flamesthoughts

THIS RAIN

2012-01-06T09:03:00.000-08:00

Rain,
Rain…
Assembling the cities in drones
Of angered voices
Falling it
billion heads
drooling the earth
like inebriate drummer
Rippling
It endless circle
to join
The ebbing cause of change
The ground is to loose
It face to the drain of ages
Every frightened pebble
Shall be swept along
stubborn soils
Not even your corner of hole
Can withhold
This turbulent abrasion
Run if you CAN
NOT HIDE
For the cat is drenched
Already
Ready to be washed away .

©Uche Uwadinachi

For Mustapha Muyideen

2012-01-04T06:45:00.000-08:00

REDEFINITION OF LOVE

In a country of guns and iron
Made against change
...
Love is in the heart of expended flesh
Hacked down for inciting wrong songs
Against an ordered falsification
Of wrong doing

Love is the daring to throw
The whole flower weight of the body
Against the might of armoured tanks
To halt the raging rain of bullets

Love is in the locked poise photo of picking
A stone to weapon with words
The only protest possible for all the bodies
And comrades falling down all around dead

Love is in the will not to be mourned
In the moment of dying
As others about scuttle to hide head and self
In a pinhole from the reach of the flying bullets

• Shot down and killed in Ilorin for joining the peaceful protest against the removal of fuel subsidy

©Aj Dagga Tolar

For detail on Mustapha MuyideenClick here

WORDSLAM 5

2011-09-27T11:52:00.000-07:00

FOR MORE DETAIL ON THIS PERFORMANCE, CLICK HERE
AND THE WORDSLAM BLOG

ALSO READ MORE DETAIL ON THE ARTIST, CHECK PRIEST OF POETRY BLOG HERE

A Review

2011-08-11T13:35:00.000-07:00

SCAR IN THE HEART OF PAIN
By Uche Uwadinachi : A Review

By
Onuchi Mark Onoruoiza

SCAR IN THE HEART OF PAIN by Uche Uwadinachi is a voluble engagement of pain as a brazen metaphor that transcends colour, creed, class, culture and clime.
The poet embarks on a clinical odyssey into the realm of pain; the height of his inventive poesy is enmeshed in an ambience of contrastive echoes, meandering through waning voices, slouching through undergrowths of perplexity in a universe of vociferous venoms.
The collection is a three pronged poetic excursion into the sublime limitations of a vilified voyager who against the odds of tidal floods of pain in a miry wilderness must stand the herculean currents of Medusa’s plagues.
The intricately woven tripod slices through each phase with a carefully laced lexis on a seamless glide across multivalent and technical but understandable nuances. The 70 paged collection parades 51 poems screened into three sub-themes as earlier indicated viz:
Curse (18 poems), Cure (19 poems) and Course (14 poems)
The relevance of this corpus is premised on the happenings in the society as a raw material for intellectual experimentation, the poetics of a canonized universe.
A voyage across his skillfully crafted musings will attest to his polemical amplification in his Heart of Pain:
Each turn multiplies pain// in the closest vein// another aching day//paralyzing the waking dawn.
The grim picture he paints evokes vivid impulse with volcanic power and capacity to trigger a revolution. The height of his frustration is ignited by a world that quakes in the constant drama of pain and this forces him to bellow In Stigma, I scream for the world beyond// to wrap me in its eternal darkness//but all in vain.
He uses Scar as a focal odium to drum home his gross disgust for pain. He graphically captures the lumpen proletariats who struggle to survive in a world of harsh realities, where hustling is the dogma to stay afloat. In Survival he quips, Feeding to avert hunger// clothing to avoid nudity//laboring to redeem debts//leaving to lay dead.
His diversity of pain is well captured in Lies, here he frankly posits that the world we live in is dysfunctional, where pretence is the rule of the game.
Lies
What music are you//Playing to an excited cripple?//Why spice chicken//For your toothless grandfather?//You console an impotent king //With beautiful nude virgins?//Such gift of a radio//For a lonely deaf friend?
In the second phase of his excursion, Cure, his curative antennae comes alive with the passion of a matador who anchors on the inevitability of change as an endearing antidote to Curse. He postulates the way forward in Cure, Not a plastic surgery//Not a royal shroud//Not a quick suicide//Only a confrontation//Of//You by Us can We//Overcome the aged scar.
In the last stanza of Curse to Cure, he fires, Today as it sails// I shall face the scar// And declare my demand to dew. This posturing affirms his poetic thrust as a never-say-die fighter with a quest for a lasting cure. His parabolical inclination and metaphoric depth is engaging. This debut reflects the polyphonic voices of the performer-poet.
In his rhetorically laced engagement as versified in Dream, he shoots,
‘What is dream?
It is the world
Of the hardened fighter-
He never gives up
Until he hears his last breathe puff-
His skin may be spilled
But the mind is his heavy weight.’
This evidently speaks volumes and the sharp diction of the poet attests to his thematic concern as a voyager on a lyrical flight, from the vale of horror to the height of redemption.
He transits to the third phase, COURSE with a high level of momentum effortlessly romanticizing flora and fauna elements. Here he goes on a sundry cruise - motley of vibrant echoes.
He takes us through the path of nature as the idyllic option of perfect bliss. In Its Tides: Our Times, he spills, Morning…//Blowing breeze//Whistling canary birds// in sound clash-orchestral//Choruses to wake sailed soul//For fresh corn to sow. He eulogizes nature in its pristine form in virtually all the poems in this segment. His creative candour in etching words with colourful charm is what makes this new offering a delightful read.
The poet has been able to elegantly present the collective plight of a generation in pain, in a universe of hate as reflected this debut collection by a versatile performance poet, Uche Uwadinachi.

A Show at The Lagos State Trade fair tagged EKO-EXPO

2011-07-27T12:19:00.000-07:00

OFFICIAL"IFE GA DIMMA" FT.OZZIE& FLAMESS

2011-05-16T12:52:00.000-07:00

couple of the year

2011-05-12T09:21:00.000-07:00

If there's one couple in the world i would to love to visit, i will surely choose Cat Di and Ikechukwu Ugbomah, they are great phenomena for positive change especially to our present downtroden society..they are wonderful.

Uche Uwadinachi at Potter's Lounge, Lagos, Nigeria

2011-05-12T08:51:00.000-07:00

Myne Whiteman meets Uche Uwadinachi

2011-02-01T12:50:00.000-08:00

Myne...

