Old time Nwantintin

Recently a friend of mine  http://www.facebook.com/nuggetzman on Facebook wrote this statement [Churches in val mood. Red hearts and roses hanging on church walls. Churches are hosting red carpets and comedy shows today and 2mrw. Naija xtian no fit come last. But is romantic love anytin African? Ever saw or seen our parents kiss in public?]

And it made me think back to my parents, they met and married in the UK and are staunch members of Deeper Life Church but they loved and showed that love daily. They kissed especially when leaving or returning to the house and just sometimes to show affection. It wasn't done in public, in public they showed their love in a different way, the way they looked after each other, respected each other. I learnt the gentle, quiet, beautiful and sublime love from them and its what I want.

Flowers, chocolates and presents are all good but nothing beats the gentle trust and assurance that you are loved no matter what. That is what every right thinking person wants. That is what I want. and if wanting that means waiting a little bit more, then it would be totally worth it. 
So for everyone who gets that look or question of 'when are you next', I say don't sell out, hold on, with God on your side, you'll overcome.
So thinking of the old time love, I post this poem and say to you all Happy Valentine. God bless.

First published on 3rd December 2010


The Return 



I will meet you at the path

with the best of nkpokiti dances

Ululating your ancestral names, so your father’s line

can hear and be proud

I’m aiming for the back-hairs at your neck,

hoping they encourage your head to swell


Then I’ll lead you up the cement steps,

into the house, strip off your dust weary clothes,

chanting the songs you suckled to, remind you of your mother’s smell

Lead you in to the bathroom where

a pail of warm water awaits, and as you pour,

I’ll wash your back with black soap and tickles


Then clean and fresh, you sit before pounded yam

with fresh fish soup and as you eat, I’ll recall songs

that will transport you to the fields of nostalgia

When you finish, I’ll await your burp of satisfaction,

show you the raffia chair prepared for your resting


And as you lie content, I’ll lay my head on

your lap and rub your stomach

The trees and winds joining the gentle chant

of my heart-mine, mine, mine.

Whispers

Does the lady protest too much? I don't know, I'm no lady! Just a question though. How does one really know?

First published on Wednesday, 11 February 2009

Misread things and February



Again, the month where we fall, get out, think and hate love is here and already I'm sick of it! Why one month has to have so many emotions tied to it is beyond me but since I'm slowly converting to the whole idea of this love thing. (I have good examples around me...its rubbing off) here's something for people enjoying the magical experience of that crazy thing called love. Note though, that I put my personal abilistic spin on it.



Sunset.


In your shadow

Comfort looms

I am wrapped tight like

Kola nut in shell.


Fingers trace outline of

Lips, eyes, lashes, dimple

I stick a tip in, tickle;

Bubble of laugh from

my stomach

Tumbles up into

my chest

Out of my throat. I. Am. So. Happy.


Sunrise.


In the cast

Shelter stays

I am cocooned like

Fish in deep water, there is safety

Freedom at once.


Lips graze then

Part and tongue flicks

Picks up salt, grit

Familiarity

Pucker, press, imbibe essence of

Deliciousness, which is you.

In here

I am whole, found,

alive, true, sane, complete

filled, loved.


Yours.

I absolutely love this song and I think it fits with the poem-feel free to enjoy!

Wanting Needs

Valentine's Day is very nearly upon us and is there much love in the air? Restained emotions abound this year I think, every flamboyant thought being thrown into uproars of people seeking political freedom. I think this is good, I know this is good, no one should be oppressed for whatever reason, no people should be used as political pawns to suit a nation's or leader's greed.

However, enough of that slight steam and back to the issue of l'amour (God help us!). I have no investments in this except my words, words which protest attimes and which cave in some other time. So in the spirit of February, Here goes for broke...

first published on Thursday, 15 October 2009


Besetting



A) Skin.

Smooth builds into

Rough, melds into dips

Depths, curves.

Lovely. Musk, sweat

Primal coma, secret

Places invoke, invite.



B) Hair.

Flutter, flick

Lightly sting, caress

Heavy glides over.

Sheen. Digging in,

Drag lightly, let

Pain collide by pleasure.



C) Caves.

Moist promise warmth

Strength plunge deep

Dark, pan-ic, still

Stroke, stride, slide

Call plump, plunde

Sink. Lift. off.

The Art of Forgiveness

Well, for those who read this jlog (a journal blog, get it) Thanks for your faithfulness and for those who just come and look at my lovely face, thanks for your whatever it is (fascination? ideas anyone?)

Earlier today I had wanted to write about how much I hated valentine and how I had never celebrated it as I always dated smart guys who picked a quarrel in January just to ensure we had split by February. Dissolving the cabinet as a friend put it.

