THERE IS A MOTHER IN MUSHIN BY IBQUAKE

A masterstroke spoken word piece by Nigeria's fast-rising poetic voice, Ibukunoluwa Aramide Ajagbe, famously known on stage as IBQUAKE. 

She rants that "YOU DO NOT ASK A MADMAN TO READ YOU A BEDTIME STORY"... See below link for video

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/19gNEWTSux/

ABOUT IBQUAKE:

Ibquake: The Voice that Quakes Silence into Meaning is the stage name of Ibukun Ajagbe, a prominent Nigerian spoken-word artist, poet, and content creator born on August 31, 2000.

Career and Performances

Gospel and Social Artistry: She is widely known for her powerful faith-based spoken-word ministrations and social commentary.

Major Stages: She has ministered and performed at major platforms like House on the Rock's The African Praise Experience (TAPE) and The Experience, as well as for notable corporate and public figures.

Competitions: She gained wider prominence as the 1st runner-up in Season 2 of the De9jaspirit Talent Hunt in 2022.

Projects: She is the executive producer and creator of the "Mic Drop" spoken-word competition and show.

MY ARTERIES ARE IRONIES BY WAYNE SAMUEL

I don't know what to tell you

Honestly I don't know what the hell you
Think is going to happen here.
Just because you're behind that pretencious little desk
And I'm sitting on this chair
You think you know everything that's going on in here
My heart?
Forget it.
Put your head against my chest if you really want to hear it.
But you know what?
That heart beat that in out, it's a lie.
That steady drumming isn't really what's going on inside.
My genius has no class specie or genus.
I don't fit in the box
That is not where I reside.
I'm bleeding man and it ain't all pretty.
You think because you've got a stethoscope and a long note that you're gonna "get me"
Man the inside of my chest is an all red Davinciesque graffiti,
So your needle may pierce my skin but it doesn't get anywhere near the,
Truth, which unlike these poignant phrases I paint ain't all cute.

You see my arteries are ironies they're always taking things back
Promises I make and girls I give my heart.
My arteries drain like batteries become poisonous and dark
They harbor the animals in me, Noahs ark
And cos of them like a perverted pastor fear preys on me like a shark,
That smells blood, my blood.
Fear is my anti-life my very own anti-Christ
its just makes me sick sick sick
Cos it is writ
That the life of a thing is in its blood.
But thank God I have my veins
Pulsing past the plains
of dessert lands and shallow graves
I dug to bury shame,
The shame of being six feet deep.
Cos you and your kind said they couldn't get it.
The spurts I bled flew over your head,
And try as you might you could not understand
So though a god you die a mere man,
But I am, a god
I bleed into sand and dirt becomes rhinestones and rubies
I am an artist, the artisan and I do not make art for you
You were made for art,
How else would God expect you
To color in the dark,
And yes I respect you
Your science your math,
Your reason for reasoning,
Cos you can save my life, but I can save your living
But no matter the bandages for bondages I'm given
Tryna get my broken skin to fit in
Make no mistake, you behind your desk, no matter the stitching
Will remain audience, to my bleeding.

I BLEED GREEN BY CLEMENCY GREEN

Sharpen your mind with the books that you read

And Pierce these words of mine that you heed

Do this deed and see what I bleed

I bleed green

I bleed green

The blood of the innocent

Martyrs that are not saints

Spilled everyday on the battlefield of survival

And we can't cry over spilled blood

Because foul no dey cry for night

And NEPA go still carry light

And terrorists still dey fight

And public funds still alight

From politician's private flight

And what is left is still not right

I bleed green

Blood seeping into port holes

Because money meant to fix roads

Have ported through holes

To chill in one place till whistle blows

Or the trumpet sounds

Whichever comes first

Their watered down consciences can not quench their thirst

Choking on the national cake they still wanna have a taste

I bleed green

Upon the sands of time

In the arena of history

Fallen gladiators past

Their bodies cold they lay (Dele)

Still we war (we war)

Over the same vices

For which they fell (Fella)

I bleed green

And hope this green

Flowing through my ARTeries

Will not be in vain

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Igbor Clemency Green, also known as Igbor Clement or online as ThatPoetClem, is a Nigerian writer, poet, spoken word artist, fashion model, and medical graduate.