I first 'met' Uche Uwadinachi through his blog and then Facebook and finally in Nigeria where we really met at several of the events I attended. he was a charming person and his spoken word poetry even more so. He has a trademark poem, Ebony Goddess, which has won him some prizes and which is a joy to watch him perform. His first collection of poetry is Scar in the heart of pain. In this interview, Uche emphasizes that what he does "is not spoken word but spoken word poetry thus that makes it understandable that every poem, any poem can still be performed. My spoken word poetry is my book in its speech act medium- and I always write my poem not like prose, nor like drama but with that riddle that define the oral tradition where the African poetry began. However I still hope to improve on my style of writing."

for more on this interview click here to visit Myne Whiteman Website

U.s Group Celebrates Ken Saro Wiwa With Writing Competition

2010-11-18T01:22:00.000-08:00

Fifteen years after he was hanged along with eight other Ogoni freedom fighters, a non-governmental organization group based in the United States of America, Niger Delta Restoration of Hope (NDRH) has celebrated human right and environmental activist Ken Saro Wiwa with a candle light vigil in Houston, Texas. Preceding the remembrance which held on the Wednesday, 10th November, 2010 was writing competition organized by the group for young Nigerian writers and poets. The competition which was in its maiden edition produced winners among who is Mr. Kenechukwu Obi, a crop scientist and a Lagos-based brand consultant, and an author, Mr. Uwaoma Eizu. According to Catherine Dinnon, founder of NDHR, Obi won the poetry while the and short story category went to and Eizu. Both winners received a cash prize of N7, 500 and a certificate of participation from NDHR in Houston, Texas, USA.

Dinnon revealed that Obi's winning entry was "The Evergreen" while Eizu's short story was entitled "The Last Days of Nemesis", both dedicated to the memory of Saro Wiwa. Saro Wiwa was sentenced to death alongside other Ogoni activists for an alleged murder of his compatriots. Other participants in the competition that received credits for their works are Mr. Uche Uwadinachi, Ogwo Chinedu and Sylva Ifedigbo. Uwadinachi's poetry entry was "Rain, Ken Saro Wiwa" while Chinedu's entry was "Road to Martyrdom" just as Ifedigbo's entry was "Life before Death”. She explained that judges were drawn from USA, Ireland, and Nigeria to ensure a fair assessment of all the entries.Speaking to Trend'tainment during the award presentation, some of the winners and participants said that they were inspired by the life and struggle of the late Ken Saro Wiwa and felt honoured to be recognized in the competition.

“Winning this award is great and it has encouraged me to pick more interest in the ideals for which Ken Saro Wiwa lived and died for,” Kenechukwu Obi said. For Uche Uwadinachi, he said he felt happy getting an award for his poem while Augustine Ogwo, another participant said he was very enthusiastic about the award, “it is a real introduction to the world.” Dinnon explained that the selection process was very significant. "We had nine judges to signify the Ogoni 9.The two pieces were narrated at the Ken Saro Wiwa event in Houston on November 10.The second place winners received certificate of accomplishment. And because there were so many beautiful pieces, every author's art will be distributed in the Saro-Wiwa event programme”,Dinnon she said.

For more info Click here

OFFICIAL OBIECHINA "FAR AWAY" FT. UCHE

2010-11-01T23:47:00.000-07:00

Thanks all for your support

2010-11-01T11:31:00.000-07:00

Winners of the Poetry & Writing Contest
by Ken Saro-Wiwa Candlelight Vigil on Sunday, 24 October 2010 at 01:06

All of the entries to the Ken Saro-Wiwa Poetry and Writing Contest have been tabulated. To ensure the integrity of the competition, we sent the judges only the entry and the name of the author. Our judges were from the following three countries: United States, Ireland, and of course Nigeria. We had a total of 9 judges to signify the Ogoni 9. Only one of our judges was a professional writer, so we were judging purely on the message conveyed in the art.

After receiving the entries, we determined that we could not compare the poetry pieces to the short stories, so we opted to provide 2 First Place awards. Also, due to the number of entries, we decided that we should recognize our second place authors as well.

Our first place winners will receive 7,500N and a Certificate of Achievement. In addition, these 2 pieces will be narrated at the Ken Saro-Wiwa event in Houston on November 10. Our second place winners will receive a certificate of accomplishment. And, because there were so many beautiful pieces, every author's art will be distributed in the Ken Saro-Wiwa Event Program, which will be distributed at the event.

So, without further adieu...here are the names of your winning authors, as well as a short biography on our first place winners.

First Place - Poetry

Kenechukwu Obi

"The Evergreen"

Kenechukwu Obi is a Nigerian writer of the Igbo extraction, currently living in Enugu State. He was born in Lagos, where he attended Pedro Primary School. From there, he attended Nnewi High School, In Anambra State, and then proceeded to further his studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, where he obtained a degree in Crop Science. Kenechukwu says, “I write prolifically and envision exposing my works internationally."

WE ARE HONORED THAT WE CAN HELP HIM ACHIEVE HIS VISION!

First Place - Short Story

Uwaoma Eizu

"The Last Days of Nenesi"

Uwaoma Eizu is an IT, brand consultant and management professional of the Igbo extraction. Eizu was born in 1986 in Abia State and is currently living in Akoka, Lagos. Eizu attended Hope Primary School - Ikoyi. From there, he attended Falomo High School, and then proceeded to further his studies at the Federal University of Technology, Owerri (FUTO) Imo State. He is a graduate of Mathematics and Computer Science and a member of the Nigerian Institute of Management, a certified member of the Institute of Strategic Management of Nigeria, and a member District 9110, Rotary Club of Ikoyi. Eizu is also a Co-founder of the renowned NGO called Foundation 360, and initiator of the Potters Lounge Project which is a centre in Ikoyi for young people to hang out weekly as they find a purpose driven life.

Second Place - Poetry

Uche Uwadinachi

"Rain Ken Saro Wiwa"

Second Place - Short Story (There was a tie, so there are 2 recipients)

Ogwo Augustine Chinedu

"Road to Martyrdom"

and

Sylva Nze Ifedigbo

"Life Before Death"

Copies of the Ken Saro-Wiwa Event Program, which includes all of the entries, will be available by e-mail after the event. If you would like a copy, please send an e-mail to NDRestorationofHope@yahoo.com

CONGRATULATIONS TO EVERYONE!

