"I have learn not give up, but to keep on striving for better future for me and my family. I have learn not to give heed to filthy words or to those that hove around others progress and make there insolent, incompetence ways seem worthy.
and to those who dwell on others shadows, who walk on hear say without confronting the truth; keep on consuming your self's, your thoughts and waste your energy plotting, in reverse, you actually praying for that individual who knows nothing of your vicious act".
"Unconfessed" from the book/poetry and dance piece by Etagweyo Vincent Onokurte
Nov 11, 2009
Nov 6, 2009
Sleepless Night
Our Music Recommendations From Among the Official Sleepless Night Events on Saturday
By Arielle Castillo
November 05, 2009 09:00
photo by Ben Thacker
I have to say, though, that this year's musical line-up is somewhat disappointing. There is, indeed, a ton of live music all over the place as part of Sleepless Night, but most of it generally falls along the very wide spectrum from Latin to jazz to Latin jazz. Okay, jazz, I won't hate on, because about the only place to hear it around here these days is the Van Dyke, and jazz lovers gotta get a bone tossed to 'em some time.
But most of the event line-up completely ignores the opportunity to bring in a crowd that would usually give artsy events a wide berth. It would have been a lot more fun and smart to mix in some more dance music, hip-hop, or rock in with the program of short films, art, theater, and dance.
The only organizers who really aimed for a youthful, more party-type crowd are the people behind Rhythm Foundation, who, for the evening, control a stage at the 21st Street beach. However, even they played it safe by asking the Spam Allstars to headline. Yes, people love them, but it's not exactly like there's a shortage of events or venues in Miami regularly featuring Spam and Suenalo.
Anyways, there are a few music-type performances on the official Sleepless Night schedule that sound different and worth seeking out. Check out a few recommendations after the jump.
*Ben Neill and LEMUR (League of Electronic Musical Urban Robots, 6 p.m., Normandy Fountain Stage (Rue Vendome between Normandy Drive and 71st Street).
What is cooler than robots who play electronic music? That's right, pretty much nothing. Ben Neill, meanwhile, is a composer and inventor who created something called the "mutantrumpet." Of course these weirdos live in Brooklyn. Here's an example of a LEMUR tune, to give you an idea. Amazing.
*The Beach High Rock Ensemble, 6 p.m., the Euclid Oval Stage (Lincoln Road at Euclid)
Being in the school band at Beach High is actually cool, and this ensemble has produced local favorites like Jacobs Ladder.
*The Global Cuba Music Fest at the Fillmore Miami Beach, 6 to 11 p.m.
Yes, this is on that Latin jazz spectrum, but they managed to snag some pretty big names in that world. Also, this is a nice venue for that kind of music, with good acoustics and seating, and it's probably the only time you'll get into a show at the Fillmore for free. Click here for a Crossfade post from earlier this week with a breakdown of the performances.
*FLEA Ensemble, 6 to 11:30 p.m., the Wolfsonian-FIU (1001 Washington Ave.)
A very adjective-filled description full of many-syllabled words boils down to this: avant-garde laptop music.
*Rockarchive exhibit, 6 p.m. to midnight, the Betsy South Beach (1440 Ocean Dr.)
Not music per se, but music-related -- classic rock photos and a meet-and-greet with Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer Jill Furmanowski.
*Oy-Le! 6:30 p.m., the Ocean Drive Main Stage (Ocean Drive between 8th and 9th Streets)
Siempre Flamenco and the Heavy Shtetl Klezmer Trio come together for a mash-up of klezmer and flamenco! Actually, that doesn't sound like such a discordant combination; it's guaranteed to be loud and dramatic.
*Miami Lyric Opera's La Traviata, 7 p.m., North Beach Band Shell (7255 Collins Ave.)
Stuffy as its reputation may be, opera actually is amazing when performed live -- dramatic, with lots to look at. It's admittedly difficult to make it through one without the translation supertitles, and it's doubtful the bandshell will have that sort of technological set-up. But the emotion and pageantry of this selection should provide enough to follow the general gist of the plot.
*The Entire Rhythm Foundation Stage, 8 p.m. onwards, at the 21st Street Beach
All performers here are a safe bet for fun. The Brazilian samba band and dance ensemble Grupo Embalo goes on at 8 p.m. Pop/rock wunderkind Jacob Jeffries plays with his band at 9 p.m., and Transit Lounge staples Lanzallamas Monofonica go on at 10:20 p.m. If your Spam Allstars tank is running dangerously low, they headline at midnight.
*Deep Surface, 9 p.m., Ocean Drive Main Stage
A multimedia performance created by composer Gabriel E. Pulido, this is an "homage to the sea" involving dance, video, and electronic and live music. This is the premier of the piece, which is sponsored by the Ocean Foundation and the Oceanographic Commission of UNESCO.
*ArtOfficial, from 9 to 11 p.m. at the Catalina (1720 - 1756 Collins Ave.)
One of the few acts to really get the live hip-hop thing right, these guys provide one of the best live shows in town.
*Angela Laino, 10 to 11 p.m., the Florida Room at the Delano (1685 Collins Ave.)
She's already a staple at the Florida Room, which is worth a visit just for its fabulous retro-mobster-chic interior design. But Laino is the real draw here on Saturday -- she's an amazingly talented soul-type singer/songwriter with a serious set of pipes.
*The South Beach Chamber Ensemble, 10 p.m., Ocean Drive Main Stage
Again, this is a stuffy name for something that is actually quite cool and genre-blending. This particular piece includes hip-hop artist La Guardia, drum machine beats from Name Brand, African drumming and dancing by Etagweyo Vincent Onokurte, and Indian percussion from Shri. Oh yes, and live poetry by Carlos Pintado.
*DJ Miguel's Disco Alfresco, 10 p.m. to 4 a.m., Da Leo Trattoria (819 Lincoln Road)
Okay, this is basically a retro DJ set, but disco is classic.
*80's Joe's Home Movies, 11 p.m. Keirin Cycles (235A 9th St.)
Honestly, I can't find any info on this guy, but it's supposed to be an acoustic thing, and the name is promising. The Keirin Cycles crowd is kind of the fixed-gear, cut-off-jeans type so this won't be boring. Also, it's worth sticking around Keirin afterwards for a big-screen showing of the '80s Disney epic Tron!
*Afin-k-o, 11 p.m., South Beach Languages (227 9th St.)
These guys get a shout-out for being the only Vallenato band playing.
*Silvano Monasterios and the Fourth World Ensemble, 11 p.m., Normany Fountain Stage.
Yes, jazz again, but among the best performers in the genre at Sleepless Night. This year Miami New Times even named him "Best Jazz Musician."
*"Rock the World" Featuring DJ Maximus 3000 and Tania Mashay, 1:30 - 5:30 a.m., Ocean Drive Showground (Ocean Drive Between 11th and 12th Streets)
The official description says this is a "kaleidoscope of pop culture presented as a party rock audio/visual showcase... topped off by theatrical light up LED costumes in sync with the music, audience participation and glow products spread throughout the crowd." Hmm, this could turn out to be just a DJ in a light-up suit passing out glowsticks, but the duo also promises live singing from Tania Mashay, showcasing original synth pop! Synth pop and glow products! Could be interesting.
Nov 1, 2009
Oct 8, 2009
Aug 27, 2009
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Jun 16, 2009
“Untitled”
I am the light that shines in the day,
I am the tender voice that dwells inside the heart of the lonely.
I am the night, a fog swaying deep into every whispering ears sleeping far from home.
I am the song in your heart,
I am the shrill breeze that walks with you even when you find no path to trail.
I am unspoken, I am voiceless,
I am silence, I'm gentle,
tender like I don't exist.
May 31, 2009
Hubert Adedeji Ogunde (May 31, 1916 in Ososa, near Ijebu-Ode, Ogun State, Nigeria – April 4, 1990 in London, England) was a Nigerian actor, playwright, theatre manager, and musician who founded the Ogunde Concert Party in (1945), the first professional theatrical company in Nigeria.
Ogunde starred in Mister Johnson, the 1990 motion picture which also featured Pierce Brosnan. The movie which was shot on location in Jos.
Background
He worked first as a teacher before joining the Nigerian Police Force. Like many of his theatre contemporaries, such as A. B. David, P. A. Dawodu, Layeni and G.T. Onimole, his theatre career began under the patronage of the Church. In 1944, he produced his first opera, The Garden of Eden and The Throne of God, by commission of the Lagos-based Church of the Lord, a sect of the Cherubim and Seraphim Society. The performance was in aid of the Church building fund. The huge success of the production spurred Ogunde on to writing more operas until he decided to leave his amateur status as an artist and turn professional. He founded Ogunde Theatre — the first contemporary professional company in Nigeria. By this act Ogunde began the rise of modern professional theatre in Nigeria, a movement in which he remains the supreme artist and father figure.
