My Love 4 Poets

image

The following poets will be included in the My Love 4 anthology:

Sheikha A

Tony Supreme

Beau Cauchemar

Leigh Asanya

Freda Nomo

Uniq Sistar

Francis Xavier Labiran

The poetry collection will be available on Wordjar.com this Valentines day!

Fiona Pearse - The Procrastinator

 

It was you who fell first, while I lost my footing
You said that I was the fairest
The promises we made I thought were to keep
But our first kiss, it was so careless.
I don’t see why not, you assured with a smile
Buttons parted and I was delirious I guess
I knew at the back of my mind
Except I was in love and fearless
I don’t see why not, you shrugged when I asked
Like a man who’s asked what he’s thinking
But you must have known at the back of your mind 
Just as I, that we were sinking
You dropped my heart while I was still laughing
Look, you said, there’s nothing there
And the tightrope I walked wobbled and broke
So I let go and fell through the air
We were not made to last, I should never have asked
I should never have waited ‘till later
Now I wait alone but I forgive myself 
Love had space in the procrastinator

Dear Valentine - Jolade Olusanya (My Love 3)

I loved her for her mind.
So when she spoke it,
It was as if my ears heard the Songs of Solomon being sung by Esther.
I was seduced by and wised up to her thoughts
I made sure that if I was to ever cross her mind,
The image she would have of me would be Christian,
And when she saw me she’d believe:This man had God in him.
I said I loved her for mind,
But I adored her for her flexible nature.
For no matter how twisted I was, she’d always seem to fit me.
I would trace the lines of her existence,
With the edge of my fingertips.It was obvious
I was drawn to her,
And the past was erased,
Because I couldn’t picture me without her frame,
Her name…
Carrying the essence of Cleopatra,
But I denied myself of being her Julius Caesar,
My aim was not to conquer her,
But to exist with her.
The problem is, I don’t know whether she actually exists.
So DeaValentine,
Whoever and wherever you are,
Do not expect cards, or sweetened goods.
Nor expect of me precious metals,
Or even stems with scented petals.
Roses couldn’t make you smell half as perfect as the way you already are,
And diamonds will not make you appear richer than your existence alreadportrays.
And written words from me will not convey to you the love that I will have from day to day.
The greatest gift I can give you is my Being.
Me being human is the only setback to this gift
For my mortality is the sad guarantee that one day I will cease to exist.
I hope there such a thing as being able to over-invest,
For I plan to do so from the second I meet you,
So when I depart, the returns will be substantial.
But Actions speak louder than words,
So I will pay attention to grab you when I make my move,
Dear Valentine,
In return for your mind, body and soul
I too, will give you mine.
Jolade Olusanya

My Love 4

It’s that time of year again poetry lovers! In exactly a months time it will be valentines day, and that means it is time for ‘My Love 4’. My love is our longest running series, which is now entering its fourth year. We are currently looking for contributors to the 4th edition of this famous anthology, which is promising to be the best yet!

All entries must be loved themed poems, that are dedicated to somebody or something that is close to the writer’s heart. The deadline for all submissions is the 1st of February 2014. All poems are to be sent to wordjarpublishing@gmail.com

We look forward to reading your submissions,

Wordjar

'Please do not run, fly.' - Coming soon to Wordjar.com

Wordjar is pleased to announce that we will be publishing JJ Bola’s upcoming book, 'Please do not run, fly.' The short story will be released on the 23rd of October, and will be a free download from Wordjar.com. You can read more about this upcoming title here http://jjbolawrites.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/please-do-not-run-fly-out-23rd-october.html?m=. JJ Bola, is a previous Wordjar poet, who featured in the ‘City Shades’ anthology.

 

Maya Angelou - Still I rise

 

You may write me down in history,
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me n the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
 

Catherine Sarpong

How Can I Explain The Blood? (A Vision…)

A red liquid like substance falls into a well

Well. Looking more like a clear basin, still.

The effect of this Blood falling into the basin-

The effect of-

The effect of this Blood-

Excuse me.

How Can I Explain The Blood?

MY HEART PLEADS FOR AN UNDERSTANDING OF SUCH

Strength and potency in a liquid substance.

Or is it a substance? Have you portrayed it this way for my miniscule mind to develop and attain

An understanding about how the Lamb was slain

And in that, refrain

From calling Him a man

And just GOD?

IS IT TRUE

That my mind can’t get around

The fact that a man can leave a red coloured hue

On the ground of the Earth

And that whoever walks upon the Earth Can and will be turned around?

Can my mind not get around that turn around

That You brought around?

Bought with Your Blood

To be Brought into Your House.

Literally, four minutes pass as I think of what to Write. What to say to make this poem ‘real’ and sound ‘appealing’ somewhat. But most importantly…

To have it make sense.