RAIN KEN SARO-WIWA

As the rain gathers

Your grave torments

The rot of the soil

Where blood turns oil

For the barrel drunkards

In pot-belly shells

“…like the Ogoni

Battered, bruised,

Brutalized and almost buried”

Your eyes tears to see

The fishes coughing blood

Vegetables strangled by petrol

Infants pant of cancer

Pipeline becomes lifeline

To swim ashore to safety

Where tankers sit like bankers

You queried the earth

For spouting oil

And the gods for not

Drying its wide well

Your protest bang loud

Against the loot of roots

Belonging to the poor farmers

Ogoni’s Forest of Flowers

Becomes a desert of dragons

Basi & Co attempts a suicide

Sozaboy ends up a casualty

Of harrowing dead history

Ken was keen

Warning them of the eco-war

They had began against his world

The junta boots your throat

Marred your nights with threat

Their next words was a death sentence

On you and the eight others

As this rain summons

Your songs wake the thunder

Of Okigbo in echoes of gold

The dead fishes rose

Mangroves forest raptures

The rain forest resurrects

And swamps bubble alive

The Junta shivers in their shell

The council can no longer hold

For your grave have broken the cave

Of their hidden crimes of decays

Rain! Rain! Rain!

Ken Saro-Wiwa reign

And flush their black rums

Of evil away from our lands.

SPOKEN WORD RAP

2010-10-19T13:51:00.000-07:00

FEATURING FLAMES ( UCHE UWADINACHI)

AJ.DAGGA TOLAR INTRODUCES THE POETRY COLLECTION “SCAR IN THE HEART OF PAIN"

2010-10-16T09:51:00.000-07:00

...a Consequence of the Internalisation by the Poet of our Collective Burden

This collection of poem is a chain thread that is caused into being by a curse that cuts itself only from a course in search of a cure aimed at purifying the individual from an assumed eternal scar that combines with life to combat against existence.

Existence itself becomes a curse, the living is condemned to a cyclic life of quest for the basic needs of existence. this quest for the means of life, is so life consuming, that only very few can then approach their mind to the question of the meaning of life in a world where life is lived on ones knees and the quest for the meaning why, is in the common consciouness of all, seen to be an aberration.

The common consciouness is therefore seen to be one in order with a life without meaning ... without concern for this present drift by all into Abyss. It is this unhealthy condition that feeds this new collection with poems titled SCAR-IN-THE HEART OF PAIN, by Uche Uwadinachi with an unsettling staccatotic rythm that is in itself a struggle against the pain in the heart of the poet, a consequence of the internalisation by the poet of our collective burden - the very curse that is symbolically characterised as the scar. the very same scar that then chooses to take residence in the depth of our life of unexistence.

What path then must society trod, to free its minds and heart from the pangs of the continued descent into the abyss of unexistence? Is this a task for an individual in a society plagued by a lust for the individual, so arranged to predetermine a failure in this race of life against all the stigmas that recruits even the self to enemy the self? and yet the option of the collective is ruled out, when the poet’s thinking and thoughts is one mind against the common consciouness....

Uche Uwadinachi, only answer to the above delima is a return to the course, we cannot find a cure, from the scar we all want to run distance away from. If we remain unable to harvest the strength of our togetherness into one single mindful course - as the River very well examplifies...

To Read these poems at a single stretch commends itself on us to take a second read, to the poet itself on us to take a second read, to hear the poet performs the poems, draws us to drink from a free flowing “...waters/where our mad pains/will be pacified and/Taken away.” (Osun - Pg 67).

Who would dare to turn down the offer to party with a poem like Osun, quoted above. When Osun in all femine shine, draws us into a cuddule with her very essence, a return into the cradle of our beginning for a new beginning. For how else can we renew life if not in a deep into the bowels of Osun. And making life a new, we renew the possibility of the chance of striking right into the heart of the scar. For only in engagement against pain, can society become renewed ....

My only charge then against Uche Uwadinach in this entire collection is his commiting of poetry to suffer pain, our own life of pain, but by so doing, we see how poetry not only enriches its own art, but as well as behold how we can and must so want to bring the reign of pain to an end.

Scar in the Heart of Pain: A review by Francis Jakpor for Business Day Newspaper

2010-09-07T02:47:00.000-07:00

For the common man who bears the scars of poverty, unemployment, illness, failed relationships and societal stigma, life is indeed a struggle against the odds. There is always the inner urge to succumb to despair because the hurdles seem too high to scale while the future appears bleak. But is it really advisable to throw up our hands in despair? Isn’t it necessary to do some introspection and chart a new course that would perhaps lead to a more fulfilling life? Those seem to be the questions that Uche Uwadinachi, winner of the 2006 ANA Poetry Contest (Lagos chapter), asks the reader in his collection of poems titled ‘Scar in the Heart of Pain’.

The collection is divided into three parts: Curse, Cure and Course. Curse, which contains 19 poems – some of which are Heart of Pain, Stigma, A World of Worries, Survival, None, What, We still Mourn and In This Struggle Against Pain - paints a rather dreary picture of an individual in the throes of torment. Imagery is used to great effect, as are similes, personifications and hyperboles – all of which make the poems more true to life. In Heart of Pain, for instance, we find an individual for whom every day is “another aching day” whose heart is “injured with scars,” “cries in muffled tones” and is now “abandoned in the street of tomorrow’s mercy.” Stigma is no less fatalistic. We meet an anguished soul forever tarnished by his status in life. The scar he bears “no herbal gel can erase”. Instead, “the sun beams into his naked skin, inflicting more injuries.” Consequently, he screams for the world beyond to wrap him in its “eternal darkness”, but all to no avail. Rather than being purified after all his complaints, he is “putrefied”.

But Uwadinachi does not hang his shingle on the door of despair. In Cure, the second part of the collection (19 poems), he seems to suggest that it is not enough to rail at the cards that nature has stacked against us. There comes a time when we must confront our destiny head-on. He says “not a plastic surgery, not a royal shroud, not a quick suicide, only a confrontation of You by US can WE overcome the aged scar.” Some of the other poems in this part such as Proclaim Your Claims, Dream, Tomorrow and Successes are similarly clarion calls to action after a hiatus defined by needless pain.

In the concluding part of the collection (with 14 poems), it would not be out of place to say the poet is saying a cure for the tormented soul is not enough. Now, there is a sea of opportunities which can only be enjoyed by the truly resourceful and industrious mind. Life is now a level playing field. Our success or failure ultimately depends on how committed we are to achieving the goals we have set in life – “During harvest, some resume cultivation and others remember searching for seeds,” he says in Successes. In Proclaim Your Claims his admonition is that “whatever I bind in faith is bound in fate. Tomorrow is only a space between your fingers.”

