summon them for plagiarism.
This is sensitive and highly classified.
‘I live in a world that does not play
By critics’ rules!’

80 He boasted.
Stupidest Penlord to ever live
He broke the line.
My pen worth
Falling out of the plane for.

85 Wounding words from my pen
Murderous pen man
Murderous sex man
Are from same planet.
The pain from my lines

90 Can cause cancer of the uterus
And lead to death in pool of blood.
Praise and ululation are not cousins.
Hmm, my lines are flames that
Will consume my rivals,

95 No drumming can drown my lyrics
Because no matter the noise of the flies,
The butcher must surely sharp the knife
For his business.
I do not think of umbrella

100 Before the rain threatens
When I lead my goat
I stay behind it.
A man with short knickers
Means he carries half thoughts.

105 I set my traps
To catch spirits.
I gave birth to my parents.
I am that I am not.
Traditionalism placed in the fine pot of modernity

110 That is me.
The Rural-Urban Poet!
That is what I go by
No matter the foolish idea
You are selling

115 I’m not buying.
Some individuals are senselessly wise.
Paying performers some honoraria
Is my gospel.
Animosity giving rise to betwitching

120 Pengicians who are dormants
In this classico fight
No victors,
No victims.
My warship

125 They now worship.
Their transgressions
Is now a deadly repercussion.
Thanks for listening, my Dear.

130 And I mean it,
I will deliver this lecture
With no blood stains,
No midwife’s help
No auxiliary nurse assistance.

135 Give me only three minutes
Let me make it rain
From dusk till dawn
With thunderous thunder and lightning
Uprooting roofs

140 And rendering people homeless, with
Refugee camps
With no adequate care
From the bad government.
Real conflict is that between

145 Man and fate.
Fake conflict is that between
Man and himself.
At this point in time
I know I’m literarily drunk,

150 God, please, take the wheel
No bully
But I will bake you to satisfaction
Hold the table and lets get in action
Delay is Dangerous (D.I.D).

155 I’m in love with this government,
Best government ever!
Hunger catapulting individuals to their sepulchres
Mass burials for military and bloody civilians who lost their lives in the vineyard

160 Of serving their good land.
No ransom whatsoever
From anywhere.
When shall we stand up to mister corruption
When shall the positive change come

165 And possess the land?
And mount the wheel of progress for us all
Homeless beggars
Begging for that single change.
Change is change

170 He roars.
The opposition concluded
In a low key.
Transformation the former ruling club sworn
Time for the sword to display came

175 The opposition sweep the hall with malpractice
Is this the change we clamour?
Now you are the Boss of the Bosses
What next?
Building castles in the space

180 Painting the invisible portrait
For poor masses to weep and groan
In the agony of change.
We don’t need that kind of negative change,
We need a positive change.

185 The journey continues
The project was a total disaster.
They made me look like a complete fool.
The show was absolute rubbish.
A chemical reaction in me…

190 I might be completely unaware of my transgression
But that does not make me a righteous one.
Handsome smile
Does not make one a kind person.
No one drinks palmwine

195 Same way with palmfuel.
The Literary Shrine is helping me
To rain down the ink;
This time, the flow is as painful as
A virgin’s monthly flow.

200 Now flowing faster than tide
Waiting for no one like Mister TIME.
Ink with a black DNA
Deoxyribonucleic Acid
Pushing me around to pick up people’s children

205 Like truck load of household appliances.
I will keep monitoring you like a familiar spirit.
Hey
Trying not to lament
Pastor at pulpit prophesying bunch of lies.

210 Witch Doctor claiming to know one’s tiles
Extremists misinterpreting scriptures.
Lies everywhere
No more ‘To whom it may concern’
As I’m about smashing this critic’s

215 Head against the publication rock
God, please, have mercy
Call me Messi
Call me Mercy Johnson, sorry,
Call me Johnson Mercy.

220 Daily literary gymnastic
Over stressing the mental faculty
Like a gym instructor
Repeating commands like a computer Instructor
Mounting the pen-pit

225 Like a pilot to his cork-pit
I’m literarily fit.
Android flow
Always multitasking literary programmes.
I am that I am not.

230 The arrogant you spat on my face
The deflowered blood on my white lace
Corruption is still your suit case
The pride you showcase,
May Chinua Achebe elongate your penhood

235 Longer than your very height.
See the desperate power-seekers
With empty promises.
Building bridges were there is no water.
The golden voice is here!

240 Chase your dreams
And see them shoot into space.
Butterfly and Bird are not cousins,
Kite and grasshopper are not related.
I’m so cold-hot

245 Even your oven
Is afraid of my literary coven.
Like a wizard confessing
I’m full of inkful things to say.
Keep eating

250 My pen I’m forking.
Opposition wiping away incumbent,
This is so Mouka and Vital than my blood.
Like Pamlwine taper
Wrapping his climbing rope all over himself,

255 Same way I’m dwelling at the Literary Shrine
Every time of the day.
The war against drugs and cultism continues!
Jibrin Idris’ Picture of Dorothy and Danladi
Is even clearer than 3D.

260 This is the highest definition
Of a true pengician
Who possesses a brilliant pencraft
That is more powerful and inkful
Than any witchcraft ever.

265 Like a cobbler
I urge us all to shine our eyes
As a new voice ‘SIR A-ONE’
Sprout out of the shores of Africa.
Soon, they will accuse me of *Usigho

270 I’m an *Ovigho
In the making,
They are just dirts I’m raking
All thanks to God, my creative manufacturer

275 I keep driving as the true penufacturer.
I am that I am not,
I am the Classico.
Weaving lines
Daily is my occupation.

© SIR A-ONE

N.B:
•Classico: Classical. SIR A-ONE’s variant.
•Ovigho: An Urhobo word for wealthy man.
•Usigho: Blood money.
•Penufacturer: An Ink addict. A creative Icon.
•Mouka: A type of mattress/foam in Nigeria.
•Palmfuel: An acidic palm wine. An almost soured one that can cause pain than gain to the body system.
•Pengician: An established writer, humourist and artiste. Coined by SIR A-ONE.
•Penstruating: Bleeding of the ink upon papers creatively.
•Inkhrenheit: The measurement of one’s creativity literarily. Coined by SIR A-ONE.
•Penmatization: Casting your creative personae in a work of creativity . Coined by SIR A-ONE.

(c) SIR A-ONE

Goodnews Andrew Eruemuare also known as SIR A-ONE is a Nigerian pengician, researcher and rapper. The CEO of www.pengician.com
A very controversial icon anytime, any day.

Harmattan Within

Harmattan Within

It is Harmattan; not without, But within me is the cold. Youth and merry fill the air about; It is I that has grown old. Hawks gracing the clumsy skies, Sailing, building without rest. Sauntering down hollow aisles, Seeking a stolen nest. There is silence below the stars; Stars bright enough to burn. Still nursing these scars Like a nestling nun. I am a beggaring gloom; Counting my days in twos. I see now a full moon; A gleam of hope lain loose. It is harmattan; not without; And within she is all. Dusty leaves still burning out; It is Harmattan within after all.