Professional theatre work
The first play featured at Ogunde Theatre was entitled Tiger’s Empire. Premiered on March 04 1946, Tiger's Empire was produced by The African Music Research Party and featured Ogunde, Beatrice Oyede and Abike Taiwo. The advertisement for the play was the result of Ogunde’s call for ‘paid actresses’. It marked the first time in Yoruba theatre that women were billed to appear in a play as professional artists in Light in their own right. Tiger’s Empire was an attack on colonial rule. It was followed by Darkness and Light, although Ogunde does not remember writing it. This is the only play that has escaped his memory.[citation needed] A public outcry had been going on for a year over the growth of a ‘social evil’ which was entering into Lagos society and corroding it. This evil was popularly known as the ‘Aso Ebi Craze’, a craze which required both men and women to buy the most expensive materials for social gatherings.
The rule was that: “When someone wants to celebrate a marriage or a funeral obsequies (sic) she chooses a piece of cloth to wear on the occasion and approaches relatives and friends to buy the same stuff to wear with her as uniform on the day. The number of people to wear the uniform with her will depend on her popularity and social connections.
“The custom has lent itself to much abuse in that the occasions for celebrating marriages of funerals occur so often that one may be asked by friends to buy ‘Aso Ebi’ more than ten times a year”. This craze of course bred intense competition with celebrants trying to outshine one another. It was a competition that delighted textile traders but which often ruined marriages, as women were known to leave husbands who could not afford to robe them, for lovers who could. Ogunde decided to make his first social satirical comment by writing a play designed to expose the vulgarity and ostentatiousness of the craze. He called the play Human parasites. A tragedy in two acts commenting that ‘Aso Ebi is a Social evil…
Aduke who kissed and keyed a thousand lovers for the sake of Aso Ebi… what happened when boys refused to be keyed is better seen than described”
Personal life and legacy
Clementina Oguntimirin later married Ogunde and became Adesewa Ogunde or Mama Eko (Lagos Mama) as she was popularly known by her fans in the 60’s, after taking the leading part in the popular play of that name. She had five children for Ogunde. The two senior girls Tokunbo and Tope are now leading members of the company.
Oguntimirin died in a road accident on September 1970 en-route to a scheduled performance in Ilesha. The following year, Ogunde wrote a play in her memory called Ayanmo. Her death was mourned throughout the country and press and mass media coverage of her death and funeral was extensive.[citation needed]
With many internal fightings amongst the elites Ogunde's Yoruba tribe of Nigeria in early 1970s, Ogunde came up with a song "Yoruba ronu" calling for unity of purpose. This has remained an evergreen album in Nigeria.
Ogunde died on April 04, 1990 at London's Cromwell Hospital following a brief illness.
Ogunde became the leading producer of Yoruba celluloid movies with "J'ayesinmi" (Let the world rest)and "Aiye" (Life!)blazing the trail.
May 26, 2009
Greatest Tap Dancer of all time
Bill"Bo Jangles Robinson- 1878-1949- is known as the greatest Tap Dancer of all time. His fame has reached mythic proportions. He had charm and charisma and, it was said, "He talked with his Feet". His rhythms were so intricate and fast it was impossible for other dances to repeat some of them.
During the great depression of the 1930s Bill Robinson was the highest paid black entertainer. He shared his wealth with less fortunate friends and neighbors through those hard times.
Bill Robinson performed shows on Broadway as well as in famous clubs around the country. He formed revues that appeared in Vaudeville, and he danced in several films, including four with child star Shirley Temple, and Stormy Weather with Cab Calloway and Lena Home.
May 11, 2009
New Me in Him
His hand lift me up this morning
He made me to walk through the path of nature again
like a newly wedded groom
I bath inside the ocean of His unending blessing till
the sun begins set fourth in the north
My feet stand in His water of grace as I was once
born again into a new earth;
“A WORLD OF HIM
He speaks to me in a new voice
he shows me how to recreate with choice
and I follow his voice, his words, his creativity
He his a unique master that blends me
with his wand to be like him and I want to direct
my words through him that is in me
Like the sun that rise and set for another
sphere.
my word will spread through eternity
it will drench it purity on every ear,
and my feet, body is a symbol to
express and redefine the greatness he's fashioned
me to become
I will twist my body and spin my arms around
and I'll draw out words and movements to address
his tenderness,
and soar like the birds
because HE is merciful
I felt his presence dwelling within me
and becoming like him more and more.
I want to dance with him
I want to write about him
I want to move with him
and touch the sun with him.
This is the SON of a new rising SUN
a bird soaring in a new horizon
this is Vincent, a new Me in Him......
Apr 30, 2009
PHRASES TO MEDITATE
“Before God can do his thing,
we must do our thing”
st Augustine
“ He has sounded forth the trumpet
that shall never call retreat.
He is sifting out the hearts of
men before his judgment Seat
Julia Ward Howe
“battle Hymn of the republic
“ All that is not eternal
is eternally out of date.”
C.S Lewis
“I will test them as gold is tested.”
Zachariah 13, 9
“Humility isn't thinking little of self;
it isn't thinking of self at all.
Anonymous.
we must do our thing”
st Augustine
“ He has sounded forth the trumpet
that shall never call retreat.
He is sifting out the hearts of
men before his judgment Seat
Julia Ward Howe
“battle Hymn of the republic
“ All that is not eternal
is eternally out of date.”
C.S Lewis
“I will test them as gold is tested.”
Zachariah 13, 9
“Humility isn't thinking little of self;
it isn't thinking of self at all.
Anonymous.
WHY IS IT?
A man wakes up after sleeping
under an ADVERTISED blanket
on an ADVERTISED mattress
and pulls off ADVERTISED pajamas
bathers in an ADVERTISED shower
shaves with an ADVERTISED razor
brushes his teeth
with ADVERTISED toothpaste
washes with ADVERTISED soap
put on ADVERTISED clothes
drink a cup
of ADVERTISED coffee
drives to work
in an ADVERTISED car
and then....
refuses to ADVERTISE
believing it doesn't pay.
later if business is poor
he ADVERTISES it for sale
WHY IS IT?
under an ADVERTISED blanket
on an ADVERTISED mattress
and pulls off ADVERTISED pajamas
bathers in an ADVERTISED shower
shaves with an ADVERTISED razor
brushes his teeth
with ADVERTISED toothpaste
washes with ADVERTISED soap
put on ADVERTISED clothes
drink a cup
of ADVERTISED coffee
drives to work
in an ADVERTISED car
and then....
refuses to ADVERTISE
believing it doesn't pay.
later if business is poor
he ADVERTISES it for sale
WHY IS IT?
Mar 31, 2009
My first time writing poem.......
Staring days and days into the wild, daring eyes
I squint because of the sharp glare.
She’s beautiful, sure, but
Sometimes, she will blind you, rob you of your fate.
Some parts of her seem sad in her dullness---unspectacular.
It is right in front of me, but instead,
I see the lush, the fresh, the vibrant playfulness that moves her.
The sun, her light and child, acts as her guidance through the clouds.
But…something has changed.
Something wicked,
No, something human
Invaded her stillness.
Lady Destiny awoke her, made her aware.
The blood-red apple
The beauty and spectacle,
The piercing eye
That shines through every creature,
Living or dead.
Like spring, yet not spring,
It brings reinforcement, replication,
The renaissance of history and patronage.
Shall we rejoice in dawn or mourn for our fall?
Written by Eva Lin
I squint because of the sharp glare.
She’s beautiful, sure, but
Sometimes, she will blind you, rob you of your fate.
Some parts of her seem sad in her dullness---unspectacular.
It is right in front of me, but instead,
I see the lush, the fresh, the vibrant playfulness that moves her.
The sun, her light and child, acts as her guidance through the clouds.
But…something has changed.
Something wicked,
No, something human
Invaded her stillness.
Lady Destiny awoke her, made her aware.
The blood-red apple
The beauty and spectacle,
The piercing eye
That shines through every creature,
Living or dead.
Like spring, yet not spring,
It brings reinforcement, replication,
The renaissance of history and patronage.
Shall we rejoice in dawn or mourn for our fall?
Written by Eva Lin
Mar 20, 2009
My Dying Heart
Each night the moon raises,
filled each moment with praises;
I dream of you. one more night i dream of you
We can't be with each other,
but we dying to see ourselves together;
my heart never stop breathing
because you said you'll keep waiting.
Though the hills and mountains have separated us,
but we are still desperate beside all odds;
no one can quench the fire we share,
no one can change our sphere;
we may be distance away,
but in my heart we both here to play.
Love is like a magical song,
soft and gentle, humming for us along.
One more night I want to be with you,
just your touch I know life is true;
together we cuddle like two robes tangle,
mixed in the fantasy of love, yet, we were humble;
Our heat from us makes us twins,
we swim in harmony, down your chest I feel so real.
Loving this,
your kiss is sweet;
but now no one knows I how I feels,
burning in silence, this wounds never ills;
I can't escape another day without you,
I can't walk another miles if my heart don't have you;
I call this “MY DYING HEART”
for in you I will fly HIGH.
We both have long for love,
when kneel at the alter, our bliss descend like the dove.
filled each moment with praises;
I dream of you. one more night i dream of you
We can't be with each other,
but we dying to see ourselves together;
my heart never stop breathing
because you said you'll keep waiting.
Though the hills and mountains have separated us,
but we are still desperate beside all odds;
no one can quench the fire we share,
no one can change our sphere;
we may be distance away,
but in my heart we both here to play.
Love is like a magical song,
soft and gentle, humming for us along.
