tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58553064122327425102024-03-14T10:57:49.153+00:00NG (nanty greens)...Printed 'limited' edition of my thoughtnanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-91589313050406911512011-11-20T13:51:00.000+00:002018-05-03T09:16:23.490+01:00Yay!! it's www.nantygreens.com<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-80756060760618696252011-11-09T11:39:00.001+00:002011-11-09T11:50:02.017+00:00POEM: PHOENIX<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>by Cynthia Jusi</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
Stuck on this bed <br />
<br />
Heart suffering hundred degree burns <br />
<br />
It feels ugly but I know it’s just for a time <br />
<br />
From burnt endings; new beginnings arise. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Living in my past <br />
<br />
Is driving me crazy <br />
<br />
Starting from a blank page <br />
<br />
Could be terribly upsetting <br />
<br />
But I’ll pack the pieces <br />
<br />
And burn them up <br />
<br />
Start from the ashes <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
All those pains and heart aches <br />
<br />
From my past often appearing <br />
<br />
Like ghost flits <br />
<br />
Almost pulling me under <br />
<br />
So I am gathering together <br />
<br />
The pictures, letters, cards and dried roses <br />
<br />
Throwing them into this furnace <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I will start again <br />
<br />
From the ashes! <br />
<br />
</span>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-976253599699799202011-11-09T11:34:00.001+00:002011-11-09T12:36:26.686+00:00POEM: CRUX OF LIFE<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">by Priscilla A. Adesheyoju</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">This road I take</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">Should it lead me back or forth?</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">I fear</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">Cos the journey of life</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Comes with no directions<o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">The decisions of our heart</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">Sometimes move us to delight or despair</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">Rough, bumpy, tough it may be</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">But the rose is fairest when it’s budding new</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">Hope is brightest when dawns from fear</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">A new day will come</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">And this will be gone</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">Now I see a light</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">Yes a light comes forth</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">When all hope is lost</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">Faith or fate, fury or fear; we choose</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">Then we’ve reached the crux of our lives</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u1:p></u1:p> </span><div style="line-height: 24.0pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-67743957375329580332011-11-09T11:22:00.001+00:002011-11-09T13:01:25.202+00:00POEM: RAINBOW WINGS<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>by Sylvia Ojima Agamah </i></b><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i><br />
</i></b></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>(Today, the nanty greens team celebrate with Sylvia Agamah on her birthday. This poem is written by her as she reflects on life.)</i></span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This I know </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not so long ago </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Met I a butterfly </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Beautifully perched on my window glass </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Brought to eye a tear I dry </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Every waking moment </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Was time spent with my friend </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The butterfly of morning light </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Colours of great interest </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So fragile; so magnificent </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Enchanted butterfly! </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What stories you tell </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On your rainbow wings - </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A crawly caterpillar </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To a stagnant pupa </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now an aerodynamic spell </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your flutters; gust of life </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You are me - </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A reflection of change</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sylvia Ojima Agamah is a brand management expert based in Abuja. </span><br />
<br />
</div>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-11062470994329190192011-11-09T10:52:00.004+00:002011-11-09T12:48:00.891+00:00POEM: HEART SONG<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
<div style="line-height: 21.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i><span lang="EN-GB">by Teehem</span></i></b><span lang="EN-GB"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 21.75pt; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-GB">My heart, it beats<br />
