I will like to go to a café with you
On a mid-Wednesday morning like this
Sip on hot cocoa creamy smooth and brown as you
Nibble sweetly at bits of marble coffee cakes
Strawberry glaze staining my happy lips pink
*I was in the city on Sunday, and saw the name of a cute cafe, Bale Cafe, and this poem was born 
*
It’s time for Friday Fictioneers par Rochelle, and this week’s photo is courtesy of Rich Voza. Today marks the 12th year anniversary of my mom’s passing; so I wrote this two pieces of fiction in her kind honor. As always please feel free too participate, have a safe and lovely weekend. THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS STOPPING BY!!!
image courtesy of Rich Voza
STORY 1
“Àjò kò le dà b’ilé” Mother always said…
I left Lagos for the UK at 16, and swore never to return…Mother was all I had and even though it broke her heart, it had to be done. I was going to live in a better world, become a doctor and take care of her…She would be a phone call away….
20 years have passed, and I still have not seen mother…I sent her money, gifts and such…she was a phone call away…
The sun set abruptly on her time as it now sets outside my Lagos bound flight…tears in my lonely heart…
Mother forever out of reach…
STORY 2
Ilé labo àjò…mama always said.
After 20years in the white man’s land, it was time to go back home. Watching the sun set on the Boeing 747, my mind took an account of the past years…the sun had set on my time away from home with nothing but smooth brown sand skin to show for it…people who knew and loved me had gone like the wind blowing over barren lands…
There was no use…it was time to go back home…
Mama always said Ilé labo àjò …it was time for me to return home.
Notes:
Àjò kò le dà b’ilé” – No place like home
Ilé labo àjò – After a journey, we must still return home
Rest in Peace MOM, love you always!!!
Image courtesy of http://www.fanpop.com
How I would love to lie in your arms
Sipping fine aged wine
As you nibble on exotic and sweet fruits
Dark chocolate pieces all about
Your sultry voice whispering amusing seduction
Enchantingly into my heart
My spirits soaring
With the evening breeze
Your love, my laughter
Both echoing out loud
As our eyes full and alive
Heartily take in Rome’s beautiful architecture
It’s that time of the week again, Friday Fictioneers par Madison Woods, and this week’s photo is courtesy of Sandra Crook. I came up with a poem of about 100 words, or so. Please feel free to comment and constructive criticisms are welcome. If you like you can also participate. Thank you always!
Image courtesy of Sandra Crook
Among the rubbles and
Heavy rocks
Whispering ever green leaves
And heavy bark trees
We walked
Woods logged on aged bricks
Ancient scribbles on the giant walls
Hand in hand we stood
Silent and pensive
Giddy and excited
Love and joy in our growing hearts
Years it seemed now
But somehow we managed
Through thick and thin
To remain steadfast
Like these rocks
Painful times
Now a thing of the past
Our tried and true love still guides
My heart
It lights my softly dimming paths
Ordering my frail steps
And comforts my weary soul
On this lone journey
Revisiting our fortress of love
Memories of you cheering (leading) me on…
These chilly days
The sun’s time shortened
By autumn’s embrace of these lands
I hanker for warmth and soothing comfort
Yearning for something besides this space
Hoping I can find a place sunny and bright
Wanderlust leading me straight into your arms
*Happy international peace day! Please don’t forget to white wear today if you can. Have a lovely and peace filled weekend; God bless. THANKS ALWAYS!
Friday fictioneers courtesy of Madison Woods is up and running, and this week’s photo is by Lora Mitchell. I have a poem that went over the 100 word limit this week, many thanks to the image that had me thinking ancient/traditional myths, African gods and such. Comments, and constructive criticisms are welcome. Feel free to participate in this writing challenge. Thank you always!