One more night I want to be with you,
just your touch I know life is true;
together we cuddle like two robes tangle,
mixed in the fantasy of love, yet, we were humble;
Our heat from us makes us twins,
we swim in harmony, down your chest I feel so real.
Loving this,
your kiss is sweet;
but now no one knows I how I feels,
burning in silence, this wounds never ills;
I can't escape another day without you,
I can't walk another miles if my heart don't have you;
I call this “MY DYING HEART”
for in you I will fly HIGH.
We both have long for love,
when kneel at the alter, our bliss descend like the dove.
Mar 18, 2009
Mar 14, 2009
for my SOUL
poetry
dance
music
song
vibe
consciousness
motivation
inspiration
aspiration
determination
information
communication
innovation
education
we want to reach you and the world with our words,
our voice,
our heart
our strength;
"YES WE CAN".
dance
music
song
vibe
consciousness
motivation
inspiration
aspiration
determination
information
communication
innovation
education
we want to reach you and the world with our words,
our voice,
our heart
our strength;
"YES WE CAN".
for my SOUL
poetry
dance
music
song
vibe
consciousness
motivation
inspiration
aspiration
determination
information
communication
innovation
education
we want to reach you and the world with our words,
our voice,
our heart
our strength;
"YES WE CAN".
dance
music
song
vibe
consciousness
motivation
inspiration
aspiration
determination
information
communication
innovation
education
we want to reach you and the world with our words,
our voice,
our heart
our strength;
"YES WE CAN".
BLACK HiSTORY MONTH
Sharing his work with a deferent audience is something he can deal with and, he knows how to manipulate his body vocabularies to reach out his intensions and motives, as to expel the means of one untied people can be. On the 14th of February 2009, the Windisch-Hunt Art gallery in Coconut Grove are once again celebrating the Black History Month, showcasing various artiste works from all range they certainly have the gig and vibe.
Something special came out this time, a dancer from Nigeria who dazzled people coming in to fill their eyes with one or two peep in the gallery. He moves around them with his dance movements and the smile on his face. Yet he never seems to lose the flow and rhythm of the musical beat. A beautiful African percussion. The gallery was occupied with people standing on deferent angles watching, while some, busying exploring the art works hung on the wall.
As Black History Month ends, folks also use this time out to share love with one another, children and friends. The park was full with people from deferent county, states, region. It was a very bright and warm atmosphere with the sun burning very hot in Liberty City Miami at the “Touching Miami with Love” .
Mr Etagweyo Vincent Onokurte a Nigerian dancer, intrigues the audience with his dance movement and body gestures. He speaks words of our fathers through his gestures and communication of the music, accompanying his dance steps. “it is very good for the kids to experience something like this and know how important culture really means.
At 2:00pm, Etagweyo Vincent Onokurte started his movement at Liberty City where he did his third performance of the Black History Month; “showcasing myself and sharing my History and Culture as a cultural exchange and educational vocation with kids, adults”. They where really pleased with what the dance and most of all, what the organizers and families gave as part of the support to the county/humanity. “we want to reshape the world with our ministry, our art, our words, and our lovingness”. The kids also shared some of their great art works and how they understand what is going on, on their various environments. Some of them did poetry, while some took the duty of getting people situated and making seats and other availabilities the guest might need.
They also took us back to the footstep of Dr Martin Luther King Jr (“I HAVE A DREAM”).“Reciting these words of Dr King really meant a lot to this kids. We want them to think positively, and knowing full well that they can make it, no matter the stormy weather”.
We want to build our community and make it a better home for our children to think positively and with open minds; instead of the harm devices and smoking cracks and weed. Because these, it loses their sense of understanding and their lives is fall shot with lost. 60-70% of these kids turn out becoming thugs and hoodlums, doing violence because they have not being educated the proper way.
It is not just doing convocations or gathering that only matters, but how educated these kids are in their various homes. Although I am not talking about the America, or Africa, but every corner of the world. We should give heed to the society, transform these mentality and change the system for better place.
Vincent
Something special came out this time, a dancer from Nigeria who dazzled people coming in to fill their eyes with one or two peep in the gallery. He moves around them with his dance movements and the smile on his face. Yet he never seems to lose the flow and rhythm of the musical beat. A beautiful African percussion. The gallery was occupied with people standing on deferent angles watching, while some, busying exploring the art works hung on the wall.
As Black History Month ends, folks also use this time out to share love with one another, children and friends. The park was full with people from deferent county, states, region. It was a very bright and warm atmosphere with the sun burning very hot in Liberty City Miami at the “Touching Miami with Love” .
Mr Etagweyo Vincent Onokurte a Nigerian dancer, intrigues the audience with his dance movement and body gestures. He speaks words of our fathers through his gestures and communication of the music, accompanying his dance steps. “it is very good for the kids to experience something like this and know how important culture really means.
At 2:00pm, Etagweyo Vincent Onokurte started his movement at Liberty City where he did his third performance of the Black History Month; “showcasing myself and sharing my History and Culture as a cultural exchange and educational vocation with kids, adults”. They where really pleased with what the dance and most of all, what the organizers and families gave as part of the support to the county/humanity. “we want to reshape the world with our ministry, our art, our words, and our lovingness”. The kids also shared some of their great art works and how they understand what is going on, on their various environments. Some of them did poetry, while some took the duty of getting people situated and making seats and other availabilities the guest might need.
They also took us back to the footstep of Dr Martin Luther King Jr (“I HAVE A DREAM”).“Reciting these words of Dr King really meant a lot to this kids. We want them to think positively, and knowing full well that they can make it, no matter the stormy weather”.
We want to build our community and make it a better home for our children to think positively and with open minds; instead of the harm devices and smoking cracks and weed. Because these, it loses their sense of understanding and their lives is fall shot with lost. 60-70% of these kids turn out becoming thugs and hoodlums, doing violence because they have not being educated the proper way.
It is not just doing convocations or gathering that only matters, but how educated these kids are in their various homes. Although I am not talking about the America, or Africa, but every corner of the world. We should give heed to the society, transform these mentality and change the system for better place.
Vincent
Mar 5, 2009
Coconut Grove Grapevine: Art is constantly moving through the streets
Coconut Grove Grapevine: Art is constantly moving through the streets
It was a night of blessed memory, each movements, each words, each sound, each gestures, each breath, becomes a force that moves with the wind and intertwine with me. I feel my body transcending into realm of imagination as i move vividly to sound of the music. I draw energy from the audience who stood in amazed, trying to see what the next move or gesture would say; " Lines of Movement".
It was a night of blessed memory, each movements, each words, each sound, each gestures, each breath, becomes a force that moves with the wind and intertwine with me. I feel my body transcending into realm of imagination as i move vividly to sound of the music. I draw energy from the audience who stood in amazed, trying to see what the next move or gesture would say; " Lines of Movement".
Mar 1, 2009
KING OF SORROW
they said I'm a witch
discarding my incense
on any garment it perches on...
I was cast by the stone of men,
driven by my mates.
By those who I call FRIENDS!
I'm crying to everyone ears
dancing with frustration
day and night.
I cry to prove my innocence
but was oblivion
by my maker.
I flea to the mountain
where I pitch my tent;
I cause the day I was born;
leprosy embrace me,
sharing the same supper with me.
My skin falls apart,
my beautiful attire became
a sorrowful evening.
I am now the beast
everyone run from;
take my life;
Don't let me enjoy these grieve anymore!
Send fire from above
to consume me!
Send the night hawkers to
to come devour me
before morning light!
Allow vultures to say my last prayer!
discarding my incense
on any garment it perches on...
I was cast by the stone of men,
driven by my mates.
By those who I call FRIENDS!
I'm crying to everyone ears
dancing with frustration
day and night.
I cry to prove my innocence
but was oblivion
by my maker.
I flea to the mountain
where I pitch my tent;
I cause the day I was born;
leprosy embrace me,
sharing the same supper with me.
My skin falls apart,
my beautiful attire became
a sorrowful evening.
I am now the beast
everyone run from;
take my life;
Don't let me enjoy these grieve anymore!
Send fire from above
to consume me!
Send the night hawkers to
to come devour me
before morning light!
Allow vultures to say my last prayer!
Feb 28, 2009
A BEAUTIFUL LOVE STORY
A traveling party found itself catapulted from inside a long and dark tunnel of a magic forest. There they had a vague memory that when the trip started there were only smaller number of them, perhaps fewer than 10. now, looking around, they were 36, then 70, or perhaps 100, all packed together and looking all identical and rapidly increasing in number if by magic.
Then a sinister game began. Soon they realized they where that bunch landed wads kind of a protective circle inside a prison, that none of them could leave except under the penalty of death. Another problem was that each individual, even inside the delineated safety zone must stay connected with the group for, alone each individual would be immersed in toxic wastes that kill instantly (within second). Finally, and worse, the grace period afforded these involuntary pilgrim was very limited: in 280 days they were to be expelled to be on there own. What to do?
They discovered that, in the confine of strict laws, they have creative power; that they could be and do everything they wanted.
