Yearning for Rose Greenfield

My yearnings grapple for an invincible obsession
so strong like asthmatics yearn for oxygen
Not touched…not seen. Yet lurking in the dark corners of my mind
her beauty resonates from afar


There she sat in my garden among the lilies
Filled with life and love
a chunk to suffice the world


Halt! For my green eyes shall keep the chunk
her pink lips glow in darkness
And when she decides to paint them red
One will need Redbull before viewing them


She sat on a pot of loom; her dress woven from leaves
Treated with love, care and patience, she is the perfect ingredient to make the whole world smile
But maltreated and disrespected, she will get into your skin and come out like a pin
With a pain sharp to ache your heart and a few drops of your blood to make you pay
There you are my beautiful addiction
The one thing I yearn for, my rose flower

By Nii Ogbamey Tetteh (@ogbameytetteh on twitter)

Boko Haram

Peaceful?
A hovering hummingbird on a Hibiscus with bright red hue harnessing
Natural nectar from a nodding plant
Gods of men and market mongers meandering miserly through the masses;
Connoisseurs at craving kalabuley coins, even kobo kobo from careless Christians
Call that peaceful, Yusuf calls it exploitation

Mother Nature allows the hummingbird to exploit the Hibiscus
While the gods of men exploit bloody Christians

Wrap the terror round about Abu’s waist
And blister his brains with the bad books that breeds the bloodbath
And watch his act

Adorn Abu in white boubou
The purity of a martyr
On his way to celestial rest,
In the bosom of seven virgins,
And watch his act

And a prayer,
And an Allahu Akbar,
And a Ka-boom!!

Nii Moi Thompson

Tears of the Wind

She yelled out of a terrible dream when the clock struck 4. “ooh, its morning already. I have to get the girls ready for school.”

She hurriedly finished her chores, woke her husband up and had a warm bath. It was time to play mummy once again.
“Wake up girls, it is time for school and we don’t want to be late”. Little Naa was carried in her sleep while Ayikai took her mom’s hands and they were marched straight to the bathroom.

“Mummy my toothbrush,” Naa yelled “Mummy my sponge,” Ayikai joined in the exasperating chorus . In about 20mins, the kids were ready for school but they had to go take breakfast while she got ready for work.

She was ready to leave . “Alright girls, let’s get going”. She waited for minute but heard nothing. She moved to the dining and realised the girls had neither a taken a sip nor a slice.

“Naa, Ayikai, won’t you eat your food,” she asked. Naa, the youngest of the girls ran to her and hugged her. She looked really sad, “mummy, I don’t want to go to school today. Please don’t make me go.”
Ayikai also joined in the hug and said: “It’s ok Naa, go eat your food and I’ll take care of you when we get to school ok.” They both sat with their sad faces and ate their food.

She was running late for work. Daddy was already in his car but the Taxi driver who sends the girls to school had not arrived yet.
Just when she brought out her phone to call him, she heard the sound of a car pull into the house. “Madam, I make sorry waa for my lateness,” he said. “My car dey worry me sorry, Fa ts3 mi, ense bio.”
As the taxi started moving out of the compound, Naa and Ayikai waved their parents goodbye.

She got to work late, organised a Press Conference for her boss and before the conference was over, the day had ended. It was 4pm and she had to pick her kids from school. She called up the Taxi driver and asked him to go pick up her kids from school.

She got home at 7pm and her kids were nowhere to be found. “Where are the girls”, she asked her husband through rattling teeth.

“I went to the school and I was told you had asked someone to come pick them up with a taxi so I assumed they were with you at work,” he replied.

The taxi was supposed to bring them home, she yelled as she angrily brought out her phone. After four times of calling, the Taxi driver finally answered, Madam my car spoil oo , I dey come. Your pikkins dey fine, then he ended the call. Nothing annoyed her more than his perverted version of the pigeon language.

She tried to call the line again and this time a strange voice picked the call, hello maame make you stop dey call, you no go see the pikkins again
, the strange voice said but before the call ended, she heard her daughter screaming and crying.
Oh my God, she shouted as she fell to the floor.

“Daddy, our kids have been kidnapped”.

Her husband quickly picked up his phone and called the police. My two daughters have been abducted, he told the police. Few minutes later, the parents where at the police station to put down their statement. The Police inspector then deployed dispatch units to go search for the girls.

Suddenly, Goose pimples rained all over her body, she remembered the terrible dream she had that morning.
In the dream, she was playing with her kids on a road which appeared to be covered with snow when a strong wind blew and carried the two girls away. But as she yelled for help, the girls kept smiling and waving goodbye. That was when she woke up.

She fell to her knees and broke down in tears. “I’ve lost my babies, they are gone, I feel it in my soul. They are gone,” she wailed.

“It wasn't you,” she told her husband, “it was all me, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have allowed them to go with the Taxi driver. Please forgive me.”

Her husband hugged her tight and as the tears rolled down his cheeks, he murmured, it was never your fault, I will never blame you. God gives and He takes away. I need you to be strong for me.

A couple of days later, the Taxi was found with body parts in the boot. The police together with her husband identified the part and confirmed that the body parts were that of the kids.

The driver was apprehended by the police at his hideout in no man’s land. He is to appear before a court on the counts of abduction and first degree murder.

What happens to this murderer is up to God and the court.

What happens to the family –the mother and father- is another story .


By Nii Ogbamey Tetteh (@ogbameytetteh on twitter)

MANIAC DEPRESSION- A POEM...OR MOVEMENT...OR WHATEVER YOU CALL IT

MANIAC DEPRESSION

Sexed curtains humping

Clock pointers banging

Ceiling fan chirping

My heart drumming;

My shadow a ghastly ghoul

Glass clinks, tips over; a dreaded drool

I go naked, my bells dangling

Between my thighs, its shriek deafening

Its weights vein-splitting

Its sight blinding

Hell and I in stern combat

I fry in my own fat

In just one bitter taste

Love turns to hate

My socket squeezing my eyes

My lips cold ice

My kiss one of death

Gone in one last breath

My world swirls, my bliss abridge

I cut, blood gushes, I fall and relish

My bumpy life; a lumpy porridge.


Michael Thompson
PS_ This piece is by no means a panacea for maniac depression. Just seeks to creatively personify certain into haunting concepts, a feeling which usually overwhelms people suffering from maniac depression.

By Michael Thompson

Nandi the Sacred Bull- Ode to Kama-Sutra

Parvati's teeth shone like magnet, the corners of her mouth curved,

and Lord Shiva's balls were moved

Her eyes arrowed his heart and pierced deep inside, a sharp lust pacing its side

So sharp Lord Shiva pulled

Nandi back so hard, for he himself was hard,

For a man’s manhood cannot be schooled

Come home with me, Parvati, and let’s make love lithely

And so they left, smiling at the sun and even Nandi mooed

Parvati’s fabric hid something full, fleshy, throbbing

And Shiva’s hand massaged her cadaver , tendering

Her lips slit open, so did her stands, and a whimper

Made her senses, save her sensual, lapse in deep slumber

Lord Shiva snaked through the slit and slid inner

Inner…Inner…then another whimper

Craving than the former, louder

She flowed downhill and outer

Watering her gates, altering her shapes

Lord Shiva hit her roof or so, and a whisper

Beseeched both mercy and more….another

Parvati’s god at the fountain of her slit, responded to its stroker

And there was another slide..inner…outer…inner…outer

Nandi the sacred bull eavesdropped, recorded, and carved Kamasutra…

….(to be continued)….

By Michael Thompson