Maya Angelou

Umar Jimeta

Up along the Andes through the Nazca line exists a tribe
They worried not for pen or paper-they just didn’t think the pen was mightier than the sword
So they cut down the weeds, slaughtered their enemies and planted to feed
They called themselves the Maya, she wrote herself a Phenomenal Woman.

Desmond Adeoye-Adetoba

Even from the loo an angel could arise
The Phoenix from the ashes of destruction soared
With the poise and elegance of a woman phenomenal
She scribbled, danced and smiled like she’s got mines of gold

Prudence Obadan-Enujiofor

Begone; oh ignorance into the arms of another…
Like a pariah; i quested and scavenged through humanity…
Now i rise like a phoenix; my plumage in order…
For goddess Angelou; reigns in my ink for eternity.

Oluwaseun Okunlola

It’s in the curve of her lips.
It’s in the sway of her hips.
It’s in her tresses of hair.
That flows like valleys and hills.

Rudolph Ruddapoet

There came morning and a whole lot of nights
To whisper stories of love, unequal emotions as squarely written as kite
My words follow the curve of the earth, the stars that shine or is it the bells that ring?
I know we all Eagles, but i am just the caged bird that sings.


From skilled hands I inherited this-Think
The labour to gather with precision-Write
These precious ingredients in appropriate proportions-Speak
That I may project the being to be- Inspire

Sam Ojiyi

The door bell rang and the door swung open on its volition
Not to let a body in, but to let a great soul out in perfect ascension
I for one, in all fairness, of such greatness, had no awareness.
But then immortality is to be loved long after we become memories.

Leonell Echa

And so that’s how the story goes…
That a little girl who played to church to pray to Rosary Rose
Encountered a feet whose hunger was diet and so her appetite he ate
But the scar, not hers but his, he sees, and remembers till date.

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  • jennifer.dafwat

    February 29, 2016 at 8:42 pm

    I see this and read that and become numb… Poets…


  • leon

    February 29, 2016 at 8:52 pm

    That's the ugliness in beautiful words. Poets are like pets, we should keep them.


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