All told, ‘Scar in the Heart of Pain’ is a great read and comes highly recommended for the youth who are constantly on a quest for self-discovery and fulfillment. Uwadinachi, a performance poet and graduate of English from the Lagos State University, has certainly proved his mettle with this one. Obviously, it is not much of a stretch to project that his subsequent collections will be just as excellent … if not more.

TESTIMONY OF A POETRY PROPHESY

2010-08-26T05:20:00.000-07:00

On July 14, 1984, I met a woman who changed my life. She was dark and pretty, in her early forties. She wore a faded red gown crossed with bold native beads around her neck and wrist like a funky city nomad. The obvious distance that her kind of person suffered from people was not just because she looked primitive and weird but this was a town where Christianity and Islam were considered as the popular and sensible religion. She is a voodoo priestess. Unfortunately, i did not visit her temple but met her on transit in a bus, sitting next to me, after waking up from a long migraine sleep.
She stared at me, in a fixed gaze and said “learn to write your predicament into poetry, then you will sleep no more.” This wasn’t an endless pilgrimage to the hillock of the moon or a fasting for the next ninety nine days to find a cure. Just write your poems to paint your problems, and that is the remedy in solving my long cry in the dark room library.
Before then, I had lived my entire life around a terrible phenomenon I suffered from childhood. I bored it ever then, on me like a protruded mole cheek, disfiguring and saddening my happiness. That heart-burden was the scar i lived to erase. The worst was when I lost my “I’’, the essence of human hood. I could not face myself or stand to watch the shame; I gave up and began living as a masquerade among people.
This thought was what banged my head until I slept off on board that bus. Following her words, I began learning to concise my whole dilemma into verses, making them bleed exactly what I feel in imageries, trying to examine and test them in rhythms and rhymes, then using them to compare and represent other worst issues for some other persons. Like Arithmetic, it broke into smaller, simpler and clearer basis of analysis. And, I saw nothing but my naked self discussing with the so called unseen grand master of my “self’’.
My fears, scales, speck falls off me! My sight became crystal clear to see the real me in me. Through this therapy, I discovered that scars though inevitable in the development of every man, yet you learn to face and manage them, ultimately allowing nature to take care of itself. Like the flowing river, our dreams will stumble on rocks, hills and weeds, however these, cannot stop the journey to the destination along other rivers.
Life is not man-made, even if it major forces are. If you impede it, then it will explode; so destiny can be delayed but can never be changed. The more you try to hold or hoard it, the more the pressure gathers, thus the more the blast of its outbreak to come.
Writing generally helps us to pour out our burden on papers, but poetry helps us to capture the consciousness and feel of our raw selves in the pen: our control over such circumstances, through our omniscient mind. The unique thing about poetry is that, though it employs literary features but most times does not compromise with conventional linguistic regulations and conditions.
Poetry is free and liberal. The indispensability of learning its art, must begin with the originality, liquidity and sincerity of your simultaneous gushing emotions, then the rules can set in and not the rules ruling the mind. Poetry is free to all: ageless and shapeless like water. The thick diction in your environment changes in another society. However, it liberality still allows you to code it for some select mind but universally poetry is voluntary and benevolent to all seekers.
When you have a burden or pain in your heart, attempt to write them out in poems on papers. Then take a next look after a while at these same poems and see if they have the same weight like they do in your minds, or if your mind is as pessimistic as it use to be. You don’t need to be an expert to write a poem for therapy, only make it less wordy, concise, thoughtful, then make it a lyric that best expresses yourself and definitely, a solution is sure to come.

ME

2010-07-24T11:18:00.000-07:00

The cruel claws
Of my own hands
Prick deeply through my skin
To the bone
I kicked, my voice ceased
Darkness my only witness
Watches from the other side
With a hanging smile
Cannot even lend a hand
To shield me from me

Seen by none
But me alone sees
My very bones, my heart
Feeds it every part of life

I cannot even hide
From my shadow
With the aid of darkness
But not from this me

Dire in dreams
Hidden from eyes
Traceable in trance
Borne in men - me
Before my birth
Its umbilical cord
Runs through me
This is the scar.

ITCH WEBSITE

©Uche Uwadinachi

WALLS OF UNENDING SHADOW 1 & 11

2010-04-22T05:11:00.000-07:00

(A Poem dedicated to Kadiri Aderibigbe, who was shot in the course of a mass protest against the killing of an innocent boy (Charles Okorafor) during a police raid in Ajegunle On the 1st of April 2010)

1

I have seen
The four walls
Coated with gory hand-prints
Of criminals and suspects
In-scripting awkwardness
Pleading for a public presentation

I stared at slogans
Screaming….
“we die…innocent”
“i was here”
“and so what”
“are you the president?”
“dem go fire me”
“na today”
“…save us”

My heart tears my eyes
And the graffiti spawns
Ceaselessly…

My head smothers
As ravaging foul odour
Of urine and shit
Shutters me to worship
At the walls of unending scars
With my own “craze-words”.

II

Hell is cell!
The black bowl
Smiths into a black hole
Bloats for the unborn convict
Guilty – of life, wanting to survive
…raiding flames at night
…beaming red in flight
…yellow coal for ice
Collies for the burning
Of our already hurt hearts.

“Pollease”…police
Poll for faults
Lease of crimes
To catch and lock our lives
Into the bloating black hole
Of a cell.

And so
The walls persist
A writing cry of the weak
Dying…to die today
And died…. Tomorrow
WILL DIE NO MORE.

Uche Uwadinachi(c) 2009

Read more on
Police killings in Ajegunle

by Sokari on April 12, 2010

in Human Rights, Nigeria, Police Brutality on

SOKARI'S BLOG

DANCE OF CHANGE

2010-04-17T10:21:00.000-07:00

A boutique
Of traditional antique
Glamour of form
Un-adorn
Market
For the town machete
Worshipping
Rituals at festivals
Untouchable
Unsociable
Untenable

Blood turns palm oil?

You say
We dance stringed
In cowries to the feet
Bond of bold scars-
From tribal marks?

Our art, an act of ants
Only to trade dirt
Underground the dark colony
Woe-ed not to be seen
In scenes of the gold sky

And
We gather
Like ant-soldiers
Coming and going
Working daily selflessly
Across the earth
Only to feed
Mould hill
And meet?
Look again!