So, first they decided to stick together, live for one another, and use their power of creation always for the benefit of all not for anyone in particular. They cultivated special skills and talent that focus on the collectivity's need. Voluntarily diversifying, some took on the dangerous task of defense, some specialize themselves in looking for food and process it for everybody. Others took on the task of keeping the community clean. They built a most sophisticated portable flee market that moves like a river where everyone indiscriminately finds what they needed for survival. They even created a high tech administration topped by a leadership that cares, comforts, heals, and delegates and inspires. In the end, this small group that started the journey as an anonymous bunch had grown into a model of a most civilized and self-sufficient community. They conquered their present and even planned for the future. When they left the protective forest there was no sorrow but rejoice.
ANOTHER HOLIEST HYMN
I gazed at the morning sun coming from the east
it a very bright and warm morning I told myself ready to deep my feet
into the world.
It is not a joyous day to sing hymns and praises,
nor one of those holiest or the bravest days,
But a twist like a mirror that reflect you to your past.
A drum beat that skipped your heart each time
the clock ticks, for another body is been berried,
while you count your days with fear, tears,
when you see the faces of your loved one.
As we journey together into these unending race,
we are left with ourself to decoy the mysteries and wonders
of our nature, we are yet another dust from soul
of the our maker.
We are the rivers that flows in circle, that cannot be traced
of its beginning or ending.
We are the beast in the forest, the birds on the sky,
mammals and many other history that cannot revealed.
We are ANOTHER HOLIEST HYMNS........
it a very bright and warm morning I told myself ready to deep my feet
into the world.
It is not a joyous day to sing hymns and praises,
nor one of those holiest or the bravest days,
But a twist like a mirror that reflect you to your past.
A drum beat that skipped your heart each time
the clock ticks, for another body is been berried,
while you count your days with fear, tears,
when you see the faces of your loved one.
As we journey together into these unending race,
we are left with ourself to decoy the mysteries and wonders
of our nature, we are yet another dust from soul
of the our maker.
We are the rivers that flows in circle, that cannot be traced
of its beginning or ending.
We are the beast in the forest, the birds on the sky,
mammals and many other history that cannot revealed.
We are ANOTHER HOLIEST HYMNS........
Feb 17, 2009
Feb 15, 2009
They said he is a track/rap/cracker,
selling hits/shit in the hood, he was a dealer a hater.
Young boys and girls knew him Weller,
that old G hanging at the conner.
With time flying faster
his trade has became bigger.
A big fella named, BELLER
O yeah that what they used call him “BELEER”.
He is no gangster, nor a fighter,
but with passion, he is became a jack ass cracker.
A street rapper who rapper whose hits hit track cracker!
Vinc
Feb 11, 2009
"WAR CHILD"
“WAR CHILD”
Roaring sound elude the air, bullet flying everywhere. The street is deserted, women, children, brothers, sisters, everyone fleeing to an unknown destination, finding shelter to rescue their heads and the life's of their children and love ones. We had no where to go, no one to run to. Those who we think can help us, most of them have died, while others have fled to neighboring villages. The more we run the more the war keeps coming close. We never had a day or two to rest before the war reaches our tent. I lost his mother during one of the conflicts while we were trying to escape a terrible plot by gunmen who came in surprise in the middle of the night, both of us miss our way and couldn't find one another.
Story came that she is died. That she was shoot while trying to find her way towards a narrow path, some people say because she was pregnant she couldn't run, that she was in pain, maybe she wants to deliver, then died on the curse. Some say she is nowhere to be found. But to me, that was the last time I saw my mother. The only memory I have is the last time we held hands together, running for our life's. Maybe that is the way life has decided for both of them.
Or maybe, life has something ahead for this young boy to become a voice that will rebel against the oppressions and discrimination. Maybe he is the positive force that will one day stand up and redeem his people from pang they are.
Deep in my sleep I bellow,
light flashes deep into
the heavens cry, unveiling it garments of non
existence,
a tempest, a shrill wind,
a eye of eagle eroding through
the rivers. Thus; greed prevailed in thy
vineyard.
Deep sleep in my dream I quench,
the thirst of agony, lingered in
the borders of innocents soul.
“I listen to each word coming
from his mouth,
each vessels he puke
rebel the string he abide”.
A bitter junction like the sparrow
tide to its web.
“As we forgive those who wrongs us,
so shall the dowers who miss leads us
realize we are no seed for Hebrews”.
the street is crying deep,
lamenting as the scorn pierce deep,
its swords knows no justice with its struck.
The street is falling low,
innocent juveniles
wonder for better days
cos thy sanctuary is false before them.
deep in my dream I am cast away
my dreams, my hopes where blown astray,
my history,
my courage is hung,
killed by the same weapon
I
once admire.
“children should be going to
schools,
not fighting in battles, because
they will lose their
life
even if they survive.”
for Emmanuel Jal and many other children who were taking away by military men to train to become a weapon of destruction to mankind. who have fought in Sudan's war. To those who lost their love ones and still mourning as we speak. The war in Sudan, Zimbabwe, Liberia, Kenya and all over Africa continent.
“We need peace and justice”.
Vincent
Roaring sound elude the air, bullet flying everywhere. The street is deserted, women, children, brothers, sisters, everyone fleeing to an unknown destination, finding shelter to rescue their heads and the life's of their children and love ones. We had no where to go, no one to run to. Those who we think can help us, most of them have died, while others have fled to neighboring villages. The more we run the more the war keeps coming close. We never had a day or two to rest before the war reaches our tent. I lost his mother during one of the conflicts while we were trying to escape a terrible plot by gunmen who came in surprise in the middle of the night, both of us miss our way and couldn't find one another.
Story came that she is died. That she was shoot while trying to find her way towards a narrow path, some people say because she was pregnant she couldn't run, that she was in pain, maybe she wants to deliver, then died on the curse. Some say she is nowhere to be found. But to me, that was the last time I saw my mother. The only memory I have is the last time we held hands together, running for our life's. Maybe that is the way life has decided for both of them.
Or maybe, life has something ahead for this young boy to become a voice that will rebel against the oppressions and discrimination. Maybe he is the positive force that will one day stand up and redeem his people from pang they are.
Deep in my sleep I bellow,
light flashes deep into
the heavens cry, unveiling it garments of non
existence,
a tempest, a shrill wind,
a eye of eagle eroding through
the rivers. Thus; greed prevailed in thy
vineyard.
Deep sleep in my dream I quench,
the thirst of agony, lingered in
the borders of innocents soul.
“I listen to each word coming
from his mouth,
each vessels he puke
rebel the string he abide”.
A bitter junction like the sparrow
tide to its web.
“As we forgive those who wrongs us,
so shall the dowers who miss leads us
realize we are no seed for Hebrews”.
the street is crying deep,
lamenting as the scorn pierce deep,
its swords knows no justice with its struck.
The street is falling low,
innocent juveniles
wonder for better days
cos thy sanctuary is false before them.
deep in my dream I am cast away
my dreams, my hopes where blown astray,
my history,
my courage is hung,
killed by the same weapon
I
once admire.
“children should be going to
schools,
not fighting in battles, because
they will lose their
life
even if they survive.”
for Emmanuel Jal and many other children who were taking away by military men to train to become a weapon of destruction to mankind. who have fought in Sudan's war. To those who lost their love ones and still mourning as we speak. The war in Sudan, Zimbabwe, Liberia, Kenya and all over Africa continent.
“We need peace and justice”.
Vincent
"WAR CHILD"
"Children should be going to school, not fighting in battles, because they will still lose their life even if they survive."
From the book of "war child" by Emmanuel Jal
Emmanuel's charity Gua Africa (Gua meaning power in Arabic and peace in his native tongue Nuer) supports survivors of war from Sudan and Rwanda who are in high schools and universities. These are the people who will rebuild their countries in the future. Gua Africa also sponsors children at primary school in Nairobi slum and hope to find support for more pupils. Emmanuel's dream is to build a school in Leer in honor of the woman who rescued him, Wmma Mccune.
There he will be able to give the children from his home what he was given. "education and freedom"
www.guaafrica.org or www.warchildmovie.com
A Young Man On A Mission
"Left home at the age of seven/one year later I'm carryin' an Ak-47." For hip hop artist Emmanuel Jal, a former child soldier in Sudan's brutal civil war, these lyrics are hardly empty posturing. They are the bitter reality of a young man who was "forced to sin" but determined to "never give up and never give in." Today, wounded but still hopeful, he fights a new battle: bringing peace to his beloved Sudan and building schools in Africa. This time, his weapon is a microphone. See why audiences from New York to Berlin to London rave about the award-winning film, War Child, and have embraced the hip-hop artist with a terrifying past and a gentle soul. Interspersing original interviews, live concerts, and rare footage of Jal as a seven year-old boy, War Child will make viewers cry, laugh, dance, and celebrate the power of hope.
From the book of "war child" by Emmanuel Jal
Emmanuel's charity Gua Africa (Gua meaning power in Arabic and peace in his native tongue Nuer) supports survivors of war from Sudan and Rwanda who are in high schools and universities. These are the people who will rebuild their countries in the future. Gua Africa also sponsors children at primary school in Nairobi slum and hope to find support for more pupils. Emmanuel's dream is to build a school in Leer in honor of the woman who rescued him, Wmma Mccune.