to a song<br />
You and I understand<br />
We can't hear it yet<br />
but one day we will<br />
Till then we dance<br />
sometimes alone<br />
sometimes together<br />
<br />
When you say your heart breaks<br />
the beat doesn't stop<br />
the music does<br />
<br />
Let's continue this dance<br />
if not together,<br />
Alone<br />
My heart beats for me..<br />
For you and others..<br />
It's mine,..yours<br />
and theirs<br />
You know..don't you?<br />
<br />
When I say my heart breaks<br />
nothing stops except my beat<br />
you're lost in the rhythm of the song<br />
you dance me out<br />
<br />
When We both are gone<br />
the beat will beat<br />
to the same song<br />
..a different tune.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-36602377491951773782011-11-03T13:27:00.000+00:002011-11-03T13:27:33.220+00:00POEM: SWEET GOOD-BYE<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>by Cynthia Jusi</i></b><br />
<br />
I have been down, down to the floor<br />
<br />
Since you walked out the door<br />
<br />
I wish you were here to make me smile<br />
<br />
But it's too late;you've gone more than a mile<br />
<br />
You broke my heart with no qualms<br />
<br />
Though I would have welcomed you with open arms<br />
<br />
Ooops! <br />
<br />
Now that's all but a lie<br />
<br />
'Cos you were such a BUM!<br />
<br />
Bet you didn't know that...<br />
<br />
<br />
I know I had tendencies of feeling insecure<br />
<br />
That was when I was still yours<br />
<br />
I knew the things you did in your car<br />
<br />
All those secrets that made you feel like a star<br />
<br />
You thought you were strong and I, weak<br />
<br />
You had me in too deep<br />
<br />
Well, I have moved on<br />
<br />
And it's bad news for you </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yeah it is ur friend<br />
<br />
You wouldn't have guessed.... </span></div>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-78589382721456048542011-11-02T11:24:00.000+00:002011-11-02T11:24:14.582+00:00POEM: CAN WE?<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>by feyisayo adeyemi</i></b><br />
<br />
Can we sing the lullabies <br />
<br />
as we sail down River Memory; <br />
<br />
tickle the armpit of Venus, <br />
<br />
play like baby's first day out <br />
<br />
ride the arch of rainbow <br />
<br />
splashing its colors. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Can we be joined in the <br />
<br />
symmetrical circle of hope <br />
<br />
that love might endure our <br />
<br />
naughtiness</span>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-63038460141503876042011-11-02T10:16:00.001+00:002011-11-02T11:05:56.076+00:00FICTION: LETTING GO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6lMabUvqe1xBcCJMHZc3rjpkvxD0fLIshv_GnwxNw3MBHUCfvvbkziN0CzBYRktNeOcIRsAISpak6LR5t2NgYBktjUX8rC9Fx-NM04ZD7nqmhT-m3-2kOEPergRBFi4lr9nENyPsmUQ/s1600/woman+1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6lMabUvqe1xBcCJMHZc3rjpkvxD0fLIshv_GnwxNw3MBHUCfvvbkziN0CzBYRktNeOcIRsAISpak6LR5t2NgYBktjUX8rC9Fx-NM04ZD7nqmhT-m3-2kOEPergRBFi4lr9nENyPsmUQ/s1600/woman+1" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
<b><i>by Yomi Edward</i></b><br />
<br />
I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I cried as I ran. Then, I stopped. Looked back. The boys were still there. Howling words I could not hear, but I knew it was all about the fun – their fun. Mother would kill me, a voice whispered to my ears. I started running again. I ran. I fell. I ran. And ran. And ran. Then, I looked at my hands, the banana tray was gone. How could I ever stepped into the house without my tray? Without my mother’s money for my sales? I stopped. I could hear my heart beats like the sound of the pestle pounding against the mortar. </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I knew I was in soup. Yet, I could not go back. Back to the uncompleted building. Back to where my pride…precious pride was stolen. Who would rescue me from Iya Risi’s dirty slaps and kicks? I thought of Sadiat. Her house was not far away from my house. I ran to her. She was grinding pepper in her kitchen. I could not see her face clearly because of the smoke oozing from the fire in the kitchen, but I knew she smiled. Yes, she smiled. Sadiat always smiled. She thought I had come to collect red coal for my mother.<br />
<br />
“You can get it now…it’s red already”. She gestured to me. I did not move. She continued her grinding. She turned and called out to me again. I did not move. I did not answer. Sadiat, my friend, my good good friend, came up to me. I tried to force back the tears, but it was late. “W-h-a-ttttttttt?” Sadiat let out a cry. Just like our English teacher used to shout when we mispronounced in our comprehension passage.<br />
<br />
“Risi, have you told Iya Risi about it?” she inquired.<br />
<br />
“She will kill me…”<br />
<br />
“Good. Since you’ve told nobody but me, then nobody needs to know”. Sadiat made me to know that it did not started with me, and that it would not end with me. She also made me realize that as girls – with pointed breast and lucrative behind, we could not run away from our boys. She reminded me her own experience too. It was Mr Ologbosere, our Further Mathematics teacher. For weeks, she cried, cried, cried, and cried. Nobody wanted to know if she was innocent or not; why did she go to his house in the first place? But, how could she had refused to carry out her teacher’s order which was to come over to his house and fetch water?<br />
<br />
“Go home, Risi. Clean up. Get your slaps and abuses from Iya Risi. It doesn’t kill. I wish our mothers will one day listen to us”. Sadiat kissed me on my cheeks. Wiped my tears with her wrapper. And smiled.<br />
<br />