Image courtesy of Lora Mitchell
Orişa òyìnbó
Humbly we come
Heads bowed in utmost supplication
Visit our lowly lands
We pray thee
Make them as pure as yours is perceived
For often we are told your streets are gold
Money growing green on your giant oak trees
Orişa òyìnbó
Spread your three winged might over our infants
Fast removing their sad plights and inherited misfortunes
May they grow to be innovators and leaders
Like the white man’s sons
Death far away from them
Orişa òyìnbó
Heal our hearts
Make them white and pure
Polished like the color of your sculpted image
Meet our needs
We ask thee
Peace superseding all greed and ills
Let our lands know growth like your people’s
Grace us with your goodness and elegance
May our lands be bountiful
As we come humbly
Thoughts bowed in adulation
Offering sacrifices befitting our ancestral gods
Ogún and Ṣàngó
Revive our lands
Orişa òyìnbó
Show superiority over the shortcomings of our gods
Make us whole
We beseech thee
Orişa òyìnbó
Iwin nlá
Make us whole
Heal these lands and revive our hearts
AUTHOR’S NOTES: As with many cultures, there are ancient gods, traditions, and myths. I saw this image and the idea for this poem came to mind. Before many Africans became christians; they worshipped diverse gods…I wrote this with the mindset of a person who visited Greece or some other western world, and assumed this creature to be a god, and considering the white man’s “assumed” influence, he imagined perhaps that their gods might carry the same influence over his own gods. Many of the unfamiliar terms here are in Yorùbá, one of the three major languages in Nigeria. Here are the meanings of the words:
Orişa òyìnbó- white man’s god
Ogún- god of iron
Ṣàngó- god of thunder and fire
Iwin nlá- (big) strange “out of this world” creature
Image courtesy of http://www.google.com
It is my hope that peace will one day reign
From the most rural cities
Plagued by poverty and mundane simplicity
To the urban towns of the western world
Alive with loud gyrating music
Violence lurking in their many corners
It is my prayer
That nations will soon come together
Forgetting religion, culture, background, sect
And those other ills that tend to drive us apart
It is my deepest will
That unity love and peace
Will flow from Arab to Jew
Christian to Muslim
White to black
Man to child
And vice versa
Love peace and unity coming full circle
It is my deepest will, prayer, and hope
That peace which transcends
All international bias or boundaries
Would someday reign
Even if only for one day…
Join Lesley, Z, me, and millions around the world in acknowledging this desire by wearing white on Friday September 21st (even though it is after labor day) in support of unity and peace worldwide. Thank you Z for turning me on to this. Little is much, when we all pitch.
Autumn and its falling leaves
Yellow brown red and dry
Rustling on the ground
Feet pounding pavements fast
Slightly sweetened cocoa
Warm and frothy thick
Dark chocolate marble pound cake
A slice or two I think
Quiet days like Tuesday
My nose buried in good books
Daddy’s words of wisdom
Mother’s echoes of truth
Hugs and silly giggles
Melting tired frowns
Me caught in the middle
Of two laughing girls
The pleasant smell of Christmas floating
Hanging in the air
Waiting for winter
To drop like perfect presents
Into thankful happy laps
Warm apple cider
Our sweet fragrance
In the night
The cuddle of giant beds
Great companion to keep it warm
Hot tea and fruity drinks
Lots of biscuits on the side
(Please be aware
Only the English kinds will do)
Laughing out loud
Singing with Julie Andrews
The Sound of Music fills the cool air..
These and many more
Including YOU and I
Love life and God
Are a few of my favorite autumn things
What are some of yours?
It’s that time of the week again. The prompt is up, and Friday Fictioneers are ready to go…even though it’s still Thursday. This prompt is brought to you by Madison Woods and this week’s photo is courtesy of Stacy Plowright.
This week’s photo brought some personal feelings to the limelight for me…it was a reminder of many questions that I have been pondering upon the past few months. I came up with about 3 stories and a poem, but fret not…I am only sharing 1 story and the poem (Please indulge me).
Comments, and constructive criticisms are welcome! The story is my state of mind, it’s not to bring up any arguments or debate. THANK YOU!
WHERE ARE YOU?
Every so often I wonder about heaven and where it is…
Last summer some girlfriends and I drove to Canada, and as we sped down highways lost in different conversations, I noticed the clouds gathered dark and somber…my heart fell silent as I looked in the skies.
Speaking softly to the clouds…I whispered “God, where is heaven, and where are you?”
“Is there someplace else beyond these clouds?”
“Is that where heaven abides and you reside?”
“God where are you?” I asked out loud…My friends laughed and said assuredly…he is right beside you.
I hope they are right…for some days I don’t know what or even if I believe… anymore…
THE CLOUDS GATHER FOR TO COLLECT EARTH’S LOST SOULS
The clouds
Somber pale
Beautiful and gray
Gather
They gather for to collect
And usher in earth’s lost souls
Souls who for too long have strayed
In these parts
Seeking rest and shelter
In uninhabited areas
Never finding any
They hover over green pasture
And oceans deeps
They waft about hi-rise penthouses
And urban buildings
Roaming and wandering they drift
With the hope they would find
Rest for their lost and weary souls
I am back on Friday Fictioneers courtesy of Madison Woods, after 2 Fridays off. This week I went over the 100, (I am at 113) words but considering there were times I was way under 100, I am sure it is ok. As always please feel free to participate. Honest and kind criticisms are welcome. Thank you!
Photo by Susan Wenzel
Staring long and hard at this image
Trying to come up with words
To describe how she feels
Nostalgia wouldn’t do
Calm isn’t enough
Refreshing won’t suffice
Peaceful perhaps…
She can’t help but wonder about this image
Something about it tugs at her heart
More than she can imagine
So easy to dismiss this as another photo
A shot captured by a photographer
But it is more than that
This speaks to her
It reminds her of a time…
Laughing loud
Running on the beach
Picking up shells
Mommy scooping her up…
Sandy can’t help but smile
Knowing this image reminds her
Of her childhood
A peaceful refreshing and innocent time