There he will be able to give the children from his home what he was given. "education and freedom"
www.guaafrica.org or www.warchildmovie.com
A Young Man On A Mission
"Left home at the age of seven/one year later I'm carryin' an Ak-47." For hip hop artist Emmanuel Jal, a former child soldier in Sudan's brutal civil war, these lyrics are hardly empty posturing. They are the bitter reality of a young man who was "forced to sin" but determined to "never give up and never give in." Today, wounded but still hopeful, he fights a new battle: bringing peace to his beloved Sudan and building schools in Africa. This time, his weapon is a microphone. See why audiences from New York to Berlin to London rave about the award-winning film, War Child, and have embraced the hip-hop artist with a terrifying past and a gentle soul. Interspersing original interviews, live concerts, and rare footage of Jal as a seven year-old boy, War Child will make viewers cry, laugh, dance, and celebrate the power of hope.
Feb 10, 2009
I want out!
the dancer is you in the Savanna rains
When you ask the bus to go on forever
and
the looking glass is you when
definitely
Yu ask my buttocks of images in paraffin
roaring burning black in haephestus' furnace
the days are calabashes of dead palm wine
that blossom into red blood in the black ambulance
yu say your life is my presence
turned into destitute vocabulary
but I forget
Joan of Arc was White
Very White the paper of hell's menus blistered
and scalded my Steve Biko fingertips
When I looked back
the wayward bus was right in front of me
Its single tyre Cyclop's smarting eye
When they began talking of digris
She looked at me at my empty silence
but you write write poems
how come you got no degrees?
the stamps in this detention mind
turn livid like a charon capsizing in Urine
the smudges on my face is debating faeces
the wormz these my fingers are typewriter keys
the Cry in the raining nyt trying
trying
to mangle the english language
I
forget
my dreadline is close
I have taken my poems
I'll get the books when I
bring your money
the typewriter was neva mine
When the becomes so real
and the poem refuses to end
enslaving to write all hours
I
know longer have tears to cry
remember
when I insisted on paying the bill
and yu knew I had no monies
and stared as I ate piles and miles of
spaghetti bread yu didnt know
that was my first meal in 4 days I
never said fasting was voluntary
Out the Savanna music kinged
for appearance's sake
lets hold hands
between pages of blazing gasps
your thighs when they crush me are delirium bantustans
and the flags
words from Senghor silences the Wind!
The Winter moon imprisons girls
poetessez with thighs like akhmatova
and
!
blood red blobs drop on this poem
Im not trying to emphaSIZE!
the blooddrops in my plate
Scarlet a red soup of gritty tears
gravel of brain sawdust
on the drill of time(s)
answer
What race was scipio africanus
the rains in the Savanna dance you
definitely.
Phillip Zhuwao
When you ask the bus to go on forever
and
the looking glass is you when
definitely
Yu ask my buttocks of images in paraffin
roaring burning black in haephestus' furnace
the days are calabashes of dead palm wine
that blossom into red blood in the black ambulance
yu say your life is my presence
turned into destitute vocabulary
but I forget
Joan of Arc was White
Very White the paper of hell's menus blistered
and scalded my Steve Biko fingertips
When I looked back
the wayward bus was right in front of me
Its single tyre Cyclop's smarting eye
When they began talking of digris
She looked at me at my empty silence
but you write write poems
how come you got no degrees?
the stamps in this detention mind
turn livid like a charon capsizing in Urine
the smudges on my face is debating faeces
the wormz these my fingers are typewriter keys
the Cry in the raining nyt trying
trying
to mangle the english language
I
forget
my dreadline is close
I have taken my poems
I'll get the books when I
bring your money
the typewriter was neva mine
When the becomes so real
and the poem refuses to end
enslaving to write all hours
I
know longer have tears to cry
remember
when I insisted on paying the bill
and yu knew I had no monies
and stared as I ate piles and miles of
spaghetti bread yu didnt know
that was my first meal in 4 days I
never said fasting was voluntary
Out the Savanna music kinged
for appearance's sake
lets hold hands
between pages of blazing gasps
your thighs when they crush me are delirium bantustans
and the flags
words from Senghor silences the Wind!
The Winter moon imprisons girls
poetessez with thighs like akhmatova
and
!
blood red blobs drop on this poem
Im not trying to emphaSIZE!
the blooddrops in my plate
Scarlet a red soup of gritty tears
gravel of brain sawdust
on the drill of time(s)
answer
What race was scipio africanus
the rains in the Savanna dance you
definitely.
Phillip Zhuwao
this morning nigger
The days have been like this
these past 4 days
I've been trying to sell
my 2 copies of New Coin for few coins
Veldfire ravage evicts
mice hares locusts and her beauty to the hunter
to believe
I've walked to town and back
to try and secure that University scholarship
It's vain and vulnerable
achille's heel my roofs crush me
over the hills the beautiful Vumba mountains
the grassy drakensberg the sand-particled kalahari
my biological homeland Barotseland
Lewanika's eye and my true identity
My heart is now a bomb
the dish of water that pilate washed hands
Indians smoke peace pipe
When I'm reading Oom Smut's autobiography
We can sit in this sun
or beneath it
God's footstools
So long as
I have a single beer
When she crossed her legs on Farewell
She mentioned Upsaala Heidelberg
Then british airways, She was gone.
Baring the wolf's ivory fangs
trying to blaspheme if God slept at all
Wondering why poetry is personal
Why I'm not yet dead the cat's whisker twitched
SHIT!
Again the blood and snot clotted in my nostrils
to the shouting outside
this dark little room where
the unmattressed bed
the tens and tens of books
the oversized jacket behind the door
the holed shoes
are POETRY themselves.
Phillip Zhuwao
these past 4 days
I've been trying to sell
my 2 copies of New Coin for few coins
Veldfire ravage evicts
mice hares locusts and her beauty to the hunter
to believe
I've walked to town and back
to try and secure that University scholarship
It's vain and vulnerable
achille's heel my roofs crush me
over the hills the beautiful Vumba mountains
the grassy drakensberg the sand-particled kalahari
my biological homeland Barotseland
Lewanika's eye and my true identity
My heart is now a bomb
the dish of water that pilate washed hands
Indians smoke peace pipe
When I'm reading Oom Smut's autobiography
We can sit in this sun
or beneath it
God's footstools
So long as
I have a single beer
When she crossed her legs on Farewell
She mentioned Upsaala Heidelberg
Then british airways, She was gone.
Baring the wolf's ivory fangs
trying to blaspheme if God slept at all
Wondering why poetry is personal
Why I'm not yet dead the cat's whisker twitched
SHIT!
Again the blood and snot clotted in my nostrils
to the shouting outside
this dark little room where
the unmattressed bed
the tens and tens of books
the oversized jacket behind the door
the holed shoes
are POETRY themselves.
Phillip Zhuwao
Feb 6, 2009
Nigeria baby poison deaths rise
The death toll from a contaminated baby medicine sold in Nigeria has risen from 34 - recorded in early December - to 84, the health ministry has said.
There have been 111 reported cases of children who have fallen ill after being given teething syrup "My Pikin".
The poisonous syrup was discovered last November when babies began dying of organ failure across the country.
Authorities have called on private pharmacies to turn over stocks of the paracetamol-based syrup to regulators.
The Nigerian-made mixture was found to contain engine coolant.
Government will leave no stone unturned to.. ensure that such unfortunate incidents do not occur again
Babatunde Osotimehin
Nigeria's health minister
The National Agency for Food, Drug Administration and Control (Nafdac) shut down the Lagos-based manufacturer and the main supplier of the medicine last year.
Nafdac has also appealed to parents to not treat their children with any type of teething syrup until it can find all the remaining stocks.
The dead children are aged between two and seven, Health Minister Babatunde Osotimehin said.
"Government will leave no stone unturned to find answers to the many questions being asked by Nigerians and also ensure that such unfortunate incidents do not occur again," he said.
The name My Pikin means my baby in Nigerian pidgin.
Gunmen free Nigerian boy of nine
Gangs of jobless youth make money from kidnapping and extortion
A nine-year-old boy kidnapped by a gang in Nigeria's oil-producing Niger Delta has been released.
His 11-year-old sister was shot dead trying to protect him as they walked to school in Port Harcourt, Rivers State, last week.
It is understood no ransom was paid to the kidnappers even though his father is an employee of Royal Dutch Shell.
Kidnapping of oil company employees by gangs of armed men is on the increase in the Niger Delta.
Emmanuel Awonusi is reported to have been released unharmed.
Militant groups have been kidnapping oil workers and their families for many years in the Niger Delta.
They say they are trying to force a fairer distribution of wealth from Nigeria's oil, but jobless young men make money from extortion, kidnapping and oil theft.
The lucrative kidnapping business has attracted copy-cat gangs, analysts say.
Oil companies always deny paying ransoms but it is believed to be a common practice.
Feb 3, 2009
cos you listen
THERE WOULD BE A DAY
OR THAT DAY
I WOULD BE IN
FOR ALL OF YOUR WRITES
FOR ALL OF YOUR HEARTS
THAT DAY FOR SURE
I WOULD BE THAT ONE
THAT ONE
Of....