How Can I Explain The Blood?

I COULDN’T

Having You demonstrate the cause and effect

(washing and cleansing me of all my defects)

Explains all.

Changing my status from ‘reject’

To Priestess.

That you can look at my face

And be impressed

 I… Will be forever thankful This, I cannot stress

Enough.

AND IN THAT RESOLVE, FROM MY OLD WAYS TO NEW

I see that all my changes, in You

Are drenched and depicted only

In that red coloured hue.

The Blood that falls into the well

Hands forming and reaching to touch every crevice the well has to offer.

Nothing going unsearched.

This is Grace Coming to leave me blameless.

This is Love that I’m feeling Hands entering only by invitation

Cleaning and replenishing Staining briefly just to eradicate every blemish

Afraid of swimming

Straining

To keep my head above the sea of grace That fills my well.

Well.

To be Saved, I must drown?

Well.

How Can I Explain The Blood?

The explanation resides in my resolve.

And in His Blood.

For no Words can speak better than itself.

Amen

Kiri Gray

The Decision

You are yet to take your first breath.

My blood flows through your unformed organs,

The energy of a soul, life, in my stomach.

Conceived by a malicious act, Forced between my thighs by the stranger called your dad.

If I allow you your face, will you possess those evil eyes?

You are an eternal bruise in my womb,

But you are still half mine.

Can I dedicate my life to you,

Knowing how you came to be,

A constant reminder,

 of what he did to me…

Buy the deluxe version of this book here: http://www.lulu.com/shop/kiri-gray/another-point-of-view-deluxe/paperback/product-21140109.html

Gloria Ede

Theodora (God’s gift)

Gift of God, you birthed me into this earth and named me His glory.

Knowing that there was no joy without His glory Knowing there was no life, no hope, no story,

But in Him.

So when He gave me to you,

You gave me back to Him and said this child shall give Glory to God,

Because you loved me.

Because you loved Him.

For what greater love than a man laying down his life,

For truly great love requires sacrifice.

And every day I watched you die,

Die to your desires so that I could have mine,

Die to your pain so that I could smile,

Mum.

With the weight of the world balanced on your shoulders,

And me tied around your waist,

Whilst my sister and brother hold your hands either side,

Both mother and father of three.

A childhood where love unspoken

But everyday displayed with food on the table,

A roof over my head, and clothes on my back.

Working till all hours of the night

And then coming home to screaming children’s fights,

And never letting us go astray,

But always guiding our path,

Leading our way.

(Not before pulling a silly face)

And reminding me to always stand tall,

And not let anyone tell me I can’t have it all,

Because with God I am invincible.

Your love beat down poverty and lack

Your love destroyed pity and slack

Bred strength, and wisdom and an opportunity to return that love back.

It was more than maternal instinct It was survival, sacrifice, life.

Gift of God, you birthed me into this earth and called me His glory.

His glory that sprung through His love.

His love that I’ve seen more than enough of

Because I’ve seen it every day in you.

My mum, My love.

Obi Nwankanma

The Four Seasons

ICICLES fall from trees, molten with age,
without memory - they stand aloof in their
nakedness - they limber;
like the gods terrified into silence,
like tall brooding deities looming out of the
fog:

The forest hugs them
carves them into stones,
Etches them into the slow
eastern landscape: rivers, hills
the slow running water,
times broken inscapes…

The willows are burdened with ice
the white shrouds of burial spread
upon the earth’s ravaged face; the eyes
unseeing, the mouth unspeaking,
a gust of wind proclaims the anger of
immemorial ages; the cycle, the
eternal ritual of mystical returns -

The cypress - whitening -
boneless; wearing her best habit,
a pale green in the forest of ghosts -

And so I walk through this windless night
through the narrow imponderable road
through the silence - the silence of trees -

I hear not even the gust of wind
I hear only the quiet earth, thawing underneath;
I hear the slow silent death of winter -

where the sun is yellowest.
But above, Monadnock looms
like some angry Moloch, her
white nipple seizing the space

drained of all milk…

A she-devil beckoning to worshippers
seductive - her arm stretching outwards -
to this lonely pilgrim
lost in the mist:

Behold the school of wild bucks
Behold the meeting of incarnate
spirits -
Behold the lost souls bearing tapers
in rags of rich damask,
Down Thomas - the saint of
unbelievers - down the road to bliss
Down to the red house, uncertain
like a beggar’s bowl hanging unto the cliff
of withdrawn pledges, where the well is
deepest…

I have dared to live
beneath the great untamed.

To every good, to every
flicker of stars along the pine
shadows;
To every tussle with lucid dusk,
To every moonlit pledge, to
every turn made to outleap
silvery pollen,

I have desired to listen - to listen -
to the ripening of seasons….

Winter 2001
This is ONE of a continuing sequence.

image