The fountain Arena

  When the street lord is the prettiest(leader) in the land, the land knows the definition of war and its effect. Pretty Wasiu explores the heart of a destabilised society govern by a devoted gang leader whose words of exaltation is in his weapon. Read through the poem for other details about  the most handsome man in town. ... The chief of all men  Fervent in mind, curious to bone He is faithful to God  And constant to His service: A Believer like him doesn't exist.  He kings the street and its verse  Holy worker of faith  Faithful drinker of tears  Not a God but he blesses people: Don't blame him, he kills for living.  Goats are his favourite Ogufe! Runs deep in his blood.  He goes where eyes dares not blink  But knows his psalm and chores by heart.  He spends his bullet to believers and the pegans:  Don't blame him, he kills for a living.  Read other exciting poem on this blog here .

Betty Bouncer   Hip the top of hoof All that was heard was school No will of hope to laugh Call them that see and dwell Here is her old lady today So sleek and frenzy she gaze Of winter tone and grass No forty wrinkled her face She called me her nephew  On that name of Birth from different sun  Still shines on same soil I hid my name  Far from the reach of lids  Far from the blazing fire  Far from man's knowledge  She sought the pen of fame And call her sight to seek  The stolen joy of name  And formal stage alike  Then my memory lost the sight  Of Betty fist and all I gave the scroll away  And met the Forte of life Frenzy was her gaze  Docile and prudent that says Until the first eve  I made that call  And the old lady be no more.  

Christ paid a sacrifice on the cross of calvary, this day, many years ago that the world might be free from the shackles of sin. He was betrayed, rejected and abandoned just so that our victory might be won. He has finished it. Thus, the poetry celebrates and mourn with the burden of his death . Crucified Saint   Slowly, he marched to the grave  With bangles of Shames  Burden of thorns  Stripes of wound, and tears, In the chants of a crucifix Unknown born of lonely virgin Seeking to fulfill that last course  A mission assigns to the condemned Faceless and unrecoverable sinner. Cross too large to be held, Heavy and strongs that drags. Yet, he kept on strolling; "Keep going" is what he says, The work is yet to be over  Uncalled priest chosen on choice, With total conformation, he's made. "Mother, behold thy child," This lost child has lost his identity. Condemned by one who made all, Yet, he seeks, "child, behold thy mother " Read Alone by Maya Angelou 

- About the author- Marguerite Ann Johnson AkA Maya Angelou is a resound literary personnel. She is a Grammy winner, literary scholar, writer of many spoken words, poems, novel and she is an actress. Her, works are sources of inspiration to all ages of the world. Her works are rich in genuine outpouring of rage, courage in oneself, power in unity and pride of womanhood. Alone   Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone I came up with one thing And I don't believe I'm wrong That nobody, But nobody Can make it out here alone. Alone, all alone Nobody, but nobody Can make it out here alone. There are some millionaires With money they can't use Their wives run round like banshees Their children sing the blues They've got expensive doctors To cure their hearts of stone. But nobody No, nobody Can make it out here alone. Alone, all alone Nobody, but nobody Can make it out here alone. Now if you listen closely I&

  Africa Africa my Africa Africa of proud warriors in ancestral savannahs Africa of whom my grandmother sings On the banks of the distant river I have never known you But your blood flows in my veins Your beautiful black blood that irrigates the fields The blood of your sweat The sweat of your work The work of your slavery Africa, tell me Africa Is this your back that is unbent This back that never breaks under the weight of humilation This back trembling with red scars And saying no to the whip under the midday sun But a grave voice answers me Impetuous child that tree, young and strong That tree over there Splendidly alone amidst white and faded flowers That is your Africa springing up anew springing up patiently, obstinately Whose fruit bit by bit acquires The bitter taste of liberty David Diop

This poetry is dedicated to all the women in the world. It speaks of their strength, beauty and will power. A heroine Woman, a definition of strength  Filled with great ecstacy Minted in dynasty of power. Her will are quirky! Quick to love, quick to anger. Mother of faith,  Powerhouse of kindness. Her toils, Her joys,   Her tears, Her smiles,  Her...beauty... Woman, a creation heritage. Warrior in heart: Virtuous beyond doubt, Relic of hope, fortitude of life. Her prints are carved to schlep The primitive growth  of the world she bore. Woman, an invaluable piece! Pristine in all form League of caregiver  Luminary of destiny wrights. Woman, On her soft lips are susceptible stream. Woman, Her special curve are her strength. Woman, Her prayers are the season's fortune. Woman, Her complexion is a breds brave heart,  Woman,  Her souls speaks of a privy knowledge into man's world. Woman, In her heart are crystal jewel.