This happened when I was fourteen. But the memory remained fresh in my sight. I hated my body – every single part. I had tried all these years to forget it but each time I tried, I failed. Each time my husband climbed on me, it was not his movement I felt, but the hemp smoking boys in the uncompleted building along Odo Oja.<br />
<br />
Akin had suggested I see a psychiatrist. But, this was beyond a man – a man did not experience what I experienced that hot afternoon. He was not there in the uncompleted building. He did not feel the sharp pains I felt that day. How could he convince me he felt exactly how I felt?<br />
<br />
I would not see any doctor – psychiatrist or therapist. I would not let it go – even if it kills me.</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div></div>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-2934610822159166732011-10-24T14:15:00.001+01:002011-10-24T14:19:49.409+01:00Lights, Camera, AFRICA!!! REVISITED<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
The Life House, Reel Life is re-screening another one of the most demanded films featured at the Lights, Camera, AFRICA!!! 2011 Film Festival.<br />
<br />
This Thursday 27 October at 7.30pm we’ll be showing a very important and riveting film, CUBA: AN AFRICAN ODYSSEY. Following the screening there will be a discussion and light refreshment.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtStVTbv5Nq6hQPzaEPyH_PxyJ4ygz4ySG_fWSDNryThrhTspFpQMmpLIjxheMb5_ASfeBXodNEZTfgXhC-CrrVwHBDqQFX86OAKA9rTUD8VTU_TWuqscYBZwiIwDyEIfG4FZx6QwHfg/s1600/CubaAfricanOdyssey_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtStVTbv5Nq6hQPzaEPyH_PxyJ4ygz4ySG_fWSDNryThrhTspFpQMmpLIjxheMb5_ASfeBXodNEZTfgXhC-CrrVwHBDqQFX86OAKA9rTUD8VTU_TWuqscYBZwiIwDyEIfG4FZx6QwHfg/s1600/CubaAfricanOdyssey_.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>CUBA AFRICAN ODYSSEY<br />
</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Directed by Egyptian filmmaker Jihan El-Tahri (118 min. 2008), Cuba, An African Odyssey is an absolute must see for all!<br />
<br />
<i>Exploring Cuba-African relations, this film describes the role of Cuba, under the leadership of Fidel Castro, in giving critical support to Africa’s liberation movements. Cuban influence was instrumental in advancing the decolonization process, which brought independence to much of the continent. Travelling through Congo, Angola, Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau, this film conveys a strong sense of what it was like to be a part of these incredible events by presenting the viewer with rarely seen archival footage and in-depth interviews with those who set the course of Africa’s recent history.!</i><br />
<br />
For more information, contact The Life House Team:<br />
<br />
Info 0703 403 0683<br />
<div><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Life-House/107059069344411">Facebook</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thelifehouselagos.com/">LIfe House website</a></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-84206990392823650202011-10-24T13:28:00.001+01:002011-10-30T11:52:05.876+00:00The Lumina Foundation: Wole Soyinka Prize for LiteratureThe Lumina Foundation began to receive entries for the 2012 edition of Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature in Africa on July 2011. The deadline for submission is November 20, 2011. All entries must be received at The Lumina secretariat before November 20, 2011.<br />
<br />
For more information on the foundation and submission of entries visit the <a href="http://www.luminafoundationsoyinkaprize.com/">website</a>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-70429631431517028802011-10-17T09:31:00.004+01:002011-11-03T14:38:07.267+00:00POEM: ...WHY I SING THIS SONG<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
<b><i>by Olaniyi Adekanye</i></b><br />
<br />
Monki, my friend <br />
<br />
You are special <br />
<br />
Since I have been walking <br />
<br />
My whole wide world walk<br />
<br />
You display every lineament <br />
<br />
Lineaments of incivility <br />
<br />
Idiosyncrasies of the bush people <br />
<br />
To fathom your attitude problem <br />
<br />
I suffer mental constipation <br />
<br />
My blood is hot <br />
<br />
And running dry <br />
<br />
I am malfunctioning <br />
<br />
It is your folly <br />
<br />
That puts me in this state <br />
<br />
My smile gathers wrinkles <br />
<br />
Wrinkles of bitterness <br />
<br />
My laughter echoes anger <br />
<br />
Anger from which I hunger <br />
<br />
You know I don't have enough anger <br />
<br />
To waste on minute issues <br />
<br />
Horses are naturally meek <br />
<br />
Men cause the horses' shriek <br />
<br />
And bitterness <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Monki, my friend <br />
<br />
Far and wide <br />
<br />
You have travelled <br />
<br />
The intellectual world <br />
<br />
You have explored your brain very well <br />
<br />
It is now retrogressing <br />
<br />
Maybe you have overworked it <br />
<br />
Maybe you have too many extraneous pigments of knowledge <br />
<br />
Only an aberration of cohabitation <br />
<br />
Causing your slimy and stumbling tongue <br />
<br />
May God deliver you <br />
<br />
Grow up! <br />
<br />
Do attitude architecture <br />
<br />
I cannot say you should go back <br />
<br />
To school to get <br />
<br />
What you left behind <br />
<br />
You might have succeeded academically <br />
<br />
You have failed 'characteristically'. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Monki, my friend <br />
<br />
Maybe I should remind you <br />
<br />
That good character beautifies <br />
<br />
Maybe you think I don't know now <br />
<br />
That deceit lay behind your facade of good countenance <br />
<br />
That a good woman is praiseworthy <br />
<br />
Maybe you don't know that I know <br />