Background and Career

• Artistic Identity: He performs and writes under the stage name Clemency Green, blending literature, spoken word poetry, and event hosting.

• Poetry Journey: He began writing in childhood and gained wider recognition after finishing third in the War of Words National Poetry Slam in 2014. He is also known for his debut track "Scars" and his contributions to various literary platforms.

• Medical Background: Alongside his creative pursuits, he trained in medicine, having studied at the Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH).

ONCE UPON A BOY BY SOLARSPEAKS

 Once upon a boy

Light skinned like golden fire

the black sheep of the family’s flock of five.

The villain

locked out all night to learn life in hardship

The boy called the black sheep

Once upon a boy

Light skinned; light like me

the first son of his dad and mum

the one locked out all night to gist

with the midnight sun.

To sing with the moon,

And to learn the names of the stars one by one

 -they formed the midnight crew

He grew with a prophesy

That he would someday end with a gun

That he would someday be gone never to return

Once upon a boy

Light skinned with bright heart like lantern

-the pattern of a child called stubborn

but I wonder

 how’s a child responsible for the way he’s born?

He was born

to rule

But at a corner of his corner of his room

Where he learned to pour his pains on the pages of paper

to converse with his Maker

and advice the

 noise making door that there are times to be quiet and times to make noise

that there are times to be speechless

but never a time to lose your voice

because this war before us

is a war of words

and we are made more than conquerors

by the voice of God

This boy-the bad head

divided

Between speaking for himself

And living in his fears

For the rest of his years

But poetry

spoke for him

Peeled words from his and wrote for him

for him all these years were blessings

Blessings from lessons about

Tasting your words before spitting them out

About carving your words like a piece of wood

Before pointing them it

into where they should.

Lessons about speaking in silence

About waging the gentle kind of violence

You do not need swords to fight a war

if your words are sharp enough

-no need for the guns

you can be mild and still be hot of course

stories from the sun

so once upon a boy

stage upon stages

to speak his war

Platforms to plant his print on

this part of our world

trees to rest upon

branches upon branches to perch upon

wings to soar high above the sky

and strength to soar these kinds of height.

EDUVESTMENT BY PAUL WORD

The truth can be hard to swallow

cause the pill is bigger than that of Panadol,

Yes i know

like Graciano

that this is not malaria but investment.

So save me your comment

cause I know what I meant

when I said

the truth can be hard to swallow

It’s about that time when our printed thumbs

will stain ballot papers,

papers that holds the key to the control of national power.

So let us run to those in power,

and tell them our schools are nothing but an abandon tower.

Tell them

cockroaches are now the occupant of books in the library

cause it has been destroyed beyond repair

yet they have no intention to relieve of it despair.

Tell them

due to unpaid salaries and poor remuneration the prestige of the teaching profession has been made to look like a sinner’s confession

filthy, dirty and unworthy.

Investing in education now looks like bad business.

You think I’m lying?

Let’s look at this statistics

Big Brother Africa N48million,
Cowbell Mathematics Competition N100,000.00.
MTN Project Fame N7.5million
Lagos State Spelling Bee N50,000.00.
Maltina Dance All N10million,
School Scrabble Competition N25,000.00.
Nigerian Idol N5million,
War Of Words (Slam Poetry)…..

Oh! I better keep my words

before this painful truth erupts to War Of Words,

followed by grenade of fists thrown at me.

For they accept not the truth that their

non-educational interest has become their only investment,

forgetting that an investment in a country’s education pays the best interest.

I told you the truth can be hard to swallow

so choke on this message you MESSed-age

cause democracy we no longer see

but corruptocracy.

So I stand solo

not to stoop so low

to tell you

our graduate now have a job in the unemployment line.

This is not a lie

a BSC holder is now a

Bus Service Conductor

read between the lines,

and tell me if I lie.

Our school constitution favour those who have come-to-steal-tuition fee,

and not to improve the system

making the purpose of education gradually slip away.

Most Students now get high on weed not high on book

cause the government fail to provide enough books

to make them understand that weed is not what they need.

I believe if this issue is not addressed urgently

and investing in education is not taking seriously

then our leaders of tomorrow

will be robbers of tomorrow

on the highway pointing a gun at your head

demanding for your hard earned money or worst of all, your life

Are we pretending not to know the amount of money flowing like a menstrual period in their swiss account?