See me
Greet beyond the breath
Of a cross-road sacrifice
Saluting fellow Africans
On knees with enchanting echoes
Of blackness to the beauty
Of our skin

And my pomade
Lies before me to wipe
The legs of our children
Standing still
Waiting ill
Waiting, to dance

This is not a helmet
Of shame to disguise PAIN
I am prepared
With a mask to celebrate
The ceremonies of seasons

In sowing and harvest
War and peace
Birth and death

I dance
A frenzy foot in trance
To see the gods
Wear their glittering faces
To know the next pace
The wood decorated
With cowries shell and raffia
Bears my late uncle’s bead
And mother’s lion-cloth
To be worn
In the battle shores
Of the Niger

Why myth
To prejudice my art
Look again
And see you in me
Me in you
Rescuing the present
With a new dance

So let’s tangle
In black white ankle

A crying eye still sees

My lips are big
To cover my big teeth
My short is brown
But it is the textile
You wear, fishing afar
The same river

Watch me lead
The dance,
Then you follow
In frames of Agbara thunderclap
Moving laughter in the wind
Calling interceding tunes
In the howling breeze
My tidings are silent happy smiles
For all our worried hearts

The dance is on
But the conquest is certain
The gods blesses our hoes
To revert those woes
Cursing our skin very holes
Deep In the blood
Like disastrous flood
From those river BANKS

Soon
And soon
The global drought
Economic pest
The prolonged hunger
Our persisting cry
Shall cease to be

Those couches shall overturn
The fluorescent shall burn
Into a coming terror
Of the night delight
Pillar falling limbs
The walls cracking
Down the stairs
In heavy rumble
Of pavement grumble

Discard those idea-logics
Let’s dance
As one feet
Killing their beat
Occupying the seat
Shake their hearts
Out of the locked ribs

Hold a broom firmly
Sweep the rest
‘Dust’ cant resist arrest
In defiance as mud
Sweep!
All in their sleep that feeds
From daily sessions
Toils and sweat of
Our farming children

They spell brilliance
For tyranny…for menace
Granting amnesty to criminals
Who comply with their continual
Dictates of ‘agendas’
Then sentence the majority
Thumb prints bearer
To a tea cup silence
Shunning the pulse
That throbs in many other hearts

This is the dance
Of change in exchange
Of dumb-murmuring
Serenity agape an
Eternity of atrocity

I am Ezenwanyi
I am the new dance
I am REVOLUTION.

REVIEW BY THE GUARDIAN NEWSPAPER OF THE POETRY BOOK 'SCAR IN THE HEART OF PAIN' WRITTEN BY UCHE UWADINACHI

2010-02-04T04:41:00.000-08:00

A REVIEW BY ANEOTE AJELUOROU (GUARDIAN NEWSPAPER)
OF THE BOOK
'SCAR in the HEART of pain'

THERE's something immensely affirmative about the hunan spirit that defies all understanding-it's the capacity to adapt to any vissitude of life.And in no other form of writting is the persevering quality of the human spirit celebrated than in the work of art. Through the ages,there abound a strand of writting devoted to the unyeilding,rugged nature of the spirit that stands solid in the face of tremendous suffering and hardship.Every clime has it own record of men and women who have gone through the most horrendous of situationns,but who ended up singing songs of praise and triump.
'SCAR in the HEART of pain' is a poetry that is narrative and desciptive as it chronicles the poet's encounter with the human spirit.Uche Uwadinachi battles a kind of terror lodged in the heart. So he sings Scar in the HEART of pain, where “The SCAR/Is a faceless parasitic burden-…. Uwadinachi is a young performance poet with promise as his poetry resonates with a life waiting to be lived.

For the poet Scar represents those heartaches in various guises that plague the human spirit, the sort of heartache that is inflicted on one man by his fellow man. It needs deep healing that can sometimes be confrontational to heal the scar. ‘Not a plastic surgery/Not a royal shroud?/Not a quick suicide/Only a confrontation/Of/YOU by US can WE/Overcome the aged scar’, which is ingrained.

The heart is the epicenter, both of the nation that needs direction and of man that is seeking for perfection and a measure of sanity in a world where life seems meaningless. So he sings ‘Scar…/Perpetual blemish/Invoking false hope in life…/I seek for the world beyond/To wrap me in its eternal darkness…/And life takes the side of death…/I am not purified… I am putrefied’ in Stigma’, There’s anguish and a wrenching of the guts in the meaninglessness of life as all probabilities end up in death and decay.

The poet’s hopelessness and the seeming redemption he funds manifest themselves in the three domains, which life for him. Life is bitter because there’s ‘curse’ placed upon it; so life finds a ‘cure’ to heal life’s many woes in man’s daily encounters. Finally, there’s a ‘curse’ to follow for life’s troubles to pass, which can only be found in nature, in being in tune with nature

The rivers flowing, the streams babbling and shady woods provide perfect serenity for man’s soul. It is here that man ought to find rest for his troubled spirit. So the poet proclaims in “The River’, The river/…in its ever flowing waves,/Faith is a continual pilgrimage of states…/…in its pure cleansing depth,/Reasons are regalia in blotches/To be washed in the stream-…The river divines a future/In the present from the future’.

Also to Oshun Osogbo he delightfully sings in ‘Osun’, ‘I bath in this stream/Free from stagnant stain…/All I see is crystalline bowl/Sinless…lenient/Unsoiled to any earth tie/Flowing generously for all/Inviting us to thread/New earth in water/Where our pains/Will be pacified and/Taken away.’

Clearly, Uwadinachi is a poet for the future. His imagery flows in a streamlet and it leaves no one in doubt as to his power to thrill in an expressive way that is pleasing. Uwadinachi’s handling of his subject also shows maturity. He is an emerging poet set for the future.

WITH BELLA

2010-01-15T09:51:00.000-08:00

A sneak peek into Bookaholic with Bella this week.
Scar in the Heart of Pain by Uche Uwadinachi will be reviewed this Wednesday on Bookaholic with Bella sometime between 7.30am and 8.30am on Silverbird Television.

We will bring you an interesting Q & A later this week.

In the meantime, below is a poem from the collection.

Hunt me
Below clump prairie in the forest,
Scourge me
On ridges of tallest hills,
Taunt me
In my cramped dark burrow,
Scare me
Behind leaves of crooked trunks,
Shoot me
In this tranquil flight in the sky,
Chase me
Through hazy streets of the slum,

But don't dare me
On WATER!

