I tossed for goodness
but then, I was drained
by throbs of pain
denied by guts to reined in glory;
imprisoned by fear and struck by departure.


© A. O. Nwulia Literary Diary 2017

Martyr of venom
with loads of guilt; cringing in terror
His heart was heavy
Like the elixir of hope
fiddled with  froth.

With wails so wild and
piecing a feathered pen into his skin.
His woes and miseries;
well crested in the wind
coursing the earth with his fluid.

Agony at the neck of the day
Sobbing whistles from providence
creeping into the cold street
like the last days of the prophet.

His face crinkled in anxiety
poisoned by his own blood.
His lungs are breath-starving
drowning with solemnity
and cuddled by fate.

© A. O. Nwulia Literary Diary 2016

Whims within whims,
The nation stumbles and breaks
Penetrating her open wounds,
With the debris of the civil war.

Loony vultures and eagles;
Back on the ****** dinning table.
Feasting in flickering fuss;
With their loopy lentigo claws.

For the love of my generation,
And the one after.
For the love of rightness;
And all that it stands for.

To fill the empty spaces
Of our future that will
One day become our past.
I rise!!! I rise!!! I rise!!!


© A. O. Nwulia Literary Diary 2016

The world on your shoulders
radiating your womb with fluids
Like the granary that shadows grains
Sensational diamond amongst creatures
grubbing for grandeur and glamour.

Pleasing and birthing
with your hole, tender desires
Beautiful jewel and keeper
Your chemistry – mysterious!
that echoes a deep affinity with nature.

Wild joy like the world's madness
emptied in your river plate
As grim as the tourist  
winning his destination at daylight
on the grace of your ferry.

Your colour –
soaked in chocolate, baked in wonders.
When your egg is ripe
You nurture with love and might.
Being of complexity, yet magnificent.

That the bird must return to it's nest with food and wine
for the hungry mouths, the thirsty tongues.
Your being is priceless and full of myth
That it stimulates my spirit with curiosity
On where exactly sourced your unique existence.


© A. O. Nwulia Literary Diary 2017

A beaming light on a naked street
like the city's torch bearer
scooping the earth for a doozie
with rabid consciousness and vigilance.

The muse of a watchman
guarding the city gate with his sword
survives a seldom attack at midnight
and finally woke up on the city side.

I am the custodian of chronicles
filling the drums of history
with our dossiers and narratives
the keeper of the dorp.

As busy as a bee
a journalist is a ceaseless being
spying and stinging the earth
with his pen and flashlight.


© A. O. Nwulia Literary Diary 2016

My teacher
Shares out of  largeness
Spits saliva on my head  
Like the insect larva that swells

My teacher
The one whose back I rode
With his shoulders and lift
I climbed to the pinnacle.


© A. O. Nwulia Literary Diary 2016