<br />
That you are of wife age <br />
<br />
That your contemporaries are fidel and fecund <br />
<br />
In the chambers of the owners of the monies of their heads <br />
<br />
But what man <br />
<br />
What man will be patient? <br />
<br />
What man will be so chummy? <br />
<br />
What man will condone <br />
<br />
Your sweltering attitude? <br />
<br />
Your unwitting discharge? <br />
<br />
Maybe you need to know <br />
<br />
That if you continue like this <br />
<br />
No man <br />
<br />
I mean no man <br />
<br />
Will be nostalgic <br />
<br />
Of that home you keep <br />
<br />
For him. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I wish I could keep my mouth sealed <br />
<br />
but my abhorrence might strongly push me <br />
<br />
I guess <br />
<br />
to notoriety. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Olaniyi Adekanye, a graduate of English and literary studies from Adekunle Ajasin University, Akungba-Akoko, is a native of Akure in Ondo State, Nigeria. He lives and works in Ibadan as an editor in one of the leading book publishing Houses in Nigeria. Olaniyi can be contact through: <a href="mailto:niyiadekanye@yahoo.com">niyiadekanye@yahoo.com</a> or (+234) 08060266505.</i></span>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-58143607091280664212011-10-17T09:07:00.001+01:002011-10-17T09:34:16.848+01:00THE LAST HEIR by Larry Sun<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">THE LAST HEIR</span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">by Larry Sun</span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
An excerpt from <b><i>The Last Heir</i></b>, the first volume of the <b><i>HOUSEHOLD</i></b> series.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">June, 1985.</div><br />
<br />
The night was not the warmest one. A few stars peeked down on the world and a quarter moon played hide and seek behind the scattering clouds. Cain Martins was hungry; he hadn’t eaten any food today, not like he always had much to eat before–– he was always hungry. Even before his starvations, Cain had always had a big appetite. Often he was ravenous; at times his hunger seemed almost insatiable. He’d just been released from the hospital and he was a man without a job. Cain Martins was a nobody––he had no one, no family; the mother he’d grown to know and not love had died eight years ago. He didn’t even know his own father. Cain Martins was virtually homeless.<br />
<br />
<br />
His wristwatch, the only property he had, revealed it was a couple of minutes past nine. The heavy rain that had come and gone earlier had left the night’s temperature almost freezing. Cain dipped his hands in his trousers pocket, aware that there was no coin on him. That impossible feeling of sorcery where a couple of coins might miraculously fill his pockets occurred to him but it was a time and world where magic refused to operate. The hunger persisted.<br />
<br />
<br />
He continued walking down the dark street; stopped for a short moment to urinate in a gutter nearby. The street was already becoming quiet; the street crowds were already vacating the bars and brothels to their various homes. Two men walked out of one of the buildings struggling with the zippers of their trousers; on the second floor of another building, a woman opened a window and shouted down, berating her husband about the projected hour of his return. Other night owls could be seen drinking from gin bottles. In the last house, a lone whore leaned out from a first floor window, saw Cain and opened her blouse, displaying a large sagging breast that looked like a funnel. She squeezed it several times and pointed the nipple at him. Cain turned away from the view; he knew she was not for him. The street was the end of a particular section of the cities of Lagos.<br />
<br />
<br />
Cain Martins was a twenty-seven year old man of average height with bushy black hair, dressed casually in a white shirt and black trousers, with a pair of brown sandals on his legs–everything he’d stolen, except of course, his wristwatch which his mother had bought for him about a decade ago when he was in the high school, the watch itself had stopped about a century ago. He was quite ugly, his lean hard face and hooked nose with thin lips gave him the look of a hawk. His face in particular was distended and carried a scowl that would make his face to a child look like a boogeyman’s. When he was a kid, he’d contacted a skin disease that stripped off his hair. He’d been as bald as an egg ever since. He had no girlfriend––not even when he was in the high school. No girl wanted to date ugliest boy in the school. Coupled with his bad looks, Cain Martins was arrogant and cruel. During his final year in the school, he’d brutally abused a fourteen-year-old girl sexually. He’d walked straight to the young girl and asked her to kiss him. The girl had felt surprise and embarrassment that she saw the confrontation as a bad joke and walked out on him. Cain became infuriated by the girl’s action.<br />
<br />
<br />
It was about a week later when the girl was returning home from school that Cain attacked her. He crept behind her and hit her with a stick on the back of the head, the girl collapsed face-down. He dragged her to the bush at the side of the quiet road and turned her on the back. He gave her some few blows on the side of her face to render her weak before he roughly entered her. The enormity of the deed and the psychological trauma compelled the poor girl to withdraw from the school. But Cain Martins was never convicted of the crime.<br />
<br />
<br />