To visit Bookaholic for more on Uche Uwadinachi Interview CLICK HERE

AT THE 11TH LAGOS BOOK FAIR AND ART FESTIVAL

2009-11-15T04:52:00.000-08:00

TODAY IS THE FINAL DAY OF

The 11th Lagos Book and Art Festival is holding November 13 – 15, 2009 at the National Theatre Complex, Iganmu Lagos.

The Festival will feature exhibition by Bookshops, Publishers, Libraries and "freelance" individual exhibitors; a huge Art Fair featuring a variety of works by galleries, art-dealers and individual artists; live music, dance, drama and live performances.

FRIDAY, November 13 will feature events such as Mentoring Kids by Eugenia Abu at 11 am, followed by Children Craft Workshops, Play Groups and Performances. The final stage of the Book Trek: the Quest for the Most Literate Student holds at 2pm and will involve the review and the discussion of various books.

SATURDAY, November 14 will kickoff with Conversation: Lagos in the Imagination (3) with extensive references to Isi Joy Bewaji’s Eko Dialogue, Tejo Cole’s One Day is For The Thief, Odia Ofeimun’s Lagos of the Poets and Sefi Atta’s Swallow. There will be a Publishers Roundtable: Why I Publish What I Publish from 2pm to 4pm. Festival Party celebrating Segun Sofowote@70, Frank Okonta@70, Sammy Olagbaju@70, Tunji Oyelana@70, Mahmoud Ali Balogun@50, Nobert Young@50, Afolabi Adesanya@50, George Uffot@50, Edmund Enaibe@50, Kunle Adeyemi@50 will start at 5pm with music by Fatai Rolling Dollar.

SUNDAY, November 15 will open with a Youth Conference: Creativity and Empowerment, featuring a panel of young creative artists and art managers; convened by Positive Development Foundation and Youth Bank. Art Stampede will come up at 1pm.

Telephone: Toyin Akinosho 08057622415 and Kafayat Quadri 07029025583

Email: stampedecorang@gmail.com

The power of chanting to the priestess of poetry

2009-09-28T07:29:00.000-07:00

BY UCHE UWADINACHI
P.O.P

The nursery rhymes of unending skipping sound resounding from the high-rise windows and the slit walls of the kindergarten school, remains the oldest known and surest way of imparting alphabets, sounds, objects and ideas, to a classroom of children, who are freshly being opened up to the mystery of learning and acquiring all the needed skills with which to gulp up knowledge as they grow up.

The fundamental of nursery education is the very tool employed by the poet who takes after the method of the teacher, who must function as the choir master, charging out the call to chant that is automatically echoed by the pupils to glean the golden fleece home.

The chant of poetry is not any different in the hands of the priestess of poetry, the wildest of imagination engages the emotions in a celebration of words in its ever best use-in a crescendo of rising staccato that leaves the poet and its lovers in an exchange of fulfillment striking the cord of the heart into an orgasmic climax that homes the being into the soul.

From the first exercise of one trying to word to oneself or other selves, some structure of finely written poems riddled on paper, to the point where the personae or reader’s innermost cavity is filled and the exterior body overflows with interpretative high spirit, chant sails salient to the meaning of poetry which enfolds the whole conundrum of life.

In contemporary literature, poets in tameless adventure have seek mediums, not just to make poetry more relevant and alive but to bridge the TEXT to the WORD. Chant eventually aroused as the most efficient and strongest tool adopted by the priestess of poetry who led the search. To relate this is to fore mostly understand the basic of chant.

Chant is the rhythmic speaking or singing of words or sound often primarily on one or two pitches called reciting tones. it may range from a single melody involving a limited set of notes to a highly set of complex musical structures, often included a great deal of repetition of musical subphrases. Chants functions as a heightened or stylized form of speech which though exist as a genre of its own yet allies with the priestess to render, perform and execute a poem.

The priestess is that devotee poet in the shrine of poetry who is most passionate and liberal in the practice of poetry. To read a poem goes beyond the mere silent stiff absorption of the lines as text, to the lowest motion and loudest recitation celebrated in chant. It is this act that makes poetry more ritual to the self.

There exist several means and routes to approach poetry, such as writing, reading, listening,reciting, etc but to enter the altar of poetry where the priestess dwells, you must leave behind your media and gadget, to enjoy the secret powers inhabited in the realm of this veneration which is an open home to all and sundry.

When a devotee recites a poem, chant heightens the notes of mood, fires the tone, repeating the lines then drags the being(s) to where you confront your very thoughts BARED. Leaving you before yourself is the best resolution any fellow poet or seeker can derive when you read a poem.

Chanting does not change or cheapen the form of your poem, best seller or award(s)-winning poetry collections, instead it exhumes life from the dumb gawking words, rendering it, a priceless performance which creates an unusual symphony of stress, style, and state to the original form that in no little measure helps to bring a better understanding of the meaning chased by the poet and the poem itself.

No wonder when chanting a poem line, getting caught in the rhyme and rhythm, one begins to tail the beat before the long , gesturing, fingers and hands swaying on foot tapping, while others completely internalized the process before them, are entrapped into a cocoon of themselves and can only return to themselves to seek meaning.

The priestess is a seeker who lives to proffer poetry not just as an inanimate text idol stagnated on colossal forgotten shelves for some chosen cerebral minds but as a free theatre for all who quest for purification and restoration of body, mind, and soul.

Poetry is a religion, poetry is a tradition, and those whose must follow, should worship in chant and spirit.

Uche Uwadinachi(c) 2009

More info on this article,CLICK HERE

coming up!!!

2009-09-28T07:20:00.000-07:00

why do i chant poetry?

Find out in the next article
"The power of chanting to the priestess of poetry"

WHEN

2009-09-23T03:43:00.000-07:00

BY UCHE UWADINACHI

I listened
To hear aches
Beating within
The enclave of your heart,
In yearn, i wait but do not see
You close to me

A bleed stood in place of your face
...speeches were calm in a mood
That sickened my very eyes
with numerous tears from the torn sky...

Fall
Fall
Falling

Am cold...
Unable to hold
Your absent fold

Untie me
From the cloth of your pain

I wait in between the stream

Hoping to live again in your warmth.

Education, Math Made Easy

2009-09-19T11:46:00.000-07:00

Here in full force are the published articles that Joe has written on a broad array of topics. Focused primarily in mathematics, these articles wil take you on a journey through basic math, like learning the multiplication table, to some more advanced realms, like abstract algebra. Included here as well is a collection of articles touching on some everyday topics as well as some Christian themes. Come back often to find new ones as they are published by Joe. For more information on how to sign up for free and get your wonderful guide Click Here!