I wanted to write about how I sent myself a valentine card at secondary school when I got fed up of everyone getting one each year and I having nothing to show for myself. I liked a guy (really, Demo, where are you?) but all my seniors liked him too and I don't have the strength to suffer for love (yeah, say what you will, I'm built like that)

I intended to eat my body weight in sweets and biscuits (I hate chocolate) and strangle anyone who gave me a pity face when I tell them I spent the day alone. I had planned to write all this, in fact I wrote it 3 times! This is my 4th attempt (I'm typing it first on Word, then cutting and pasting) Then I went to church (I can hear the hehen!, go on, I'll still speak) and as the sermon went on, I started thinking about all the men that had messed up my life either directly or indirectly, some have messed me up more than others and I realised, I still hated them, oh yes, I'm very good with the 'I'm good, lets remain friends' thing but I still hope they never find happiness and daily knock themselves for letting someone as wonderful as myself go.

Then I realised I had to let them go, really forgive, and then I could really move on and be. (As you would have guessed the service was on forgiveness and building each other up)

So I have stopped detesting, I have stopped hating, I am now forgiving and letting go.

I forgive the boy who said 'I love you' and said it to my best friend too
The one who made me cook for him, then said it tasted crude
My pardon to the one who farted and blamed it on me
The one who wouldn't wash, wouldn't brush, or simply would not flush
The one who left the toilet seat up, or messed it with paper
The one who licked the plate after lunch and slurped his water
The one whose mum didn't like me, she said I was too fat
The one who said he liked my body if only I could lose the pouch
The one who hunched, belched his lunch, rolled his hips like a girl
The one who told everyone, I liked it rough and loud and a bit cruel (not true)
The fat , the thin, the bald, the weak, the bigoted arrogant fool
The one who named my boobs but said my ass gave him no clue
The one who got married on my birthday, the one who broke up with me
The timid one who sent a text saying, 'its not you but surely not me'
The flashy one, the messy one, the stark raving sex machine
The poet, the singer, the builder, the lover, the one's who's in between
The one turned gay, the gay who played straight, the one who became a woman
The one who made me sit on his knee, play dress up, or scream out his name and
the one got my heart but had to get away
I forgive these men, all these men, give all my pain away
But this is for the next man, who comes, if you're just as messed up,
Please stay away

Ps: in case I still have injuns reading my journal, the above was meant to be a poem, not real!

Of Mice and Men

As you know this is an old post, but its so relevant because guess what?! Valentine is almost upon us again and the marketing franchise is at it again! So here something old becoming new, written when I was blue but now I'm brand new! (see what I did there?)


Ahhhhhhhhhggggggggg!

I'm TIRED of being alone!!! There! I said it! Now will everyone stop telling me how I should go about getting a guy or why I don't have a guy and simply introduce me to a guy. I mean I keep getting friends saying things like 'Oh and I know this guy, you guys would have been so good together BUT he's gay, engaged, unserious, not a Christian, an atheist, a player, short, bald, ugly, dirty, mummy's boy, fat, skinny, has pimples, Igbo, Hausa, Yoruba, Congolese, a fisherman etc...'(Which makes me wonder, what kind of friends do I have that they have such men in their circle?)

These friends are dating relatively normal men but when it gets to me, suddenly, all the men they know are Quasimodo incarnates! With friends like these who can avoid being an old maid? Shelf here I come! Just stick a 'repossess' sticker on me, cos at this rate, sell-by dates won't help. So I say it again, if you can't help me, don't point out my 'problem' ok or I'll be having yah! Anyways here's another poem, its been a while abi...sorry, been busy trying to get into Notre Dame! (you get?) Enjoy! One can never know what goes on in the mind of a man.

There never seems to be enough co ordinates between their thoughts and actions! Moreover, with the whole 'idea' that they are ruled by the contents of their pants and not their heads, that would seem quite right. (Accuse me of generalisation, if you will, I'm just quoting the common consensus) Therefore the whole mechanics of the 'Who, What, Where and How' (I presume, y'all know that a wise man never asks a woman 'Why?') is something that needs fine application to be able to get anywhere in a relationship.

And as I'm not the best when it comes to that (I only talk the talk ok, never been able to walk it) I leave it at this...

It is an abyss
This thing we call us
You not understanding me
I not reading you right
We come together, we fall
You rise, I crawl
We both speaking
Neither heard
We could be registered members of confused dot com
I'm reaching out but can't see
Your fine form of telepathy
You say my words aren't plain
they have more than they say
I wish your yea would be yea
So indeed, my nay would be as it says
But we'll keep second guessing wanting to know,
though not revealing
It is indeed an abyss
This thing called us

I know some of the lines are groan worthy but as I always say to my dear friend 'Millie'- Deal with it!