For his plan to be successful, a cold night and a quiet street was what Cain Martins wanted. He stood under the shadow of an electric pole waiting for someone he could attack and rob. In his left hand was a thick iron rod. Hunger birthing anger in his stomach; crime is the only thing on his mind...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Larry Sun, an aspiring writer, was born in Lagos, Nigeria. The Last Heir is the first volume of the HOUSEHOLD series; his soon to be published first novel. He lives in Lagos and can be contacted through this email: <a href="https://mail.google.com/mail/h/1o68a1lky6bux/?&v=b&cs=wh&to=larrysun4real@yahoo.com">larrysun4real@yahoo.com</a>.<br />
</span>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-85473015939078331952011-10-14T09:56:00.000+01:002011-10-14T09:56:02.885+01:00POEM: ASK ABOUT FREE WILL<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>by feyisayo adeyemi</i></b> </span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">When belly goes Choir everyday</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">how does a man think free?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">To chomp -</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> begs on another’s mercy</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">How will he wheel his will?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Auction</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">the soul goes out </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">run son!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> ran some, </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> ransom!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">tongue-tied </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">the master driller</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">bores a hole</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> deep </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">damn soul</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">soiled</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">he howls</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">hunger unto his neck</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">scampers at your call, beck</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">for the crumbles he’d peck</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">idealism runs low</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">in the gutter</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">flood washed it off its street</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Reality opened</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">a book called Check</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">heart ripped ,hopes parched</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">freedom ferries - </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">a long walk </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">down</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">nameless street </span></span></div>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-14887827991186571962011-10-10T12:52:00.000+01:002011-10-10T13:03:47.709+01:00SHAKARA: FELABRATION AT THE LIFE HOUSE 2011<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />Felabration and Cultural Week at The Life House starts tomorrow Tuesday October 11th 2011 till Sunday October 16th 2011.<br /><br /> The Felabration week will feature a vast array of art and cultural elements and activities including a weeklong art exhibition, theatre performances, numerous live musical performances, poetry recitals, book readings, open-mic sessions, a fashion, food and lifestyle fair, film screenings and discussions and loads more. <br /><br />Yinka Davies, BEZ, Ayetoro, Sense Lounge, J'odie, Chica Chukwu, Ade Bantu, Sha, Lala Akindoju, Inna Erizia, Biodun and Batik, Salvador Sango, Tope Sadiq, Wana Udobang, Wura Samba and loads more are scheduled to perform at The Life House. <br /><br />SHAKARA: FELABRATION AT THE LIFE HOUSE 2011 takes place at The Life House, 33 Sinari Daranijo Street, Off Ligali Ayorinde Street, Victoria Island, Lagos from 11th – 16th October 2011. <br /><br />For more information and participation call - 0703 403 0683 <br /></span>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-23811893837488634542011-10-08T17:38:00.000+01:002011-10-08T17:38:22.731+01:00Lore with Yomi Edward<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">Hi,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">How is
life treating you over there?<br /> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB">I got this tale for you; let's share...<br />
<br />
Aaalooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
The story is told of an old man who was being chased around the village by
little children for allegedly stealing a chicken and hiding it inside his
goat-skin bag.<br />
<br />
Fortunately, for the old man, another old man appeared on the scene to enquire
why his friend was being harassed. The suspect narrated his ordeal and pleaded
with his friend to take "an old man's eyes" and look into his bag to
see if there was any chicken hidden inside the bag. His friend looked into the bag,
saw the live chicken, but declared to the angry kids that there was no chicken
in the bag...<br />
<br />
That was comradeship of the old men...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br />
Though, this story belong to the folklore, I just cannot separate it from
Nigerian politics...<br />
<br />
or what do you think?</span></div>
nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-72557090903403740812011-10-07T08:22:00.001+01:002011-10-07T08:22:36.079+01:00Meet Extraordinaire ArtStar - Kehinde Wiley<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>In one of my
merry-go-rounding around the internet, I came across Kehinde Wiley, </span><span lang="EN-GB">one of the world's most sought-after urban