"GLI GLI"
Don't forget in those bad news my proud poet
my proud dancer of life
Dancer of words
Dancer in this world
With all bodies
Whose could listen
the litlle song of the HEART BIT
by
agnes dru
OR THAT DAY
I WOULD BE IN
FOR ALL OF YOUR WRITES
FOR ALL OF YOUR HEARTS
THAT DAY FOR SURE
I WOULD BE THAT ONE
THAT ONE
Of....
"GLI GLI"
Don't forget in those bad news my proud poet
my proud dancer of life
Dancer of words
Dancer in this world
With all bodies
Whose could listen
the litlle song of the HEART BIT
by
agnes dru
Feb 2, 2009
Three deny SA reggae icon murder
Lucky Dube
Lucky Dube was an internationally recognised reggae star
Three men have denied at the high court in Johannesburg murdering the internationally-acclaimed South African reggae star Lucky Dube.
Julius Xowa, Sfiso Mhlanga and Thabiso Maroping also deny unlawful possession of firearms and attempted hijacking.
The shooting of the 43-year-old musician outside his brother's house in Johannesburg in October 2007 shocked the country.
Lucky Dube's family and friends were in court for the opening of the trial.
The accused - all in their early 30s - were denied bail when they appeared in court in November last year.
It emerged at the time that one of the suspects had been out on bail on a separate charge when he allegedly took part in the murder of the reggae star.
This angered opposition parties and members of the public who questioned the country's judicial system.
But police were praised for making quick arrests.
Death penalty calls
Four suspects were initially taken into custody, but one was later released under the instruction of the directorate of public prosecutions.
Lucky Dube was shot dead in front of his son and daughter in Rosettenville, a southern suburb of downtown Johannesburg.
The killing led to renewed domestic calls for the restoration of the death penalty in a bid to stem one of the world's highest murder rates.
The BBC's Mpho Lakaje in Johannesburg says South Africa's international image has been tarnished by its alarming crime levels.
Nearly 19,000 people were murdered last year, according to official statistics.
Millions of visitors are expected for next year's football world cup.
Lucky Dube, who recorded in Zulu, English and Afrikaans, began his career by singing mbaqanga (traditional Zulu) music and recorded his first album with the Super Soul band in 1982.
He later moved into reggae, producing Rastas Never Die, which was banned by the apartheid government.
His albums Slave, Prisoner and Together As One won him global recognition.
The trial is expected to last about a month.
Lucky Dube was an internationally recognised reggae star
Three men have denied at the high court in Johannesburg murdering the internationally-acclaimed South African reggae star Lucky Dube.
Julius Xowa, Sfiso Mhlanga and Thabiso Maroping also deny unlawful possession of firearms and attempted hijacking.
The shooting of the 43-year-old musician outside his brother's house in Johannesburg in October 2007 shocked the country.
Lucky Dube's family and friends were in court for the opening of the trial.
The accused - all in their early 30s - were denied bail when they appeared in court in November last year.
It emerged at the time that one of the suspects had been out on bail on a separate charge when he allegedly took part in the murder of the reggae star.
This angered opposition parties and members of the public who questioned the country's judicial system.
But police were praised for making quick arrests.
Death penalty calls
Four suspects were initially taken into custody, but one was later released under the instruction of the directorate of public prosecutions.
Lucky Dube was shot dead in front of his son and daughter in Rosettenville, a southern suburb of downtown Johannesburg.
The killing led to renewed domestic calls for the restoration of the death penalty in a bid to stem one of the world's highest murder rates.
The BBC's Mpho Lakaje in Johannesburg says South Africa's international image has been tarnished by its alarming crime levels.
Nearly 19,000 people were murdered last year, according to official statistics.
Millions of visitors are expected for next year's football world cup.
Lucky Dube, who recorded in Zulu, English and Afrikaans, began his career by singing mbaqanga (traditional Zulu) music and recorded his first album with the Super Soul band in 1982.
He later moved into reggae, producing Rastas Never Die, which was banned by the apartheid government.
His albums Slave, Prisoner and Together As One won him global recognition.
The trial is expected to last about a month.
LAGOS
upon two and three, eight and twenty
we converge inside the vehicle
we hustle and huddle inside
all mingling like baked cake
inside the oven
“enter quick before the bus leave us here joo”
I remember that chant from the door man
calling bus stops, at the same time
attends to passengers aboard
“abeg owe yur change o”
but sometimes some passengers want to
be tuff with the conductor,
“madam I go join you wit dis boy, bcos yu ear me
day shout owe yur change before yu enter”
MOLUWE I will not forget
yellow and black stripe on the body
talking about body, AGBERO boys standing at every
bus stop for their daily payment
“oya, owo chairman, owo boys, owo ile,
owo morning, owo afternoon, owo evening”
but that is not only the payment for the day
what about oga olopa salary.
Under the hot sun little children
pass by with their tray
“omo elepa please sell five niara grand nut for me
and please make it well o, let me test it first”
Lagos city, I hail thee
I am proud to be one of your soul entity.
Vincent
Jan 31, 2009
Poetry Lamentation
As part of our monthly exhibition of Poetry Lamentation we\'ve showcased three artist poems.
William blake(1989) and Al young (1938). both of them are great poets. they are in front row of black emancipation in African-American and the world.
the ANTHOLOGY OF A BLACK MANS SPEECH has greatly impact a lot in the new generation writing and has a rice cultural heritage that we as blacks can trace our history and background to our ancestors.
we are using these medium to acknowledge black writers whose poems are device for addressing society issues for blacks youth all over the world. the slavery and redemption of our time. also young writers who are aspiring to transcend their work to the horizon.
ANTHOLOGY OF A BLACK MANS SPEECH
I AM BLACK, AFRICA I AM BLACK MAN
There I was, searing aloof the roof top
gaging myself abot in front of a steal pot
amicably I wallowed and drain into a wretch tree fall
fading into the winds till night stood tall
abase by the rod, I danced to posture
poor like waisted green who'se lost his future
I am black, Africa I am black man
from dust I became
to him I retain
galloping from hills to heed
from trees to reed
I have seen weapon ablaze
to segregate men till date
I am black, Africa I am black man
with passion knowing me not to hold
I feel unjust to my unborn too bold
oh yes! I gazed in front of the window
seeing how cold it is to be a widow
who fall shout and cut
the prime of her throat
I am black, Africa I am black man
soldiers matching by
parading the ground till die
yet no one ears my voice
echoing, trenching its noise
lingering thru the front door
I've conceived in my conscience before
I am black, Africa I am black man
I won't stop until these soar is ill
not on the surface, but inside the hearts I will ill
until the street is turned with justice
and peace abide in every faces
I won't stop until the name of my children
will be sang on every lip, oh yes! till then
I am black, African I am black man
Africa is pose to be degrading
A nonconstructive human beings
who live with other animals
and eat from like mammals
I won't negate my people and become
like those who soled me for coin
who flea because they are weak
blind folded with the trick
I am black, Africa I am black man
I am black man and will always be
a color am so proud of
I am who I am a black man
the glowing shadow that sprout thru the nite
by sun set I shield to be bright
I am black am to me don't change that
I am who I am if you could see
I am black, Africa I am black man
Vincent
There I was, searing aloof the roof top
gaging myself abot in front of a steal pot
amicably I wallowed and drain into a wretch tree fall
fading into the winds till night stood tall
abase by the rod, I danced to posture
poor like waisted green who'se lost his future
I am black, Africa I am black man
from dust I became
to him I retain
galloping from hills to heed
from trees to reed
I have seen weapon ablaze
to segregate men till date
I am black, Africa I am black man
with passion knowing me not to hold
I feel unjust to my unborn too bold
oh yes! I gazed in front of the window
seeing how cold it is to be a widow
who fall shout and cut
the prime of her throat
I am black, Africa I am black man
soldiers matching by
parading the ground till die
yet no one ears my voice
echoing, trenching its noise
lingering thru the front door
I've conceived in my conscience before
I am black, Africa I am black man
I won't stop until these soar is ill
not on the surface, but inside the hearts I will ill
until the street is turned with justice
and peace abide in every faces
I won't stop until the name of my children
will be sang on every lip, oh yes! till then
I am black, African I am black man
Africa is pose to be degrading
A nonconstructive human beings
who live with other animals
and eat from like mammals
I won't negate my people and become
like those who soled me for coin
who flea because they are weak
blind folded with the trick
I am black, Africa I am black man
I am black man and will always be
a color am so proud of
I am who I am a black man
the glowing shadow that sprout thru the nite
by sun set I shield to be bright
I am black am to me don't change that
I am who I am if you could see
I am black, Africa I am black man
Vincent
"The Little Black Boy"
MY mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O, my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissèd me,
And, pointing to the East, began to say:
'Look at the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives His light, and gives His heat away,
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
'And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
'For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish; we shall hear His voice,
Saying, "Come out from the grove, my love and care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice."'
Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me,
And thus I say to little English boy.
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,
I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will then love me.
William Blake
From Songs of Innocence (1789)
And I am black, but O, my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissèd me,
And, pointing to the East, began to say:
'Look at the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives His light, and gives His heat away,
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.
'And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
'For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish; we shall hear His voice,
Saying, "Come out from the grove, my love and care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice."'
Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me,
And thus I say to little English boy.
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,
I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will then love me.
William Blake
From Songs of Innocence (1789)
Loneliness
the poet is the dreamer.
He dreams that the c lock stops
& 100 angels wandering wild
drift into his chamber
where nothing has been settled
should he got himself photographed
seated next to a mountain
like chairman Mao
the real sun flashing golden
off his real eyes
like the light off stones
by ocean?
Give me your perfect hand
& touch me simply with a word,
one distillation of forever
Should he put his white tie on
with his black shirt
& pass himself off as a docile gangster
,for the very last time?
The poet dream is real
down to the very last silver bullet
Should he slip again to Funland
in the city & throw dimes down holes
to watch hungry women flicker
one hair at a time
in kodacolor
from sad civilized boxers?
Should he practice magic
on politicians &
and crack their necks
in a laughing fit?
The poet is the dreamer.
He dreams babies asleep in wombs
& count the waisted sighs
lost in a flake of dusty semen
on a living thigh
Should he dream the end of an order,
the abolition of the slave trade,
the restoration to life
of dead millions
filing daily past time clocks
dutifully gorging themselves
on self-hatred & emptiness?
Should he even dream
an end to loneliness,
the illusion that
we can do without
& have no need
of one another?
It is true that he needs you,
I need you,
I need your pain & magic,
I need you more than ever
in every form & attitude-
gesturing with a rifle in your hand
starving in some earthly sector
or poised in some heavenly meditation
listening to the wind
with the third ear
or staring in forever
with the ever-watchful third eye,
you are needed
The poet is the dreamer &
the poet is himself the dream
&in this dream
he shares your presence
should he smash down walls
& expose the ignorance
beneath our lying nonsense?
No! No!
The gunshots he fires
up in the silent air
is to awaken.....
AL YOUNG (1939)
He dreams that the c lock stops
& 100 angels wandering wild
drift into his chamber
where nothing has been settled
should he got himself photographed
seated next to a mountain
like chairman Mao
the real sun flashing golden
off his real eyes
like the light off stones
by ocean?
Give me your perfect hand
& touch me simply with a word,
one distillation of forever
Should he put his white tie on
with his black shirt
& pass himself off as a docile gangster
,for the very last time?
The poet dream is real
down to the very last silver bullet
Should he slip again to Funland
in the city & throw dimes down holes
to watch hungry women flicker
one hair at a time
in kodacolor
from sad civilized boxers?
Should he practice magic
on politicians &
and crack their necks
in a laughing fit?
The poet is the dreamer.
He dreams babies asleep in wombs
& count the waisted sighs
lost in a flake of dusty semen
on a living thigh
Should he dream the end of an order,
the abolition of the slave trade,
the restoration to life
of dead millions
filing daily past time clocks
dutifully gorging themselves
on self-hatred & emptiness?
Should he even dream
an end to loneliness,
the illusion that
we can do without
& have no need
of one another?
It is true that he needs you,
I need you,
I need your pain & magic,
I need you more than ever
in every form & attitude-
gesturing with a rifle in your hand
starving in some earthly sector
or poised in some heavenly meditation
listening to the wind
with the third ear
or staring in forever
with the ever-watchful third eye,
you are needed
The poet is the dreamer &
the poet is himself the dream
&in this dream
he shares your presence
should he smash down walls
& expose the ignorance
beneath our lying nonsense?
No! No!
The gunshots he fires
up in the silent air
is to awaken.....
AL YOUNG (1939)
Jan 29, 2009
FREE THINKING
say it,
prove it,
be it,
show it,
talk it,
walk it,
be it,
follow it,
fight for it,
pray with it,
you are what you could ever imagine of.
FREE THINKING
prove it,
be it,
show it,
talk it,
walk it,
be it,
follow it,
fight for it,
pray with it,
you are what you could ever imagine of.
FREE THINKING
hate it or love it
Some people derive joy conceiving evil and hate in their heart. They even nurture it as if they've won a lottery ticket. They can even go the extend of wagging their mouth behind you and call you names and stuff just to paint their dirty jobs and show how coward they are. But they are afraid to say it in front of you, cos they know, they are the real notorious to them self. A hypocrite industry that is what they are. Low entities that they cannot be on their seat and be content with who they ARE.
I don't care who you are or what you say are. or what they call you. To me, you are just a figure of your own pocket, if your prowlers are getting into you and you think you can't keep your short gun or pipe where it should be, please freely donate it to a science lab, let them help you find a solution or make research on what you will do with it.
offense to any body, but I feel I don't owe any body an apology or whatsoever. it just a piece of my mind. and I have to let go, and let the air take it far away.
I will be, cos in Him, with Him and through Him I am able to breath and live through the next day. That's all I need as a human. I can't spend my time thinking of backward individuals who care less for other people, but them self or the benefit they want. I don't care of who say, him say, she say or who say so.
But this is my pray for you. Don't think I will not keep you in my treasure boxes or care for you. Your respect I will always keep and acknowledge, your boldness and zeal I admire.
Blessings and peace will continue to find you, favors will always drench your roof and never leaves your shadow.
Vincent....
I don't care who you are or what you say are. or what they call you. To me, you are just a figure of your own pocket, if your prowlers are getting into you and you think you can't keep your short gun or pipe where it should be, please freely donate it to a science lab, let them help you find a solution or make research on what you will do with it.
offense to any body, but I feel I don't owe any body an apology or whatsoever. it just a piece of my mind. and I have to let go, and let the air take it far away.I will be, cos in Him, with Him and through Him I am able to breath and live through the next day. That's all I need as a human. I can't spend my time thinking of backward individuals who care less for other people, but them self or the benefit they want. I don't care of who say, him say, she say or who say so.
But this is my pray for you. Don't think I will not keep you in my treasure boxes or care for you. Your respect I will always keep and acknowledge, your boldness and zeal I admire.
Blessings and peace will continue to find you, favors will always drench your roof and never leaves your shadow.
Vincent....
Jan 27, 2009
Dr Martin Luther King Jr
So many times we've been battered and lingered under the influence of those entities who governs us. We have been scourged and denied of lively hood. We are taking for granted and been connoted falsely by leather weapon and metal steels. There are those who believes a black man and white man are differ, that they cannot work on the same path of daylight. Those who sets ambush and walk through the darkest night, plotting and pro founding racialism. “We say to them that it is time for all men in the world to unite and liberate our society from the tranquility and purgatory that is ever flooding in the hearts of men.
Dr Martin Luther King Jr
“Sooner or later all the people of the world will have to discover a way to leave together in peace and thereby transform this pending cosmic elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. I refuse to accept the views that mankind is also tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant”
The light of freedom will come as the dawn of a new day envelope and shines from the East and dwell in the North. “As men will walk through the streets with one voice singing Hymns and shouting these words; this is the day we've been waiting for”. Oh yes! Let it be said that in our time we have conquered even in tribulation. To those who plays the game of racial discrimination and violate humans rights because of its skin type; you will trample to the ground like leaf cast off from its stem. You will perish and bleed with maggot.
Vincent
Jan 26, 2009
Anger at priest kidnap in Nigeria
Niger Delta militants
There are many gangs in the Niger Delta involved in kidnapping
The Roman Catholic Church in Nigeria has condemned the kidnapping of a missionary in the oil-producing south.
The Archbishop of Abuja, Most Rev John Onaiyekan, head of the Christian Association of Nigeria, said the kidnappers had made a "grave mistake".
Father Pius Kii was seized by unidentified gunmen from the steps of his church in Port Harcourt on Sunday.
Many gangs in the Niger Delta make money from kidnapping, extortion and gun running.
Unconfirmed reports from Church sources said militants had demanded a $20,000 (£14,000) ransom for Father Kii.
'Fear God'
"If they can kidnap a priest, then really no-one is safe," Archbishop Onaiyekan said.
"They should realise they have made a grave mistake, fear God and release him."
Father Kii is a member of the Missionary Society of St Paul, a Roman Catholic missionary organisation.
The Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta, the most visible militant group, has not commented on the kidnap.
The group has been kidnapping oil workers since 2006. In the past they have "rescued" non-oil worker hostages from other gangs.
Violence has cut oil production in the Niger Delta by about a fifth.
source BBC NEWS/AFRICA/NIGERIA
sole survivor
I will climb the mountain high
I will open my wings and soar to the sky
I will soar like the birds in the sky
Free and pure like mother earth
I will touch the stars with faith
break down worries and challenges
cos I'm the GREATEST
I am not the best among the rest
I am your friend when no one
call you friend
I am the night and day
I am life today
I will open my wings and soar to the sky
I will soar like the birds in the sky
Free and pure like mother earth
I will touch the stars with faith
break down worries and challenges
cos I'm the GREATEST
I am not the best among the rest
I am your friend when no one
call you friend
I am the night and day
I am life today
Jan 17, 2009
Black Washington looks to Obama
On his desk beside the nameboard that tells you he is director of marching bands at Howard University in Washington DC, John Newson keeps a miniature bale of cotton.
"Washington DC - a ruling elite, within a mainly African-American population"
When he lifts it and turns it in his hands his eyes take on a curiously distant quality and stories of this country's divided past come tumbling out.
