John AD 6d
Raise the Flag , Start the fight !
Unleash your Strength , Reveal who's Right!

Eruption of War , Many People Die
Innocent Mind , Endless Lie

Now Show me who's Right , and
Let the people Fight , for
Freedom,Abusive Power the dark of light ,
Scrutinize The Identity  , The Government is our enemy
People of Society , Sufficient of Equality

Dyslexia of the Human Brain
Humanity are going Insane

Incessant noise of people dying
Priests and bishops are always screaming
For help from their imagination being
Media Are the slave of the Political , Religious Healing!
Wake up people!
John AD Jun 8
Lumalala nanaman ang aking isip , kakaisip,
Kailan ba ako matututong makisalamuha sa mga tao?
Palagi ko nalang sinisilip ,
Ang bawat laman ng kanilang mensahe habang humihigop sa isang baso

Ng kape na mainit,dagdag kaba sa sarili kong hindi ko maipinta
Sa sarili kong nagpapagaling pa,
Wala akong lagnat , Hindi nga lang marunong kumalma
Ang utak ko'y pagod na pagod na sa mga ideyang kakaiba at di ko alam kung san papunta

Ang isip ko na di ko mapakalma,
Nararamdaman ba nila , o patuloy paring humahalakhak
Sa kalagayan kong patay na patay na,
Kaya minsan ayaw ko ng kasama, di ko kasi maipaliwanag sa kanila na

Ako'y biktima lamang ng kalungkutan ,
Biktima ng nakaraan at kasalukuyan
May mga bagay lang talaga na madalas kong makalimutan,
madalas ding matandaan , (ako'y nagpapagaling pa at dahang-dahang nagpapakalma)
John AD Jun 2
Sira nanaman ang kalikasan
Para sa makabagong kalakaran
Gumanda nga ang larawan
Magkukulang naman sa kasaganahan

Matatandang puno at halaman
Dapat nating alagaan , darating ang araw
Wala nang proteksyon sa kapaligiran at,
Tayo'y titingin muli sa nakaraan

Kapag ako'y pumanaw , katawan ko'y tamnan
Upang sa gayon ang aking bunga ay dapat pangalagaan
Ngayon nasan na ang dignidad ng mga mamamayan na
pinagpalit ang magandang larawan
sa mga punong pinutol na kasama natin sa kaunlaran.
Kalikasan Kapalit ng Larawan
John AD May 28
Malamig ang hangin , kumukulog
Mga taong tulog sa pagilid aking napapansin
Malalakas pa naman sila dati pero napagod nadin
Dating masasama ang motibo , naliwanagan ng positibo

Simula pagkabata trato sayo hindi makatao
Marangyang pamumuhay noon , isa na lamang litrato
Naalala ko pa nga ang boses na galit at imahe nito
Ako'y inis na inis subalit mali ang pagsagot ng apo

Madalas ako mapagalitan siguro matigas nga ang aking ulo
Kung dati madalas ko silang marinig sa mundong ito
Ngayon tila isang panahon na lamang ang pagpaparamdam nito
Lagi nalang silang nagpapahinga para matagal pa namin silang makasama
Well there’s Hooverville
   on the edge of the river
haint nuttin boot flimsy cardboard
   e’en with clothes will shiver
waiting for tension to be released
   like a arrow in a taut quiver

major organs ready to burst open
   cuz day r all a failin'
unless salvation does da liver
from a stingy farmer
   nada one of him a giver

Hence a goin to Cali for n’ya
in battered up truck n wailin wah wah
ta feed da chill n beasts o burr den –
   ‘cept un shaw

if me pa
will ever appear on Oprah
whar guest’s literary car –
   rears into grand prix hoopla

An win free dim lifts us lock a hawk,
   this kid rock will nah
dat he suffered faw a distant few cha
migrants we may be – butta we bah
dog on judas priest, Christ and allah

Rose of Sharon wool extend
   da family tree
dat ma will live to see

charging the Joad jalopy
   in part from me
tink rin hands dat like ta mess
   with oil hand stains
one mo scar – craning neck 2 earn

An huh tha red badge of courage
   upon this Okie
hunched o’er with stiff back
   while wounded knee

continually bunged up with utter glee
at engine cough fin smoke
   to git us free
whar we kin sally in da pacific fields yipeee.
My sister would always wait until the time
lose concentration in the dead evening.
She would tell mother it was time for vigil.
Her racial church always has one every Friday.
Mother won't complain cos she thought her
to be a good girl & we were the bad eggs.
I became sick of watching her go to this vigil.
I followed her trail one sexy Friday evening
When she entered into the dumb house
The room went blind and I heard her moan
Mother is yet to recover from the shock.

When every searching eyes has gone astray,
Nneka would always learn to pleasure herself.
She would trace the hole in her thigh pleasantly
then, groan in an unknown tone in the dark.
Her voice searching for what is missing in her,
She would chase the calm darkness into chaos.
Our bodies would protest as we watch curiously.
Our skins would gather heated sweat into boiling water.We learnt to urinate more often as the groaning circulated in our disturbed eardrums.
Till now, we never learn what that is called.

In the village square before the new year,
Girls learnt to giggle watching boys dance.
they always have stories on their lips to tell
their parents.The village bushes were their home. a home for them and the other Boys.
they prefer the rough guys to the calm boys.
they prefer the ugly men to the fine boys.
as long as you could dance to their tone,
Your artistic performance will take them home.
then, they talk about you behind close doors.
how weak you were under their prowess.

