APPEAL - ÈBÈ In Yoruba we say: òrìsà bi òlé gbàmí fi mí sílè bí o se bá mi I turn this to a poem : If this carnival for the gods shan't bring rainbows to our grey dressed sky, or manna to our stores, may it leave us, may it exit fast as fart into the air Amen. Pay a visit to our blog  Jekphrasa.blogspot.com Or simply click the left pointing arrow above and take a tour. Want to discuss anything with us? Send a mail to hellojekph@gmail.com.

To watch a flower bloom might be a synonym to growth// the petals are fully flaped open, flaunting it's colour on stalk but risking the sting of a bee or the caressing of a butterfly// So, when I heard the news say the economy was crumbling I likened my country to a flower// ours is being stung by bees but it's an essential process of pollination to turn to a fleshy ripe fruit/ This is the hope I have that we are undergoing pollination and this is the flower our pestilence bears on its lips. -Hope. (that we might turn a fleshy ripe fruit. after pollination). Visit Jekphrasa  Jekphrasa.blogspot.com  to read past blogposts. Follow us on Telegram  https://t.me/jekphrasa @jekphrasa on Instagram  Follow on Instagram

September - seventh ember here seventh ember here, seventh drive down this r ain beaten bridge,  to the seventh bench upon which we sang seven songs when we were,  seven and young. This seventh time I come visiting  seven were the flowers you gave me. The seventh one I come to return this september... 

Hat-trick with you -groaning of a cupid visitor Oh damsel upon your hat I threw a flower, and only a petal did you send. My brittle hear slipped upon ice and fell. Prophet Hosea caught it, he told me "son I loved a whore as a damsel of mine, go again and try" Dear, I sent a bowl of honey and asked you to have a taste of the honey bees of my heart. Twice, your hat was a canopy and you didn't even turn your face to see either the honey or the bee. My heart slipped again upon ice and fell. Prophet Hosea caught it, he told me "son I loved a whore as a damsel of mine, go again and try". I did write you a note of songs requesting that you'd be my favourite song but underneath your hat you only blew a whistle of silence to me, a meaningless tune. Hopeless, hopeless aren't I ? Three hat-trick played on I.  Writer- Helen (Jesunifemi) visit our blog

BUS TO THE ALL KNOWING CITY  I forgot my shoe,  but the bus came early and I was having an interview eastwards heaven. I forgot my shoe at home bus driver wait!  please, can you hear me? driver in black suit We drove 6 kilometers in silence  I itched my feet for it was cold and dry I'm bare,  my feet is naked,  Driver take me back home.  I might fail this interview,  give me a chance to pick my shoes again.  He was silent  Oh my street number is nasty 001 - in a short, brutish villa Not too far, I could trek. "You've spent your time"  this driver tells me and opens the door.  and before us, there's a large billboard that says - GO FACE YOUR GOD Visit our blog-  Jekphrasa.blogspot.com

Hey, Monday Sept. 8 I wanted to write a poem, an essay, anything, something but I couldn't just find the right words. I couldn't continue the poem I intended to write today, nothing was coming into my head so I thought let me tell you about a confession perhaps this might be poetic to you.  My name? Jesunifemi or you can just be fine with Helen. So why did I start writing poems? Anger, yes it was anger. I remember I wanted to get rid of it so strongly, it broke me and poetry was my first channel. I wrote aggressively it didn't have to make sense it was just big enough to contain all of it. Guess what, it healed me. So it felt like that messenger God sent to rid me of my devils. I'm grateful, the roughest parts of me have become fine, I adore them myself. Poetry did this. ... Yeah poetry & God. I want you to give God a chance in your world if you are yet to. His love rebuilds and fills all of those cracks and loopholes. & He might heal you,with poetry or somethi...

Two cents  Two cents away,  there's no internet  no bandwidth,  no artificial intelligence & all I need to know I know already how many stars above how the world was before it became this I know  two cents away  is that six feet miracle... Ps- the miracle would surely come upon all of us. Visit our blog  Jekphrasa.blogspot.com

Miracles  This miracle,  happens by the door, -of my soul  God feels nearer like a breeze knitting through my body's hair.  my heart is winepressed into a mirror full glass of sin and tossed into a tomb I'm purified  Oh yeah,  I did seek of this and woke up to a miracle. 

"The young weavers now build their houses with a beak machine" Mr Weaver notes solemnly as he sighs out of the window. Mrs weaver wipes her beak with a feather and drops her spoon in the plate of grain mash. She hops down to where he sits and also looks out of the window. "I know, I noticed too" she beaked "it looks stronger than ours don't you think ?" Mr Weaver's eyes squinted " I don't think so, the boys are becoming lazy, I remember how much I worked each day picking twigs, grass and palm leaves to make us this beautiful home. It was one of the best then. These young ones just put up a machine that weaves everything into place. No love, no toiling, no dedication"  Mrs Weaver sighed " life's becoming easier I guess and our home is still beautiful and it stands out nevertheless." She beaked again calmly. " How does our own stand out ?" Mr Weaver asked. Mrs Weaver stretches her wing and pats Mr Wea...

On our artwork feature this week, we have Appeasement to the lunar system by Olatunbosun Jesunifemi.  Description: a stick figure poses for a dance in the middle of a hill and three palm trees the moon sits above and there is a thin string attached to the engulfed dancer. This artwork sets an attractive theme for a view of nature as a phenomenon to be reverenced, loved and adored. Available for Exhibition and Cover art adoption (copyright must be purchased by any intending user) To inquire send an email to jlovemhe09@gmail.com Visit our blog: Jekphrasa.blogspot.com

Oh butterfly  One thing I didn't know, that demons and angels in my city  wore iro and buba, Fila and sokoto. Oh butterfly  Why didn't you tell me? you flap so near these dresses  and know the scent of white blood cells. Or art thou too beautiful to wait  to sniff all of our devils and goodnesses? you only love flowers, selfish thing! Your quiet flap torments me in a foreign  gut!  oh be gone!  ma lo - leave or teach me how to fly in such elegance as thee away from these bile-honey filled  skeletons