Thought of the week

2009-09-18T11:57:00.000-07:00

BY A.E.HOUSMAN

Even when poetry has a meaning, as it usually has, it may be inadvisable to draw it out... Perfect understanding will sometimes almost extinguish pleasure.

WHAT WE SEE

2009-09-15T06:14:00.000-07:00

UCHE UWADINACHI

To secure today
In the manifesto of tomorrow,
Is to abandon
The chronicle of the past
In the anthem of mouths
And the warnings of the present
In the salute of hands.

Thought of the week

2009-09-03T23:56:00.003-07:00

BY CHARLES SIMIC

'poetry is an orphan of silence.The words never quite equal the experience behind them.'

The motherless past

2009-09-03T06:57:00.000-07:00

BY UCHE UWADINACHI

The past suffers contempt
As a wandering orphan
None dares to dear
An unfamiliar wretchedness
But these many mothers
Would foster the present
With ceaseless breast suck
Like their virgin baby
Graced with a golden fur.

Taste of poetry

2009-08-28T03:21:00.000-07:00

BY UCHE UWADINACHI

To read a poem is to taste a poem. Like a hot chunk of bean ball within the upper tongue and soft palate, you can’t immediately swallow it instead you gently crunch, licking it spice with your saliva until the very taste is squeezed out for utmost satisfaction.

Poetry brokers no fast reading like is done to a newspapers, newsletters, magazines and some other piece of official documents where you read ,hurrying to get to the end of the story for the basic information or resolution-thereby swallowing the whole content without waiting to taste the words, the context, and it concurrent relationship with the other unit of words. And the result comes out against consummation, what has been achieved is mere consumption, a bowel movement without any meaning gained therein for the whole body and the life so lived.

The sound, shape and arrangement of the words are of essence to a poetic piece as much as the message. Infact, the appeal commences from the eyes, to every other organs: the ear, nose, mouth, tongue, and the ear, all alert, alive and aloud to enable the maximum derivation of the best. The brain, coordinating all these senses, the heart pulsing beat to match the rhythm of the poem. The failing of any of these attributes is a minus to doing justice to the poem.

To learn to savour a poem, one has to realize that poetry is concrete and sensitive. Reading a poem is to first realize it a physical object though in An Abstract medium by which ideas conveyed. A piece of poem whether short or long, possesses a presence which is equivalent to a material existence, just like a standing sculpture, a painting or even a meal of tasty barbecue.

TASTE is an internalized self receptor which is felt in the bud-deep down inside of the individual, which is when a poem can begin to communicate. So even when one listens to the poem read by another person, it is still not adequately felt because taste differs in tongues. It is pertinent that you read it to yourself-by yourself, aloud or at least mouthed to oneself.

To read a poem is to taste a poem. When you feel a poem, you have succeeded in creating your own sound of the perception of the words you speak. Your mouth is the taste bud of poetry and not your flipping eyes. Thus a rich poem is a rich tongue.

A WORLD WITHOUT WORRIES

2009-08-26T03:10:00.000-07:00

BY UCHE UWADINACHI

(EXTRACT FROM 'SCAR in the HEART of pain')

A world without worries!
Where...how come?
Only man without feet
Feels not the torrid earth
Or child without nostril
Breathe not the toxic air.

The world...a war
Between the needy and needs
In the cage ring of life
The mad fight-a thought
Arming the hoe with stone
Against drought
The battle is lost!

A world of words
Porridge of hopeful phrases
In several dishes of religion
Their sweetness cures no hunger
Only an after-earth nutrient
Forsakes us in a world of famine.

To Fidel Castro @ 83

2009-08-26T02:59:00.000-07:00

To Fidel Castro @ 83 (Free verse)
by AJ.Daggatolar

I

Fighting
Insidiously for the
Dictate of
Equality and
Liberty

II

Fidel,
For a new generation
Let me ask
What is the breeding creed for change
In an age
Where revolution is no more textual
Than a visual means for the mind
To seek new ways
T o the same old game of gambling
For more earnings in one’s own individual pocket?

Fidel
How is it that the Revolution
Can only be a question
Of skin deep or light
To have one who wears
The colour of an X-slave
Calling the shots in the master house

Will the stars now sprinkle less heat
And allow Cuban sugar to freely trade
Or would Miami now go less busy
On accounts of citizens with dual nationality
Who party in wait for your death
How they think everything is you
Even with Raul now in the saddle.

III

Life remains ever accidental
Cannot your type being anew
Is it that life has become a prisoner
Of dialectics unlocked
To service
Only outside history

50 years on
The rest of us are late comers
Conditions are changing
But not in the colour of blood
To undeny Darwin
In recognition of the human will
To live in want
How can these be a new rule to live by

Fidel…
The friends from Miami
Backed by the full weight of the US machine
Dole out doses of daily
Dozens of sabotage snatched
Down to distort the revolution
Every direction

The raids, the Escapades
Of canoes load of human cargoes
To such the sparks of the stars
For a new life ashore
Only to woo family members
With the luring scent of Dollarbills
To hook more innocent Cubans
To embrace the creed
Of unequal existence

For some others and the rest of us
We can go to Hell
Without a thought
Of how Capital comes about
In their new theory of boom
Only for the meltdown
To rush them back to study
The dumped and so called outdated
Pages of Marx -
“Capitalism is doomed to
a cyclic crises”

The cup is not passing OVER
The poor cannot go on
Being with us
The Revolution must be made
Try, they cannot unwrite HAVANA..1959
Even with their pigs at our Bay
We marched on in advance
Awaiting the Revolution
In other land to come to the aid of Cuba

IV

To the scarcity of want in abundance
From the abundance of want
How do we reach the new frontiers
And abode there permanently
If we don’t enrich our mind anew

Power alone can not
How many have come and gone
Trodding the same path
And every new time
Behind the back
And against the Bolshevism of 1917

Revolution suffered isolation
Only to have Stalin hack
For us all a new doctrine
‘Socialism in one country’
The guns in an upswing
Momentarily fed all full
The victory of a state of our own
Made all sacrifice possible
Against even the worst of odds
Illusion mounted a castle
The future was appropriated
Forever in the present

