He had no idea

everybees's Blog

In the beginning she did not know he existed

Fate will help me change that

In his mind he always thought what it would be like

To be loved by someone so fair

Someone so beautiful

He had no idea what fate had in store

Days passed and the nights visited

He thought of ways to win her heart

He wrote poems, borrowed words from the famous Von Dyke

He wrote for days in his chair

0f someone so beautiful

He had no idea what fate had in store

Emptied pen with filled papers, few were wasted

He had written some form of amazing art

Which will take her to the moon and back

He wrote everything about her even her hair

Of how so beautiful

He had no idea what fate had in store

He was lost in his world as he wrote his words of love or so

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One to love

I am still the one to love.

Though the eyes may seep

and the tears may kiss the dust you tread.

Even when the mountains and oceans rebel

 against their very source

and the birds sing doleful tunes

and the trees cower in fear as the wind, anger vents,

Swallowing all that crosses her path.

*

I am still the one to love.

Though the heart may weep

Sanguinary tears from a heart torn to shreds

Every heart beat a ringing bell

Pulling its strings with vengeful force

Heart shape becomes a lune

Its very fabric bitterly rent

Bellowing as it comes apart.

*

I am still the one to love.

Though your pain may run so deep

Your heart warring with your head

Do not fret, all shall be well

As you navigate the forbidden course

Your path brightened by the moon

The moon imbrued with deceitful scent

I  still  remain your faithful plath.

***

BLOCKED

 Tunde :  a screenwriter who lost his flair for writing .

Muse: an imaginary girl  who tries to help him get back to writing .

 

EXT. BACKYARD – DAY
[TUNDE sips from a glass of palm wine. Then he types on a typewriter. He read through and rumples the sheet of paper. There are about 50 rumpled sheets of papers. He inserts another paper. He types again and repeats the same thing.
His Invisible Muse picks one of the rumpled sheets and reads it silently (Written on it is just a scene heading and the first line of action.) she smiles and nods to herself.]

MUSE: You can’t get anything done like this.
(Tunde hurriedly puts another paper and tries to type again but same thing happens. He hits his hand angrily on the typewriter. He continues repeating the action. His Muse talks on.)
MUSE: You can’t get stuck here… the forest, your grandmother’s bamboo bed, your grandfather’s typewriter…You can’t write anything unless you move away from here…
Don’t you want to leave here? You realize if you waste any more time, you won’t meet up with the deadline?
(Tunde stops trying and buries his head in his palms, sobbing. Muse gets up and walks over to Tunde. She touches him on the cheek gently.)
MUSE: You are not a painter; I would have stripped so you’ll paint me naked. (She sits beside him.) Or do you want to ‘write’ me naked? Will it inspire you?

TUNDE: (with head still buried in palms) you are not that attractive. (He looks at Muse for a while. Still not interested, stands up and walks away).
MUSE: Zoe Kazan! She threw her grandfather’s typewriter into the ocean. You are the only one left.
(After some moments of silence, Tunde walks away slowly.)
EXT. CORRIDOR – 
TUNDE: (almost crying) I can’t do this anymore.
MUSE: Lights will guide you home… And you will try… (Tunde closes her mouth with his palm).
TUNDE: I can’t fix it. It’s stupid of me to keep trying. I can’t. I’m tired. I’m sorry.
(Tunde leaves his typewriter and an old camera. He kisses her forehead and leaves).

 

written by :John Ugoji and Chinyere Akalugwu

The end?

art by Amity

Is this how the end tastes?

Bitter with a deadly embrace.

Silent are the ones that see

For they know I cry secretly.

Is this how the end feels?

Bitter with a deadly appeal.

Silent are the ones that hear

For they know I secretly fear.

Is this how the end comes?

Bitter with a deadly numb.

Silent are the ones that tell

For they know I secretly fell.

Is this how the end starts?

Bitter with a deadly heart.

Silent are the ones that speak

For they know I’m secretly weak.

Is this how the end goes?

Bitter with a deadly glow.

Silent are the ones that stare

For they know I’m secretly aware.

Is this how the end tastes?

Bitter with a deadly embrace

Silent are the ones that see

For they know I cry secretly.

written by Kadeen

They said…

 

 

 

 

Thanks for the nomination puppyDoc. I am quite honored to having such a wonderful Doc as you delight in my blog.

PuppyDoc is one of my favorite Doctor blogger. check her out at  : www.phoebemd.com

 

5 FACTS about Amity

So, instead of stating facts about Amity, she decides to find out what these creative minds think.

Amity is:

• Artistically impulsive. she enjoys fantasies of the mind.- Guido
• She is more of a passionate romantic writer. – Taiwo Odumala’s Blog
• exceptional poetess- Julian
•  dark poet, conflicted, complex and witty- The Z Channel
• she is very experimental and original –The Blogger’s Blog 

NOMINEES

– petitemagique: she is one of my favorite poetry blogger.  She gives soul to her poems and one can feel her words breathing.

– DrSwag : He retells bible stories with such creativity. He has got a godly Swag on.

– HARD VOICES : he has his ways with words. he paints colorful pictures with them.

– Wuji Seshat : I love his love for poetry. He is spectacular with weaving words into succulent edible poems.

– Depearl : I stumbled upon his poetry lately and I fell in love with them. still trying to figure out why.

– Zika’s Musings : she is a ‘gentle’  experimental writer. she is very creative.

 

*** I know some of you do not dig blog awards but Amity has got to do what Amity has got to do.

Thank you.

Dear Nominees

1. Nominate blogs you enjoy and notify all nominees via their social media/blogs
2. Pass these rules onto them
3. Thank and post the link that nominated you
4. Share 5 facts about you to your readers

 

Ibo boy

I am in love.

I am in love with an Ibo boy.

An American Ibo boy

Who stays down my street.

Not the boy

but his Americanized- Ibo accent.

No.

His voice.

his  adenoidal voice

with a perfect modulation

sweet music to my ears.

I’ll trade my heart to hear him speak

I give my soul if that is what it take

to have an autograph of his voice on the plate of my heart.

I am in love.

I am in love with an Ibo boy

who does not know it yet

My own American Ibo boy

Who speaks through his nose .

***

(IBO: an ethnic group of southeastern Nigeria

Finding ME

Time.

 Perhaps, an illusion

All we had, all we shared 

 now flashing memories.

Perhaps we moved too fast,

possibly changing the course of destiny

 as we moved through our life’s story.

So I traveled back in time

Time itself slowed down for me 

to savor every moment we had shared.

I absorbed the good and discarded the bad.

As I traveled through ‘our story’,

I found ‘me’ where I lost ‘me’, 

the same place I first found you

only that this time I looked away from you

because I already knew how the story would end.

As I journeyed through space time continuum,

way back to when you were non-existent,

I rediscovered what it meant to be ‘me’ without you.