artists</span><span>.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Looking at his beautiful collections and
achievements, I wonder why I haven't heard of him earlier.</span></span></div>
<div>
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Ir0XqnyKw_o7Jgb1LvG1rtWEjORiVrpQfL1545NHQ4i3MjJAOWPxOpHUmug6d1nG6smCmjaRkLuxFGaESFYL9BRuoqDGX_8pihncxsdrXccGoX24OFmY4Uays93vVOvQJKE3XL7CodE/s1600/kehinde+wiley%2527s+work.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0EcDjv4qmWMECGH1iuzz4PAHGtsOx8DcS4Px0KUasy-RHD3gVqbHlDlf6ibaH7VWPSEyJyoLgssSIE0RcHh9poLD96087mnFZgxCaVBgx_zH8VVH02a4DvRfzFiqWQ8sesXFTOQwpP8/s1600/Kehinde+Wiley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl0EcDjv4qmWMECGH1iuzz4PAHGtsOx8DcS4Px0KUasy-RHD3gVqbHlDlf6ibaH7VWPSEyJyoLgssSIE0RcHh9poLD96087mnFZgxCaVBgx_zH8VVH02a4DvRfzFiqWQ8sesXFTOQwpP8/s320/Kehinde+Wiley.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kehinde Wiley</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Kehinde
Wiley is a Nigerian-American visual artist </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span>based in New York. He</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span> is a master in the art of
portraiture. </span><span lang="EN-GB">PUMA partnered with him for the Spring Summer 2010 PUMA Africa
lifestyle collection of apparel, footwear and accessories.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiPRLV1tlkRni9CBLM_-TigcRw2Kqgoi_LZb2KfiKUFMQeEcDAoJoSHSmbuA35Q4iMh-lAkQW_4d5zZnYZdmOVpAm6_cOA_r99ilfVT-arsXgoer2dGYD_9nxJx7K2BVWK4bIsa2XEJDk/s1600/KW+-+Etoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiPRLV1tlkRni9CBLM_-TigcRw2Kqgoi_LZb2KfiKUFMQeEcDAoJoSHSmbuA35Q4iMh-lAkQW_4d5zZnYZdmOVpAm6_cOA_r99ilfVT-arsXgoer2dGYD_9nxJx7K2BVWK4bIsa2XEJDk/s320/KW+-+Etoo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Etoo painting for PUMA Africa Campaign</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Check out Kehinde Wiley's <a href="http://www.kehindewiley.com/main.html">amazing paintings</a> and
those for <a href="http://africa.puma.com/html/index.php">PUMA Africa Campaign</a></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></span></div>
nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-50306860380911911502011-10-05T08:21:00.000+01:002011-10-06T15:21:29.628+01:00THE ROSE OF THE WORLD<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>by Yomi Edward</i> </span></b></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
Those who made the world smile<br />
would never die unsung<br />
their hand-prints shall eternally gladden the sky...<br />
<br />
Those who made the world smooth<br />
would never depart<br />
in silence<br />
their legends shall<br />
eternally rock<br />
generations unborn...<br />
<br />
Those who made the world beautiful<br />
would never parade the street unscented<br />
their deeds shall<br />
eternally be lubricated by the little man's eulogies...<br />
<br />
Those who made the world smile<br />
would never die unsung<br />
the songbirds shall hum their names<br />
the wind shall provide the rhythm<br />
the trees shall dance<br />
along with us<br />
when we unveil<br />
their names</div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
Those who made the world smile<br />
would never die unsung<br />
their handprints shall eternally gladden the sky...<br />
<br />
Those who made the world smooth<br />
would never depart<br />
in silence<br />
their legends shall<br />
eternally rock<br />
generations unborn...<br />
<br />
Those who made the world beautiful<br />
would never parade the street unscented<br />
their deeds shall<br />
eternally be lubricated by the little man's eulogies...<br />
<br />
Those who made the world smile<br />
would never die unsung<br />
the songbirds shall hum their names<br />
the wind shall provide the rhythm<br />
the trees shall dance<br />
along with us<br />
when we unveil<br />
their names<br />
like rainbow<br />
in the sky...<br />
<br />
would be<br />
like rainbow<br />
in the sky...<br />
<br />
would you dare be<br />
a rose to this world?</div>
nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-58762962631932565872011-10-04T07:59:00.000+01:002011-10-04T07:59:38.799+01:00WE ARE WALKING WITHOUT LEGS<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i>by Olaniyi Adekanye </i></b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Even when the
moving eyes</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Effect their
coyness of denial</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The watching moon
was my witness</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The scorching sun
also autographed</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The sweeping rain
left uncertain scars</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The scattering wing
garnered nothing</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">From the
four-corners</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">"Don’t we have
people up there?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I asked the ageing
father</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The ageing breath
chorused misery</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">"We are
walking without legs, my child."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Was after a l-o-n-g
l-o-n-g silence</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">My heart became
busy...</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">"And we climb
the ladder without the rungs."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And my being was
still-life</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">"God wards off
the tormenting flies</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">For the tail-less
cow."</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That tilted my
