By Noel Ihebuzor
the effluent of affluence flows
as flapping folds of fat flailing
funnily on former firm frames
**inspired by SLD’s poem ”
“first-world problem”
Post by Palesa Mazamisa*
The heinous, brutal rape and subsequent slaughtering of Anene Booysen in South Africa’s Western Cape province has brought into the open, once again, the miry underbelly of our rainbow nation. At the heart of violence that Anene was subjected to, lies a bigger issue that South Africans wilfully shunt and ignore. This issue is our Achilles heel. It is what has our nation wondering at the gruesome nature of the violence committed against Anene with our mouths agape, spit dripping from our lips, trying to figure out what makes South Africa such a violent society.
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A song on waiting
By Noel Ihebuzor –
The evening limps on dragging feet
slowly, the enlarging darkness of night
overruns the day
urging the dying day to bed and rest
the lights die out
as silence enfolds the enveloping darkness
and she waits
Time crawls on millipede feet
seconds last long like sluggish minutes
sadness and worry rest heavy
heavy on her restless pacing feet
(occasionally stamping feet)
as a damp blanket
Between pacing, stamping and sitting,
she stays on, stays up, eyes heavy
soul heavier, spirit drooping
wrestling with the harsh hands
of hurt and reality
that now strangle her dreams
and choke her soul
she checks the hum of every passing car
ears straining and acute
hearing the silent footfalls of footless spirits
responding to the call of the night
as they glide to their nocturnal haunts
And she wishes she could go forth like them
but she cannot
worry has hollowed her eyes
self pity erodes her soul
creeping doubt slowly strangles her self confidence
but courage and hope prop her up
and she wonders which company keeps him today
what outside tall tales inspire his loud laughter
what colored claws and lips
trace well perfected caresses on his frame
and bring sparkles and glitter
to his otherwise dead eyes
and she wonders
where all that intensity has flown
where, how, why and when
all that “we go die together” died,
where it was buried….
and she wonders and worries
as her mind wanders, and waits and hopes
and she sits, stands, sits,
sighs and waits…
waiting for the car lights in the drive way
for the well feigned contrition, the well rehearsed tales,
the unreliable car, the low battery…..
dreading the smell of alcohol and strange perfumes
and just wondering how long…yes, just how long before!
“tion” words – emotion in action
By Noel Ihebuzor
Seduction,
words, glances, gestures
and signs all singing innocence,
guile innocently garbed in see-through lace, wonyosi,
seeds laced and laden with suggestion
of slow gentle adduction
consensual abduction,
mutual attraction, prehensile and tensile,
O youth, shine your eyes,
read the small print
approach with caution, resist acceleration
to end points and end games
steeped in action, multiplication, addition,
and deception and substraction.
The voice of punctuations, the song of shapes
Punctuations speak and sing.
They hum breaks, pauses and stops.
Shapes float and dance and whisper meanings….
and in their shy whispers and gentle murmurs,
spoons are no longer just for the table,
even if they still collocate with meals and eating
in these new fresh environments
all descriptive and so so suggestive
Stirred Muse – in response to SLD’s “Muse Ridden”
By Noel Ihebuzor
The touch key stirs, stretches, awakens and moves
humming, stroking and caressing
Soon, it blends notes and nuances,
stirs, nudges, and then steers other senses to move and dance
all awakening now, gliding, sliding, slithering
like anxious limbs aroused by the teasing inebriating tones of Alija
like nubile hips swaying involuntarily,
stirred by ekwe, ngelenge and udu laced by ele mminri
suddenly the soft shadows of a new song emerge
fleeting, inchoate
Some further loving touch and brush by the potter,
and the new song explodes
reason, rhyme and rhythm join hands
skipping along, speaking words
spraying flowers, some red, some rose,
some raw and raging,
some purple and crimson, some weeping, others laughing
but all carrying deep messages
that touch our aroused eyes and ears
and seep to the soles of our searching souls –
the beauty of Susan’s poetry
*** Susan Daniels, a superb poet and my duet partner, wrote a great poem “Muse ridden” http://susandanielspoetry.com/2013/02/14/muse-ridden-2/
which prompted my spontaneous comment on her blog. Stirred Muse is my attempt to polish that spontaneous response – so here! I am still left with the feeling that the spontanoeous response reads much better!***
For those who lay down their lives so that others may stand erect
disease has no morality
and antibodies
are blind to whom they protect
cellular insurance
bought with a wince
and a cry
that small pain, forgotten
in minutes
buys a lifetime without braces
and canes, free
of the hiss of ventilators
or rooms
still full of toys
echoing absence
but they say these shots
are poisoned
with western interest
and there is a politics
that prefers death
to sterility
though dead children
can’t make babies
and immunized ones can
eventually
sugar cubes and needles
were never the enemy
but ignorance and fear–
those things kill
and spread faster than any virus
Somebody or nobody!
In America, all men are believed to be created equal and endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights. But Nigerians are brought up to believe that our society consists of higher and lesser beings. Some are born to own and enjoy, while others are born to toil and endure.
– Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani
The Nigerian writer, Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani is at it again. Her February 9, 2013 op-ed piece in the New York Times (In Nigeria, You’re Either Somebody or Nobody) in which she referred to some Nigerian house helps as “smelly” and “feral” is living rent-free in my head. I wish it would just go away. Nwaubani’s piece, on the fate of “househelps” or “servants” in Nigeria, is a profound commentary on how the West continues to view much of Africa, with the active connivance of many African writers, who traipse the West, hawking tales of…
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Post by Cheta Nwanze*
In 1989, an unknown Dutch manager, Clemens Westerhof happened upon the job of managing the Nigerian National Team, known at the time, as the Green Eagles. A year later, the team was meant to compete in the African Nations Cup, hosted by Algeria. Before the tournament, all hell broke loose as the usual issues of “fights to the finish”, “match bonuses”, “player power”, came to the fore. As a result, the senior players in the team, led by a certain Stephen Okechukwu Keshi, led a boycott of sorts by making outrageous sounding demands before playing for the country in Algeria 90. Westerhof called their bluff, and led the team consisting almost entirely of home-based players (Andrew Uwe, Rashidi Yekini and Friday Elahor being the exceptions) to the silver at the tournament. Bear in mind that this second place finish came after a 5-1 loss to the…
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Full text of Pope’s declaration
Dear Brothers,
I have convoked you to this Consistory, not only for the three canonizations, but also to communicate to you a decision of great importance for the life of the Church. After having repeatedly examined my conscience before God, I have come to the certainty that my strengths, due to an advanced age, are no longer suited to an adequate exercise of the Petrine ministry. I am well aware that this ministry, due to its essential spiritual nature, must be carried out not only with words and deeds, but no less with prayer and suffering. However, in today’s world, subject to so many rapid changes and shaken by questions of deep relevance for the life of faith, in order to govern the bark of Saint Peter and proclaim the Gospel, both strength of mind and body are necessary, strength which in the last…
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Reflections 