For their unborn children?

This is absurd

confusing like the mathematics topic Surd.

Please let us talk

cause if we don’t

illiteracy will become our children school leaving certificate certified by our supposed wisdom

in not demanding for education be made the foundation stone of the country.

I told you the truth can be hard to swallow

So choke on this

Cause the pill is bigger than that of Panadol

 

Written and performed at War Of Words Season 4 Slam Poetry Competition 2014 by Paul Word (Winner of War Of Words 4).

SEE AN EXCERPT OF PAUL WORD'S KIND ADVICE PUBLISHED IN 2023, NINE YEARS AFTER HIS DEBUT 2014 PERFORMANCE BELOW:

 DON’T MAKE THIS MISTAKE I MADE

If I had one thing to say to the younger me who started performance poetry in 2014, I would say

“Know your audience”

One thing I didn't know back then was that my audience isn't everybody. Not everyone would relate to my poem. Not everyone would snap at my poems. Not everyone would say my poems are the best.

These made me write poems that were mostly not true to me and true to the kind of audience I wanted.

But as I grow and I began to learn and come to an understanding of my voice (not the sound that passes through my vocal cord) I began to understand who my audience is.

Have you ever thought that maybe the reason why you’re struggling with your craft is that you don't haven't found your voice?

Your voice brings into perspective who your kind of audience is.

Find your voice and you'll find your audience.

SISI CARO

by BANKOLE KOLAWOLE 

" Caro is now white but her ankles and knuckles are as black as her uncles. She now looks like she's been kissed by a thousand chameleon." So says Fr33zinPaul

So I, BankHALL adds to that, that..

Her skin is now an exponential ample sample of how dimples metamorphose to wrinkles.

Her million dollar bottom empire with ‘seemingly’ no expiry date now boast of more exits than entries.

From Torpedo to Scubidu to Ronaldo to Bobrisky…, her like forever loyal 'customer daa daa' now curse the date they met her.

So before you tone to “tontoliscious”, remember cancer still got no cure,

.. this your one-corner dancing skin will sure make 'worm corners' six feet below the earth. 

Sisi Caro, before you turn “Alusia pilapi”, the proverbial dumb goddess of beauty, who virtually, voluntarily turns herself into an “OTUmatic” device for all kinds of “AMUnitions”.. “Animashaun” the one who shares her flesh like unHOLY communion to purchase the latest everything…

If you do and die or die and do, ….i tell you.. there is life after death and death after this life…

And then the aftermath, at the beautiful gate of hell, feeling you will find the likes of Fela, Stella, Yemi Tela, Dora and maybe later Okonjo Iweala, you lie, pure white lie….

Sisi, you've peeled your skin so we can eat you up like sweet potato😅

So white from your head to your toes 

Snow White from Nigeria-

African Michael Jackson!

Go ask the son of Jackson how Death mistook him for one "atutu poyoyo"

Bororo from the land of Iboro.

Sisi..

 This thing you call "blink blink"

Will soon turn "smell smell"

Like soak-away it will fade away;

Fall your hands

Like tired sagging breasts- Janway

Jangi Rova, epo motor...

Wos, wobi..sisi

You trade your beautiful black skin 

For small change and cheap popularity that will only last for a morning,

Behold!

Crying and finger-biting comes in the noon and night time

"Dem dey call you sisi, you com dey shake your bumper, from bumper to bumper"

Hope you've garnered enough shock absorber

"Cos same lips wey you dey hail you today go surely body-shame you tomorrow...

They will chant you new names like

"Sisi oninabi, alawo Rainbow

Ode doyinbo..."

Mrs coke and fanta

So again before your peel your skin for onlookers to eat like potatoes, remember cancer may leave you with dreadful, painful questions than answers.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

He is an Artiste dedicated to educating and entertaining audiences through his unique performance style known as Musical Urban Poetry, which incorporates the use of African drums.

With over a decade of experience, Bankole has consistently expressed his craft through powerful and engaging performances. Beyond performance art, he also specializes in voice-over work, jingles, and other communication services for brands and individuals. He is fluent in English, Naija Language (Pidgin), and Yoruba.

You can connect with him on:

Instagram: @bankolekolawole

Facebook.com/bankole.kolawole.7