In their closet they talk about boy's weakness,
The Perfume their men wear to please nose.
How the lips of their men taste in the dark
How broad the shoulder of their men look
How intelligent they are found in the night.
Women and their familiar need on men
Girls and their nagging lips against nature,
These are the nemesis songs among feminists.
Father told us about these snout skimpy girls
their preys are men of goodwill in light...
These are things girls do behind closed doors.

©John Chizoba Vincent
create a golden route for a poet like me,
let the embodiment of song carved itself
in the palms of the world beyond till lyrics
of faith light to ease the thought of my mind.
If you die before me, tell papa not to cry.
the shrine he left in my hand is still well
planted in the imaginations of his generations.

tell Fela &Giwa that Nigeria is no better,
tell Chinua Achebe that the water in our
throat cries of dry ground they stepped on.
we may not be a better cinematographer
capturing the deeds of this land but your
still photos can crop some timelines to go
with you till I come along to join your trail.

if you die before me, send a word across.
let me know the existence of heaven & hell
if Shakespeare & Okigbo & Buchi are there
so I can change course to path my emotion,
the artistic photography of the tales of hell
are the codeine conscience of anxiety in us.
we die before the masquerade halt in the air.

Husky tears would I drop on your grave
to be taken to Mandela & Luther King.
there are roses I will take from the clay pot
Of my father to your graveyard to give to Ify
my hearted lover in the morning of miracles.
if you die before me, this tattered call would
I make to our ancestors for a perfect survival.

this land is a disco dance hall you must tell
Yar'du of Fate & tears crossing our eyes
in a patterned way to be christened life's joy.
this land is a feminist like Chimamanda A.N,
this country is a pun star you must tell Ken.
tell my cousin Ezekiel to wait for me longer,
I am coming. to join him in benedicted rein of
our country.

If you die before me, I'll be on your graveyard
for a life time cracking up the foundation of
the world to find death. I will ask him if the
other phase is  better than here before coming.
suffering is not meant to be dreamed twice,
Two week-ed weaknesses are the wink wires
connecting our lives in a radioed embryo .

this is my recap
a captured scene
Let's bake life and dreams
till death call us all to himself
then the world becomes empty
love finds love mingling in hands...
die before me & be my eyes beyond.

©John Chizoba Vincent
My eyes pierced into her thigh
Into the upper room of a hole
Connecting hell and heaven
I was introduced to infatuations
Hanging my thoughts and prayers
Through the imagination of her pride
I saw her nakedness through her look
Love spoke but lust became louder
I erected my body like a ghost tree
against a weak foundations, I fell
Not into love but into first sighting,
Into hedges of her fragrances,
My heart became plural of everything
heaven endowed her with.
My mind built her body systematically
I saw portrait of her nipples carved In
my mind eyes depicting song of adultery.
How she react to love making appeared
How she moan in pains as I tickled up &
down on her imaginative groaning body
My eyes drew in my pocket of thought.
I was lost in thought watching her move
Swiftly betraying my night embraces.
The shape of herself disappeared craftily
as I regained the ground of my posture
Ejaculating the tale of my eyes lost in lust.

©John Chizoba Vincent
Remember the street is a dryeR
Easing out fears into a flat pastE
Memories may be seen as an imaM
Entering into convenant with hastE
Minding the time he coiled on kiliM
Beauties of the street are folded like bulb
Entertaining the earth like lonely artistE
Remember the street made you a fatheR
Thinking for yourself  & it's tough distincT
House yourself in it bossom like tooth in MoutH
Even if stumbling stones retaliatE
Stand to those fragments of those beliefS
Tilting down your muse towards prominenT
Remember where you started to roaR
Elaborating your strength to keep calm voicE
Eagerness is a blood dripping into languagE
Through which the ghetto name a streeT.

Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
After Amadioha went into sweet nightmares,
he made us to breath through the chest of the sea. from the celestial bodies of the shrine,
We shone our forefather's smile with a mirage,
a little littered mirage spelling words in ellipsis.
these were the rose crumbs tailored in the sand castle of our glassful laughter, we're the Palmful morning in the eyes of our home in the abyss.

when a child cries, he forgets that the route to
his home is written on his body as a tattoo.
when a girl thinks of gathering firewood in the heart of the forest, she thinks of her thigh &
the bushes surrounding it, nature made it so.
We do not think of our skin as a poetic of agony,
We do not think of our eyes as poetry letters
but we draw lines and currents of imaginations describing how rituals made men insane.

We carried out those prilgrim for the boys,
our forebearers made us cracked our head up,
they carved pumpkins traces for this generation; for this humble journey mixed with fire & water.
Our souls, our dreams were the Shakespearean places you never had the chance to see physical.
they are the rituals of nature, a side Sithoulte,
a wonder land created like a paradise you don't stay often but in your dreams & imageries.

We are birthed here as debris & plump scars,
a tortured lips holding the past & the present.
We are the foundation of everything evil spirits,
We were born in the ritual of a grievous war.
to say a human is a benchmark of his own,
to say a man is a mango dropping without a choice of where and how to touch the sand,
to say a man is everything fretwork of agony;
to say a men are slaughtered memories...
but to this edges of rites & repeated steps,
We'll remain the gospel from every mouth.

Our ancestral hands shall still set a table,
to tell the girlchild how to sit in a public hall
to hand over the shrine to the  boychild
to tell man that he owns a woman as head.
to keep birthing good and ugly children.
our hope will always depict heavens glory
and, our darkest fears as the skin of hell.
And it must be passed down to the next
genes to tell the next & sand keep multiplying.
This is the ritual of mankind to remain alive.

©John Chizoba Vincent
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