passive aggression</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That He steers the
man</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And not the people
up there.</span></div>
nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-51404583099305356222011-09-29T17:32:00.000+01:002011-09-29T17:33:48.814+01:00Letters from Aboki Students<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3S_cLSAMX_E4MipO4nGOr8uNoXYcneB0CR-85fhY4wJSeT75kQqlG6nriQieoWS1WoQxwr5KqCUAcgAE1rsxeq-o9e3DOulRdgGAa9OCxL3UCT2Zhq-dqoJ-o0g10IpaP4tIxbXusJGM/s1600/nysc+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3S_cLSAMX_E4MipO4nGOr8uNoXYcneB0CR-85fhY4wJSeT75kQqlG6nriQieoWS1WoQxwr5KqCUAcgAE1rsxeq-o9e3DOulRdgGAa9OCxL3UCT2Zhq-dqoJ-o0g10IpaP4tIxbXusJGM/s320/nysc+002.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Written by SS2 Student </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7Fuv8ovOqYsgg-47egMilkSzxV2AY90fbfk0oWamtfWrbgsJd8TpxeMEBAcKQcuVrifuEu_PtRBj5yF_uRD4OxO-haTjVByiPFUjbgExBY7M87Rju7_qcVBR2wsNNdVxdTBkWMTLxs0/s1600/nysc+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7Fuv8ovOqYsgg-47egMilkSzxV2AY90fbfk0oWamtfWrbgsJd8TpxeMEBAcKQcuVrifuEu_PtRBj5yF_uRD4OxO-haTjVByiPFUjbgExBY7M87Rju7_qcVBR2wsNNdVxdTBkWMTLxs0/s320/nysc+004.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Written by JSS3 Student</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEm0j16m_Uu-gH7V_vTvj4Xu32EWoU_-47QKYcetp7G5yDa-mVsGUUoCk_iAylOxuemJtpOgXsicXVm9YzoFVN0lnSZRucnbN_o85UtlkXrfCdnmwfAoEGiPBKfyGgYiODrxEZ3cYDd0Y/s1600/nysc+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEm0j16m_Uu-gH7V_vTvj4Xu32EWoU_-47QKYcetp7G5yDa-mVsGUUoCk_iAylOxuemJtpOgXsicXVm9YzoFVN0lnSZRucnbN_o85UtlkXrfCdnmwfAoEGiPBKfyGgYiODrxEZ3cYDd0Y/s320/nysc+003.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Earlier Attempts by the same JSS3 Student</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had been saving these letters for a while now. Some of the keeps from my NYSC sojourn in Zamfara. Education down there is something else! Hard to blame some of the students though; there was one that didn't go through primary school. He started Western education straight from JSS1. Who does that?nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-39619890563696489052011-08-25T14:04:00.000+01:002011-08-25T14:04:00.823+01:00Guernica / Noam Chomsky: My Reaction to Osama bin Laden’s Death<span style="font-style:italic;">We might ask ourselves how we would be reacting if Iraqi commandos landed at George W. Bush’s compound, assassinated him, and dumped his body in the Atlantic.</span>
<br />
<br />I read this just around the time Osama's death filled the world with several emotions and thoughts. This painted my thoughts in more ways than I can imagine. Do read it.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /><a href="http://www.guernicamag.com/blog/2652/noam_chomsky_my_reaction_to_os/#.TlZHAspG2Cw.blogger">Guernica / Noam Chomsky: My Reaction to Osama bin Laden’s Death</a>nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-71398980784159385422011-08-12T15:58:00.001+01:002011-08-12T15:58:12.301+01:00...Of dreamsIn my head<br />
butterflies sing of birth<br />
reality snaps it<br />
to a stillbirth.<br />
<br />
9 months in belly,<br />
few seconds to life<br />
ousted its verve.<br />
<br />
God!<br />
They infiltrate<br />
dreams; to a sleep.nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-24300239132674573522011-08-04T17:01:00.000+01:002011-08-04T17:01:36.909+01:00'specs' in loveThe theories of love are probably too difficult especially when it comes to relationship or I am just that dumb. People make it seems like a perfect eye that sees or knows no blemish. Some had it divided into parts; they will speak of love and specify ‘true love’. There is that type that isn’t true right? But in all these classes or types as you may want to call it, love seems like the glamorized end result of a selfish process. At least in my opinion though.<br />
Have you noticed how there are certain criteria/factors/specifications to be met before the falling in love process actually begins? Our exposure, environment, social status, communal experiences, etc seems to be the hinges on which love swings. It is common to hear ladies speak of “Tall, Dark and Handsome”. I didn’t realize how real it was until I heard a lady describe my friend who was wooing her in that term to her friends. I could see how their eyes shine as they giggle in admiration. Height/complexion/socio-economic status/religion/tribe/personality/physical appearance, etc are qualities we consciously or subconsciously tick before the love comes in.<br />
Discussing with a friend on the kind of girl we would want to date, it all suddenly feels like going to buy a computer or phone; checking the specifications to match our requirement. These specifications having been engraved in our minds, we hardly do the sorting consciously which makes it all very instinctual. My friendship with a class of people hardly get past just friendship, my subconscious does makes sure of that. I asked a girl what she considers before heading towards relationship zone. Her response was “is it dating for fun or marriage?” she explains that even under both levels, it’s about the benefits. “He should be responsible; even if he doesn’t have huge amount of money, he must be able to care for me” she said. When it comes down to serious relationship, even philanders, cheats who sometimes are carefree about taste/specification draw out the very complex list of criteria. We all have the specification factor.<br />
Reading a lady’s tweet saying “I don’t want a broke man” and the responses that follow, I honestly wonder (taking into consideration whatever type you believe exist) if love isn’t truly “a glamorized end result of selfish process”. <br />
