Title:'UNITY' /W.Col - Prayer Art by Rev.Bola A
'Unity Is Always Welcome Here'
In the beginning We created 'Ibeji'. And we said, "Let there be Ibeji Poetry" and there was Ibeji Poetry. We saw that the Ibeji Poetry was good, Sent from above as a gift for the healing of racism And a happy racial harmony day.
Was it just an illusion? ------------------------------------------- As with Ibeji, Yet again I found a split Another split There are too many splits
I have fallen to pieces. ---------------------------------------------- It's One Ibeji for the Performer's pride One Ibeji for the times we speak One Ibeji gotta stay alive One Ibeji.... I will survive One Ibeji for the city streets One Ibeji for the hip hop beats One Ibeji oh I do believe One Ibeji is all we need
Just One. -------------------------------------------- Poetry by Rev.Bola A. (Ibeji Poet) copyright: 21Jun12 --------------------------------------------
_'Black and Bleeding'
Heart naked I lay here Black and bleeding, Yet very blessed. I am reluctant But not pressed. I greet you pleasantly. Without guilt or blame My terms I name. Tumultuous is my truth And not transitory, I have been taught To let the tide of tears Be the speaker that bears The true story, the real tale For I am but female. Almost ancient and ardent Set apart neither to complain Nor hide the pain That I bare with Christ Never repressed nor forgotten And mellowed by human plight My heart rises to a height Consistent with my conscience. Deep within my darkest silence Is where my innocence resides. I would love to be your 'cheer leader' But would you let me in, or see me out? Neither rumbled nor beguiled I stand beside you, and behind you, As sweet honey dropping dew. Steady but not stagnant. Steadfast and spontaneous Will be my only response to you. I am reverential as an angel Tranquil, and all encompassing. When alone and abroad, I am uncovered and hailed Yet at home, with you I am hidden and veiled. Why be so fear-filled? Hear the voice crying out to be heard, And screaming, to be honoured by you. Does it seem so impossible? Not here, from where I stand So steadfast but spontaneous. Never stagnant, ever ready I would respond to you so steady If you'd but let me. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Poetry by Rev.Bola <Ibeji> (copyright: 3Jan12 -ARR) -------------------------------------------------------------
Title :'JOY ANGEL' /Oils - Prayer Art by Rev.Bola <$55>
_'DREAMS'
Dreams swell nurturing through the night as do they now Crescent moons smiling down while women wear masks of snuffed out candle wax and smoky spirals. Domino people in black and white, parade the shell of cracked vinyl hidden faces against the wind asking to be taught to kiss. to laugh to cry; as they ponder why? It makes no difference if its sweet or hot or melting to a murky brown or fascinating silvery blue. Warm streams of light as balled up fists reflect the night A thousand screams, a thousand pains, listlessly plotting cause to strike a match, in acrid air, acrid rain For deep within, rage is fear. Oblivion pervades the shadows of each And a microwave pings the destiny bowl's first outpourings Kicking legs up in the air out to lunch, out to flight on lonely night. Getting an itch for life feeling my toes dancing to a longer winter woodland rain invigorating me I pucker up and bluff more craven I’m right, you’re right, no need to fight! just seeking inner sight and souls that reveal how lucky we are to be here, now. -------------------------------------------- Poetry and Artwork by Rev.Bola A <IBEJI> (copyright: 1Dec11 - ARR) --------------------------------------------------------------- Title: 'DREAMS' 75 /Mix (From Set) by Rev.Bola
_'TESTIMONY OF DELIVERANCE'
I told a million answers to their biting questions to silence them.
The mists grew heavy. When I stretched my arm out I could not see past my hand, but it did not matter. When I closed my eyes my feet moved along with the rhythm of the mountain and its soils. Faster and faster I could almost feel myself fly.
A foreigner stopped me on my rise toward the mountaintop. He had one eye and loose skin that folded around his body like paper cloth. Laid before him was a set of coloured tablets and sticks. "Stay for a game," he said to me. "After you win your game with me I'll let you go on your way."
When he placed his hand upon me he let out a great cry and then vanished into the earth.
Without hesitance I lifted my skirt legs, began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the ground, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.
"My daughter!" Mother cried out to me, tears of gratitude streaming from her eyes. ''You are home at last''.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Story and Artwork by Rev.Bola <IBEJI> (19.12.11 -ARR)
'Weeping Memories'
With the dying of time poets echo, In the streets of discord memories weep, Under the cover of the mind the soul doth speak, In the stillness of harmony where memories leap. In the moonless dark, the old ones seek, Dis- establishment of guilt to defend the weak Yet nought, was so valuable, throughout As the cool-aid stains, which never came out Or the hope, they could somehow, hide their doubt Of green paper things, they've had their fill My pocket and yours, adds much to the till We like it or not, must contribute our share To shaking that snow, right out of our hair Like the object, of any desire Let the blistering smoke inspire Unlike the knife, that loves to cut It won't make a puncture, in your gut This web-like lust, would be no crime Were it, but a mote, in the eye of time Like Latin, is language, but passed away With magic, the words, all gone astray Where to, for what, to find one day Whether Wallet, Mallet, Mallard, Or Walloon, Balloon, Bollard? Life's ghastly problems, can be stubborn and hard As the tide of time, flows relentlessly onward Bronze face reveals little, of the one within Who sits alone with, green recycle bin Quietly brewing, an escape from sin Mouth wide open, singing and sipping As notes hit the ceiling, bloody and dripping 'With the dying of time, poets echo, In the streets of discord, memories weep, Under the cover of the mind, the soul doth speak, In the stillness of harmony where memories leap.' --------------------------------------------------------- Poetry by Rev.Bola A. <IBEJI> (copyright: 9.12.11 -ARR) --------------------------------------------------------------
|