A Morning in Twon- Brass by Binaebi Miederi Oyeghe

A league of Fishermen going out to sea through the Brass River on a rainy
November morning. I reminisced with nostalgia those adventurous days of my boyhood, growing up in the mangrove creeks and serene Atlantic coastline and foraged on these ones bounteous waters of fishy harvest from Foropa to Odioma. I stood on the jetty listening to the howling wind, the chorusing waves sang in strange tongues. I stared at the large expense of the Brass River and exchanged a brief dialogue with the creative spirits of the river. What the river said is not meant for uncultivated ears but the avatars of in the shrine of creativity. I reflected in cold delight I as paddled the weight of my memory to the days when I was a fisherboy guiding my net up and downstream same river in my aunty’s big canoe gliding through the riotous waves from the oil rich Nembe Creek. I always shout at the oil men roaring down on Oil Lions, Modant Marines, Barges, and tugboats, humming down with barrels of our oily woes.

Three Poems | Akor Emmanuel Oche

Today we present three poems by Young Nigerian Poet; Akor Emmanuel Oche. “For Silas” “SUI (is a dark poem on the) CIDE” and “The World is…” Enjoy the read.

 

For Silas 
(half way through the small city of God)
i slip daily into your
cubicle, innocence, where
a thousand years of treasures
lay waste on the lines of
your offerings for island,
awaiting, all, the palm-print of a
sailor in search of knowledge.
of day, of night of sequences
and the texture of the waters
that hover about in the great beyond.
at your feet of words i sleep
silently in songs, sung by
blinking eyelids, ridding the
pages of your gospel into orgasm.
the best there is, offers my eyes,
the eyes of a loyal worshiper
presenting supplications
with poems as totems.

SUI (is a dark poem on the) CIDE

I am a shattered

body searching for

my broken pieces

in long walks

and creeping darkness.

At twenty everything

is a search

for sunlight, a

longing for truth.

I am a lost

body that wish to

be found floating

ashore a turbulent

Sea. Some said

SUICIDE is a poem—

a dark poem—

that conjures a spell

with enough pleasure

to cure all sorts of pain.

I am a hurting body,

my scars are inept,

bleeding from within.

I want to touch

the finger of healing

and tell her

how much I miss her palms,

how much I miss her massage

on cold nights when depression

is an unwanted lover too close

to send away.

I will sing this

dark song before

the appropriate hour;

i will recite this poem

whose title is void and silence.

The Word Is…

The word is an egg.

The world is a child

swimming in amniotic

fluid,

tender & soft.

The world was once a word,

on the lips of a lonely god.

 

Akor Emmanuel Oche writes poetry, Essays and Blogposts. He is the Curator of www.ochebooks.com. Winner of the GREEN AUTHOR PRIZE FOR POETRY 2017 and shortlisted poet for the Babishai Poetry Prize 2016. He lives in Lokoja Nigeria where he works as C.E.O of OCHEBOOKS PUBLISHING.

 

Smile, My Friend, Smile

 

 

 

 

 

 

I once carried a sad and dull visage
About me, like a heart-burdened sage.
The world never looked at me.
Then I broke into a smile
And the world smiled with me
Smile, my friend, smile.

DH