A caste freed from the
Burden of making a Revolution
Can only in turn enemy in practice
All serious attempt
In china, Germany, Spain
The list is endless
All through 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s
To authenticate their
Self preservationist theory
-‘We shall not rock any Other Boat
and just let us be in Moscow’
This philosophy gave Chang Kai-shek
Kuomintang the go ahead
April 12 1927 to commence
Shanghai massacre of workers

This is the making of Mao
The armed man
Against the classic read
Of workers’ resurrection
Drowned in blood
And from there down
It is being down down
Revolution it seems
Is only possible by the armed man
What other testimony
China 1949

V

Fidel…
What did you and others
Risk life and all for
For power and office
Can anyone be blind to the reforms
But Che hops on
To Congo, Algeria, Bolivia
In exploit of the armed man theory
And today his face is a brand
On shirts and tennis shoes
Worn by boys and girls alike
In the neo-colonial world
Who cannot spell Revolution
Even in their own lost mother tongue

50 years on…
Tell us
The world is still wrong
Where did we go wrong
The Revolution
Were we wrong in making it
Against the Blueprints of Marx
And the letters of Lenin
Or is it in the failure
Of others following
Our example against the Democracy
Of Workers

At 83 celebrating
Fidel’s life
The least to learn
Is the consistence of Capital
Unfailing to Dog US down
In boom or crisis
We betray the Revolution
If we turn only
Into ourselves

a bossom

2009-08-21T06:24:00.000-07:00

FROM WWW.POETRYCRAZE.COM
CONTEST WINNER AWARD POEM
BY UCHE UWADINACHI

Behind that gold crested chamber
Rest your serene unleavened divinity
A risen old creed of your last feast
-living word that breeds men

I asked...
Could there be a faith
More gray,genetic and
Alive as this sacrament?

Your enclosed flame;
Burns of wax and incense
Flickers a steady light
Unmoved by protesting breeze
I heared,
You are the iris of the tebernacle
No wonder your closed lid
Signs a mediating semester:

Sick souls kneel
Mumbling lips, Motioned faces...
Stringed beeds dangle
In several strands
Devotion...so amazing

Ooh!mysteries of the altar
Such wholesome grace
You dispense without cost

Do allow me
A whole day in your bossom
"and surely"
Yesterday shall pass over me.

For more detail on this winning poem, CLICK HERE

Walls of unending scars

2009-08-20T04:20:00.000-07:00

Extract from the book
'SCAR in HEART of pain'

I

I have seen
The four walls
Coated with gory handprints
Of criminals and suspects
Inscripting awkwardness
Pleading for a public presentation

I stared at slogans
Screaming….
“we die…innocent”
“i was here”
“and so what”
“are you the president?”
“dem go fire me”
“na today”
“…save us”

My heart tears my eyes
And the graffiti spawns
Ceaselessly…

My head smothers
As ravaging foul odour
Of urine and shit
Shutters me to worship
At the walls of unending scars
With my own “craze-words”.

II

Hell is cell!
The black bowl
Smiths into a black hole
Bloats for the unborn convict
Guilty – of life, wanting to survive
…raiding flames at night
…beaming red in flight
...yellow coal for ice
Collies for the burning
Of our already hurt hearts.

“Pollease”…police
Poll for faults
Lease of crimes
To catch and lock our lives
Into the bloating black hole
Of a cell.

And so
The walls persist
A writing cry of the weak
Dying…to die today
And died…. Tomorrow
WILL DIE NO MORE.

scar...survival of the human spirit

2009-08-19T05:22:00.000-07:00

FROM BLACKART

2009-08-18T05:43:00.000-07:00

AJ.DAGGA TOLAR INTRODUCES THE POETRY COLLECTION

“SCAR IN THE HEART OF PAIN"

BY UCHE UWADINACHI

This collection of poem is a chain thread that is caused into being by a curse that cuts itself only from a course in search of a cure aimed at purifying the individual from an assumed eternal scar that combines with life to combat against existence.

Existence itself becomes a curse, the living is condemned to a cyclic life of quest for the basic needs of existence. this quest for the means of life, is so life consuming, that only very few can then approach their mind to the question of the meaning of life in a world where life is lived on ones knees and the quest for the meaning why, is in the common consciouness of all, seen to be an aberration.

The common consciouness is therefore seen to be one in order with a life without meaning ... without concern for this present drift by all into Abyss. It is this unhealthy condition that feeds this new collection with poems titled SCAR-IN-THE HEART OF PAIN, by Uche Uwadinachi with an unsettling staccatotic rythm that is in itself a struggle against the pain in the heart of the poet, a consequence of the internalisation by the poet of our collective burden - the very curse that is symbolically characterised as the scar. the very same scar that then chooses to take residence in the depth of our life of unexistence.

What path then must society trod, to free its minds and heart from the pangs of the continued descent into the abyss of unexistence? Is this a task for an individual in a society plagued by a lust for the individual, so arranged to predetermine a failure in this race of life against all the stigmas that recruits even the self to enemy the self? and yet the option of the collective is ruled out, when the poet’s thinking and thoughts is one mind against the common consciouness....

Uche Uwadinachi, only answer to the above delima is a return to the course, we cannot find a cure, from the scar we all want to run distance away from. If we remain unable to harvest the strength of our togetherness into one single mindful course - as the River very well examplifies...

To Read these poems at a single stretch commends itself on us to take a second read, to the poet itself on us to take a second read, to hear the poet performs the poems, draws us to drink from a free flowing “...waters/where our mad pains/will be pacified and/Taken away.” (Osun - Pg 67).

Who would dare to turn down the offer to party with a poem like Osun, quoted above. When Osun in all femine shine, draws us into a cuddule with her very essence, a return into the cradle of our beginning for a new beginning. For how else can we renew life if not in a deep into the bowels of Osun. And making life a new, we renew the possibility of the chance of striking right into the heart of the scar. For only in engagement against pain, can society become renewed ....

My only charge then against Uche Uwadinach in this entire collection is his commiting of poetry to suffer pain, our own life of pain, but by so doing, we see how poetry not only enriches its own art, but as well as behold how we can and must so want to bring the reign of pain to an end.

passionpoetry

2009-08-16T09:59:00.000-07:00

if only

Why do i fervently
Confess

your beauty?

It's passionate

It's benevolent

It's marvelous

It could have stopped

the Tsunami in Thailand;

If only you were there!

Men would hide behind you

Women...scurry to your sides

Children...climb to your arms

...and the THUNDERING sea

Could have calmed at your feet

If only
You were there!

For more feel of my passionpoetry,visit this website:

http://flames777.poetrycraze.com