You Shouldn't Lay Down Your Crown by Graciano Enwerem.

 A poet called to share his testimony how his audio was played yesterday in a very "jabronic" almost insignificant radio station. Another poet sent me a recording of his voice performing on stage that was played on TV... not so local a television station, but very far below standard. A fan told me how he listened to Dike Chukwumerije's poem on radio in Lagos and waited for mine until he slept off. I also saw posts of a lot of my poet friends and students narrating how they enjoyed air play yesterday. Oh, I also remember that I was one of the poet invited to perform in a very local television station in Port Harcourt 2 years ago and how when we were done, the staff in charge came and said to me, 'anything for the boys?' I laughed but he was damn serious. 

The other poets who had attended the on air meeting previous years calmly said to me that it's normal. They narrated how they've always, 'dropped' something to 'oil their palms' and 'buy fuel'. I ended up 'dropping' 2,000 Naira that day but swore never to grant them interview even if they're inviting:

Sage Hasson, 

Efe Paul Azino, 

Wole Soyinka, 

Donna Ogunnaike, 

Olumide Holloway and all other poets that I respect. 

I said all of these to say this, we should stop celebrating mediocrity! It is true that we've moved from being almost not celebrated to being 'recognized' but there's more we could have achieved, first as individuals then as a collective bunch of artistes. Only between yesterday and the day before it, over 30 OAPs asked for my audio recordings. Like they don't know that the audios are online. Even when I gave them the links, some of them insisted that I send the files to them because they won't have time to download. I told them that I wouldn't have time to share the files. You see, if this happens to me, I wonder what is the fate of the not so popular poets. 

It seems we've gradually started to not just accept but also become satisfied with this trend. The trend where our contents will only be on demand every World Poetry Day. I've always been a sucker for special days and the things people do with them. How some people will never take their spouse on a date until it's February 14th, how most people only go to church on the last day of the year, how some Christians only pray when they're in trouble but this hate for this special day for poetry and the eye-service practices is different. You know why? Because it plays light our efforts to go mainstreams. It ridicules what most poetry promoters like me stand for. Truth is nothing will change if we maintain statuesque. I won't advise any poet to assume a brand that's bigger than his or her worth but I'll definitely charge us to see beyond our individual inclinations and proclivities. It's not about just you. If you lay your crown, people will use it as a carpet. If this happens, no matter how much quality we possess and exhibit, our crowns (which by the way all look same) will look like carpets regardless of the head wearing them. I've bounced events not because the 20K or 30k they're offering won't add value to my personal needs but because I was wondering what they'd offer to the poets under me if that's what they're offering me especially when I compare it to what they've stuffed in the accounts of other artistes. 

READ ALSO MAY YOUR ROAD BE ROUGH BY TAI SOLARIN

Funny enough, the events where I was paid well were the same events I was treated well. Contrary to popular opinion, they won't make up for their deficiency of a worthy honorarium with good PR. It has happened countless times to me and numerous friends that I know. Stop celebrating mediocrity. Look beyond your personal needs and have regard for our collectively class. Finally, don't overestimate your worth. I still maintain that you shouldn't lay down your crown. If a platform is bigger than you, instead of going about looking for butt holes to lick, patiently work on your value/brand until you're fit enough to be honored accordingly. Leave your crown where it belongs... On your head! Get better. Buy books that would improve your grammar, rhetoric and pronunciation. Rhyming and the use of wordplay can be improved on. Get mentors to help you make sensitive decisions that will help you brand. Submit to people that have passed the road your preparing to ply. Don't let things happen to you, happen to things. Because like a drop of water on a large body of water, we'll all feel the rippling effects.

Meet Graciano Enwerem. He's a lecturer, poet, presenter, literary critic and the author of SPOKEN WORD POETRY-101.

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FOR AFRICA WE CREED

For Africa of tomorrow, we creed,

for the love of our father's land we

must fight a fight worthy of praise.

We have learned to mask the sun,

we have learned to cover the sky

for our creed to be heard by all and all.

For Africa of tomorrow, we must not cry again,

For Mandela shall come again for free.

Our cries shall not again break the dawn,

for the whispering of cricket is heard far and wide

so shall our laughter silence sorrows.

New era has come with a palm wine of smiles,

Streaming the fate of every African to goodness.

For the love of Africa, we shall sing again,

plant trees of faithfulness and understanding.

We are born with tradition and culture,

we have pregnant lands waiting for tomorrow,

and we must handle every tide that brings

memories into the bosom of our breastful heart.

And history of agonies must not go back

with the loneliness in our mouths.

For the brightness of our surrounding is hope,

the black race of our minds is the world.

For the good of Africa, we all shall arise

float in the sky and rise Africa above all.

For in Africa our Bread shall come again.

For the love of Africa, we shall stand.

John Chizoba Vincent is a prolific poet, writer, and cinematographer. He has written several books which include Hard Times.

"AFRICA, A LAND OF CHILDHOOD" by John Chizoba Vincent.

This is a land of lands where dreams

are planted in the longing eyes of a child.

Lives are redefined for societal upliftment,

children build castles on the seashore and

watch the passage of tradition and culture

from the custodians to the younger ones.

We speak of those tales under the moonlight,

grace the festivities hopping in around villages.

Boys stay uphills to tell girls tale of prestige,

Girls gather in the stream to sing and dance.