P.S: I appreciate those I asked questions from, thanks. Kindly post your specification/taste (whatever you term it) when your comment.nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-16271418138960812092011-07-08T12:01:00.000+01:002011-08-13T20:21:52.715+01:00last year at the British Council<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihoPHYN_h9esYHhN-S1nm0GTj0V1mWhD-NClylsG_bgJ9Al-7Zeti0P-PkB-qKB_N3MoXBqjylTkatDVZn-kjXItaWYdwFuEFlKU5_n60qYcoG_vVdn-ugUL0HjYMXVaUIH0TWT77cY9U/s1600/DSCF0681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihoPHYN_h9esYHhN-S1nm0GTj0V1mWhD-NClylsG_bgJ9Al-7Zeti0P-PkB-qKB_N3MoXBqjylTkatDVZn-kjXItaWYdwFuEFlKU5_n60qYcoG_vVdn-ugUL0HjYMXVaUIH0TWT77cY9U/s320/DSCF0681.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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nanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-65574871904821986902011-06-14T20:04:00.000+01:002011-06-14T20:04:09.763+01:00#FreetheCorpersTruth be told; we always wait for things to get to a breaking point before we act in this country. The menace of the NYSC is not a new thing. Every time you come close to overlooking the scheme and its rubbish, another story comes to rile you. I had never liked NYSC and don’t bother ask me why.<br />
After my experiencing of serving our fathers land, I had been following issues and excruciating experiences of Corp members. I had my own share of such experience. Some things are better not experienced even as they say experience is the best teacher; some will break you, mould you into another person: a stranger, evil person seeking revenge/nauseated at the sight of a group of people, etc. Some psychological issues... <br />
Reading the story of five Corpers kidnapped in Rivers state, the deafen silence of the federal government, the non-disclosure of the Corpers identity by the NYSC, I wonder if our government would rather compensate families than protect the lives of the youths (citizens) or is this a ploy to eliminate youths? Youths are said to be the leaders of tomorrow, is it the dead that would lead?<br />
Campaigns to Free the Corpers had been organised; asking all Batch B 2011 Corp members to boycott the passing out parade on the 16th of June, 2011. Since NYSC and the Federal government had decided to go deaf and dumb on this issue, maybe this will get their attention. At every point we have to act for ourselves. There are so many questions that plague the mind here.<br />
We are a people who live on the principle “All man for himself”. Each citizen had in one way or the other learnt to be the government; providing the necessities supposed to be the government’s function. Expecting electricity for just 20 minutes in a week is seen as an insane wish in some parts of the country. Basic social amenities like water, electricity even road have become a duty fatalistically carried out by individuals with a simple shrug of “God dey”! <br />
Parents for many of us had been the government we have known all our life. They slave to provide things the government had denied us. And certainly after service year, they would be the government to turn to for job. Mulling over this, will youths all over the country agree to boycott the passing out parade? The only reason most youths endure the service year is for the certificate. Would anyone trade that to get the attention of a government that had never been there for them? Won’t that everyman for himself attitude come to play here? A case of ‘eni ori yo’dile’.<br />
The Rivers state government had been said to claim they won’t be paying any ransom. I wonder if they were inspired by some American film; they had better wake to reality. There was money to pay when foreigners were kidnapped, are they waiting to compensate? Come to think of it, why would Corp members be kidnapped? Are the kidnappers trying to get the attention of the government believing that Corpers are ‘Government Child’ or on the view of many communities that Corp members are viruses eating their allocation? <br />
To answer the questions plaguing the mind, a simple shrug of “God dey” seems to fit perfectly. But no! God didn’t kidnap them, some people did. It is our responsibility to take action; poke, push, question, petition, compel the various arms of government, NYSC and any other group or individual(s) involved. #FreetheCorpersnanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5855306412232742510.post-15531398684522123392011-05-20T11:48:00.001+01:002011-05-20T15:47:13.130+01:00Still on 21st raptureThe offer in my last post is still on,at least for those in the geographical zone that won't see 21st until almost 24 hours to come. Thanks for your cooperation.<br />
Now due to time zone,the Aussie would be the first to rapture because they would certainly get to 21st May,2011 before some other continents. Check your time people,dont forget to wish them happy rapturing! They getting the first ticket had me mulling.<br />
Aussies are so lucky you know? They get to pick the best rooms,I imagine them choosing the ocean view parts,gardens,wildlifes(oh wild animals cant be wild in paradise,can they?);Aussies are nature lovers. Taste the food first,first shower,hang-out with the angels, etc. Won't they get to choose the virgins first?Depending on your belief though.<br />
Well I hope there would be internet facility over there,maybe someone would update us what's happening. A status update on facebook,twitter,etc saying via paradise.com/heaven.com would be much appreciated. Better, if a blogger raptured and blogs about the experience so that 'doubting Thomases' in the time zones yet to make 21st May,2011 would see proof.<br />
I hope an Aussie will do us all that favour. It's time to wish all those in Australia a smooth rapturing. Thanks as we await your post via paradise.comnanty greenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15545246273953066838noreply@blogger.com0