He is a dignified, professorial figure these days, but he can remember the old times in rural Louisiana when he was put out of school three hours before the local white kids and sent to the local plantation fields to chop cotton - back-breaking work for a little boy in the boiling heat of the Southern summer.
He remembers too the local laws about "eye-balling" - no black man or woman dared to risk making eye contact with any of the white folks in the streets of their little town.
You looked down, or looked away, or you got a ticket and a fine.
Mr Newson's band, from the college they call "The Black Harvard", will be marching in the inaugural parade in the heart of their home city - Howard is just a few blocks across town from the White House.
It is a small story of change in a country which has changed enormously since little John Newson was sent out into the cottonfields of Louisiana all those years ago.
He is moved at the idea of a black man taking power in the White House, and not just for what it says about the long road African-Americans have travelled since he baled cotton when he should have been sitting in class or playing with his friends.
BLACK STREETS
Washington DC is sometimes called Chocolate City, and it is a curiously divided place."America's not exactly accepting us with open arms now just by the election of a black man as president"
Corey Crane
Tour operator
The tiny governing elite - which tends to live and work in the glittering centre - is surrounded by seas of largely black streets.
Mr Newson wonders if Barack Obama might be the man to bring together those two disparate identities sharing the same space.
After all, he commands the ruling elite now, and yet he can still talk comfortably with the black street.
Not that Mr Newson believes the election of Mr Obama means an end to the African-American journey. To illustrate his point he told me this story about what happened when he and his wife took three of their grandchildren back to a four-star hotel in Louisiana a few years ago to show them the Old South in which they had grown up.
"My wife and the three grandkids went to the swimming pool and on two occasions when they got in, all the white folks who were swimming got out and left," he told me.
"My wife even stayed in the water for nearly two hours to see if they would come back - and they didn't."
As Mr Newson said, Barack Obama's election is a moment of symbolism and he will have huge powers - but he cannot make people stay in swimming pools together.
America - and the South in particular - still have some changing to do.
"Washington DC - a ruling elite, within a mainly African-American population"
When he lifts it and turns it in his hands his eyes take on a curiously distant quality and stories of this country's divided past come tumbling out.
He is a dignified, professorial figure these days, but he can remember the old times in rural Louisiana when he was put out of school three hours before the local white kids and sent to the local plantation fields to chop cotton - back-breaking work for a little boy in the boiling heat of the Southern summer.
He remembers too the local laws about "eye-balling" - no black man or woman dared to risk making eye contact with any of the white folks in the streets of their little town.
You looked down, or looked away, or you got a ticket and a fine.
Mr Newson's band, from the college they call "The Black Harvard", will be marching in the inaugural parade in the heart of their home city - Howard is just a few blocks across town from the White House.
It is a small story of change in a country which has changed enormously since little John Newson was sent out into the cottonfields of Louisiana all those years ago.
He is moved at the idea of a black man taking power in the White House, and not just for what it says about the long road African-Americans have travelled since he baled cotton when he should have been sitting in class or playing with his friends.
BLACK STREETS
Washington DC is sometimes called Chocolate City, and it is a curiously divided place."America's not exactly accepting us with open arms now just by the election of a black man as president"
Corey Crane
Tour operator
The tiny governing elite - which tends to live and work in the glittering centre - is surrounded by seas of largely black streets.
Mr Newson wonders if Barack Obama might be the man to bring together those two disparate identities sharing the same space.
After all, he commands the ruling elite now, and yet he can still talk comfortably with the black street.
Not that Mr Newson believes the election of Mr Obama means an end to the African-American journey. To illustrate his point he told me this story about what happened when he and his wife took three of their grandchildren back to a four-star hotel in Louisiana a few years ago to show them the Old South in which they had grown up.
"My wife and the three grandkids went to the swimming pool and on two occasions when they got in, all the white folks who were swimming got out and left," he told me.
"My wife even stayed in the water for nearly two hours to see if they would come back - and they didn't."
As Mr Newson said, Barack Obama's election is a moment of symbolism and he will have huge powers - but he cannot make people stay in swimming pools together.
America - and the South in particular - still have some changing to do.
Jan 16, 2009
poetry lamentation
Poetry Lamentation is a monthly activity of poetry and writing. Starting 31st of this month with on line poetries of deferents poets and writers alike. It is a unite to converge both old and young writers and those who are aspiring and willing to embraces the art. We will also be showcasing their work, and as well deferent artiste and exhibitions.
Jan 15, 2009
PIOUS MIND
Inflation drench on her sanctuaryDebating with her memory
Her just will flicked in sanity
Remembered by the call of poverty
Her servants scout for treasures
Invading homes and looting peoples measures
But her future fade in coldness
Battered with groans of bitterness
Tomorrow awaits him heaven
Even calling him as the chosen
But the maim he conceive
Torment the vision her perceive
Caused is upon his friends he unite
Attrition with the church he built to confine
With the breath of a new dawn
Clinching hearts like new born
Our faces raised to the platform of life
Transcending the gospel alive
Such is nigh before cry
Because justice is bitter and dry
We sick no just in it
We cannot tell the mystery beneath
But laugh when success
Smiles upon our door step
Now evening has come
Dark as the undertaker of random
Swaying shadow amidst concubines
Dragging furry and weariness to justify it wine
As dark taker of its hour
So its weakness imply
Before dawn pervade its place
Looming with the lost that couldn't be trace
Darkness has flea to the mountain
Planting its seeds to be something
This is the streets of todays history
Thus cause and blame wag our memory
Caged our efforts to be limited
Instead to be united
That sweet memory of genesis
Cannot be rephrase in our analysis
It cannot be refresh in our memory........
It cannot be refresh in our memory........
Jan 8, 2009
ANGELINA I meet in DECEMBER....
Beautiful thing i meet in December
She has no number
Always wearing her blue garment of thunder
That blows my mind all over
I thought we had something together
That will break all odds and border
I used to fetch her water
and give her all kind of botter
Ithought she will consider
O boy she no think AM!
In fact that is not the matter
Dis babe don turn me to rasta
She just turn things to disaster
Spoil my car then give to plumber
Bros she has to go this december
No matter her hard weather
She must leave or else I'll lose my temper
And leave the remaining for her mother
Her agender has close in my reminder
She has to go before i turn to rasta
No more ANGELINA i meet in DECEMBER......
Jan 5, 2009
SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
I MAY BE GUILTY BUT I'M STILL FREE
I WAS BORN A LIBERAL BABY
FREEDOM IS WHAT MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME
YES SHE DID, OH THAT SHE DID
BUT ONE THING SHE DIDNT KNOW WOULD THE SEEDS
SHE PLANT HER SELF SHE WILL BE KILLED
BY SELFISH GAIN AND BURNT BY ACID RAIN
WHAT WILL BE THE END OF OUR STORY
RACE WHO BATH IN MATERAIL GLORY
SOME CAN AFFORD SELF IN FREE
STILL PUMPING OUT THE ENEMY
RISING RISING TO IN TO THE SKY
THE END RESULT THEY BLIND OUR EYES
ARE WE LEAVING A PROLONGE OF SUCIDE
SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
TREES FOR MUDERED TO THE GROUND
HORMOSIZE THE ONLY SOUND THEY EAR
THEY SEEM TO FEEL
THIS AINT NOT JOKE, THE PAIN IS REAL
CAN WE SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
FLOWERS WEEP, SEAS ARE CRYING
DO THEY BELIEVE, DO THEY FEEL WE LYING
WHEN WE VOW TO DO WHAT WE CAN
SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
THIS WHOLE WORLD AINT LIKE IT USED TO BE
SHOW ME TWO THOUSAND YEAR OLD TREE
WHAT WOULD BE THE END OF OUR STORY
CAN WE SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
CAN WE SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
I WAS BORN A LIBERAL BABY
FREEDOM IS WHAT MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME
YES SHE DID, OH THAT SHE DID
BUT ONE THING SHE DIDNT KNOW WOULD THE SEEDS SHE PLANT HER SELF SHE WILL BE KILLED
BY SELFISH GAIN AND BURNT BY ACID RAIN
WHAT WILL BE THE END OF OUR STORY
RACE WHO BATH IN MATERAIL GLORY
SOME CAN AFFORD SELF IN FREE
STILL PUMPING OUT THE ENEMY
RISING RISING TO IN TO THE SKY
THE END RESULT THEY BLIND OUR EYES
ARE WE LEAVING A PROLONGE OF SUCIDE
SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
TREES FOR MUDERED TO THE GROUND
HORMOSIZE THE ONLY SOUND THEY EAR
THEY SEEM TO FEEL
THIS AINT NOT JOKE, THE PAIN IS REAL
CAN WE SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
FLOWERS WEEP, SEAS ARE CRYING
DO THEY BELIEVE, DO THEY FEEL WE LYING
WHEN WE VOW TO DO WHAT WE CAN
SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
THIS WHOLE WORLD AINT LIKE IT USED TO BE
SHOW ME TWO THOUSAND YEAR OLD TREE
WHAT WOULD BE THE END OF OUR STORY
CAN WE SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
CAN WE SAVE THIS PROMISED LAND!
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