When boys come,  they run here and there

madly to cover their innocent nakedness 

We watch the elders chew kola nuts

under the setting of the old rugged sun.

Children remember the farmland like their palm,

the dreadful thunder,  they chase with a curse.

Hopeful land AFRICA is a land of expression.

We sweep clean our hearts with love.

Our skin colours are our proud name,

no full flame,  next fall, next rise joyfully,

With love and new opinions, we strive on.

She watches signifies come and go,

names immortalized on her wall...

This is the land that harbours our childhood.

Boys chase girls along the village tracks,

not without sending our souls' errand to

  

tell them of our longing thoughts craving.

When we misbehave,  we tell the elders the lie.

Cry of fearful rodents we follow downhills to

derive joy from their fears and heartbeat.

We have no problem except those we created,

We have no sin except those we learned of.

Life, a funfair,  sure path to imperfection.

Elders meet elders,  women meet women,

boys tell boys tales and girls giggle often.

Africa  made us who we are to the world,

a spotlight of the undescribed world of sin.

Images and prime creature above all species.

Downhills are green grasses spreading potentially.

Tell men of high condition that manage the globe

that our black colour is not a crime to nature.

Africa is a land of childhood. 

You can reach John Chizoba Vincent @ chizobavincent@gmail.com

AWKWARDNESS by John Chizoba Vincent.

carving their names on the world’s flesh like scars,

they won’t waste their breath on the news of dead men.

if there are things humans should learn, it is how to

leave their emotions out of the equations uncourtly,

Keep an eye on their flank, naturally and neutrally.

under a worried sky, the wind striped, blood shattered,

not in this rat hole shall children learn to sip passage of

rotten loyalty from their fathers. through sun and

through shadows, we’ll walk by the side of the sun.

the sky, the earth’s fate is bound till eternity,

If that up goes down, the other is a reminiscence of

forgetfulness which is seen in the heart of women.

we can heal each other, we can reclaim perpetuity,

a fable told from the book of Azra, trust issues but

not in the cuddled care of mother fate whose template

Of love swells and faints at the sight of an oblong face.

let’s man this forest of people that beloved hatred,

let this castle of cruelty home you after the night.

  

we’ll watch the black linen of the stars across

the eyes of the Eagles in the sky for boring of nature,

we’ll book Edom for the sins of Moses when time

takes part in the howling of the oceans could be

So devastating and a loved one ineptness delayed.

the clumsiness of the moon is what made the sun,

let those without mouth render a theme of odium

to another forgone yesterday but remembered today.

we are the fault in the skin of the humble stars.

we are back from where we began our journey,

we smelt the fragrance of yesterday’s fire now. the

slavery of every torn garment is awkward of peace.

you heard our voices through the wind when you

listen to it over and over again without a double ear.

every one of us that leaves finds a place in the skies’ body.

a curse. A spell. A magic. A bound. Every spell cast

was horrible and ghost hunting among men of the past,

yet, our fathers betrayed us with lack and backwardness.

take a walk pass memory lanes, we’ll leave our voices

at the back of the moon before morn awakes freedom.

how we built shatter for broken souls, how we pulled gorily

and miseries from their eyes, how we heard their agony

shrieked yesteryear was something unspeakable.

we’ll see our imagination again at their feet and eyes,

taught the flowers how to carry our smell to tomorrow;

we’ll not make the mistake of selling our children into poverty again

but, we’ll carve a new world around not in awkwardness  

John Chizoba Vincent is a prolific poet, writer, and cinematographer. He has written several books which include Hard Times.

My Lover's Song, By Omoruyi Uwuigiaren.

In the face of pleasure
violence swims against the tide
The world hears
The bed cries
It was dusk 
He sinks deeper
Her moan rages
cockerel sounded it was dawn
He conquers eve
rushes to the temple
Water the garden  
the man lives

Monster by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

Dark speeches
Haunted monsters
They killed
They cursed
We drifted to oblivion.
Happy in silence
Kissed the monsters
Killed their home
Merry on the mountain
Lost in the glory
South is blood
Monsters are honored
Sing with strange tongue
The dead cannot conquer.

(c)Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

https://web.facebook.com/notes/h3cpublishers/monsters-by-omoruyi-uwuigiaren/1779559962261453

POEMS

THE CRUSADER

by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

Ageless forest of legs
Wrote frustration on the face of the old earth
Our foes saw nothingness in their stupor
In the midst of million brags
The Rock of Gilbraltha is here
A scrawny hero
His feet cannot hurt a fly
Yet wrecking the hills on the highway
A feat for few
His smile humbles the darkness
Bliss embraces the weak
And cockerels sounded it was dawn

THE VICTIMS

by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

The night walked away
Lost in the sea of rage
Gloom was her conqueror
Yesterday has gone
Singing on the hills
Another day has come
Our prey was her meal
The heart of the cruel evening
It was a troll
A thousand sparrows has fallen
The ones we cherish
Silence of the saddest grave

AGAINST ALL ODDS

by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

We are not here to growl
The bald faint
Anxiety rages in the brook
Succumb to the flood
Kissed the bare chest of the earth
Misery at dawn
The least wailed
Soldier's legs betrayed him
No one saw the owl
the old rugged fighter
Lurking in the dark
The feet of them that quivered