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For worshippers of Kings and admirers of his wisdom - For lovers of queens and upholders of her kingdom - For lovers of keepers of time and wasters of none of it - For the princesses who seek a knight who seeks other knights to vanquish and keep her warm all night - Hope this blog nourishes your sight; hope it brings your heart such unequivocal delights.

Wednesday, 21 January 2015

Corinne's Thunder



"Your husband is a big disgrace to the concept of effeminism..." Shirly, Corinne's boss, ranted on as Corinne held the phone to her ears whilst her face sank into her right hand. This is the 7th caller in nine minutes since the news was aired on the morning news channel. Her Facebook and Twitter have been buzzing away with notifications and she knows what they were about and who they could possibly be from. Corinne hung up before her boss could finish the sentence and that in itself would demand an explanation later. 
Being married to the first man on the planet to openly declare he's got morning sickness, and confirmed by a registered GP, isn't a good idea at all. "Look, honey," Oyewale said to his wife, Corinne, "I am not making this up at all. You witness the way I wake up lately and start feeling queasy. You also know how my nose has been overly and negatively sensitive to any smells of recent. How could I have known Greg will make a national news of it when I called and told him I couldn't come to work because I might be having morning si..?" "Shut up," shouted Corinne, "can you hear yourself, Oye? This is a woman thing and we don't wonna share that one last luxury with you, don't you see? Isn't it bad enough that we have had our maternity leave slashed in half so you can cash in already and then to make things worse we have to now pay tax on child benefit because we earn more than you? How can you possibly be having morning sickness when I'm the one who is pregnant, why?" Cried Corinne as Oyewale sat down on the floor of the bathroom beside the bathtub.

Oyewale, a skilled laborer who worked on heights on a construction site, is someone who likes to play by the books. He, out of 50 laborers, was first to pass the CITB Health and Safety test for construction workers and had just had a CSCS card approval for skilled laborers. This would please the primary contractor as he is desperate to have someone who has passed such test to supervise work on site. Unfortunately, Greg, Oyewale's site supervisor, is yet to pass the test after several attempts. It is evident that Oyewale might be put up for a higher position should the HSE officers come for supervision the following week. They'd been on the site three weeks before and issued a control measure after assessing the risk on the site in a bid to halt the job until they can get the primary contractor to provide PPEs and training for the workers. 

Hence it was evident that Greg did what he did in order to discredit and ridicule Oyewale. But that doesn't rule out the fact that Corinne's husband has successfully stolen the thunder from his wife's circumstances and very soon would become a trend men would start to emulate everywhere. But in reality, Oyewale is sick. He truly has morning sickness or at least he exhibits signs that relate remarkably to what 80% of women would normally feel in the first phase of their pregnancy. Oyewale kept spitting and craved for sweets things. He kept holding is mouth and pushed his head forward while running to a sink nearby each time his wife opened the fridge. He could perceive the smell from anywhere in their little council flat. Corinne would run after him to make sure he was ok. However, she wasn't finding it funny. It couldn't be funny because a woman normally looks forward to that time of early pregnancy when her husband would pamper her and apologise for putting her through the pain and discomfort of conception. In few cases, she would be in for some good treats to spas, massage rooms and just basic maintenance all catered to. Unfortunately, in this case and on top of all Corinne had undergone, she still had to do the school run for Jemma that morning. "If Jemma was your daughter, you would do her school run even if you were dying, Oye." Corinne moaned and slammed the door as she walked away.

Oyewale remembered he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket while Corinne was lashing out loud on him earlier and then decided to check who might have been trying to reach him after she'd left. It was a voicemail from Greg. "Ehh, hello it's GReg," with a Scottish accent like he was asking questions as opposed to passing an information "the pRess were here on the site and are askin' afteh ya jos' nau, okae? I didnae wootta sae so I told'em ya addRess, okae? Ehh, so they' on theiR wae to ya house nau? Ehh, I'm soRRy bot ya gonna thank me for makin' you a star todae? Bye nau, okae? GReg." This was 18 minutes ago since the voicemail came in and Oyewale works about 16 miles away just around 28 minutes drive on google map. And like Oyewale rightfully deducted, it was only less than two minutes before his wife stormed back into the bathroom lividly asking why the press was outside by the door and anxious to be buzzed in. It couldn't be worse for Oyewale at this point - sick, stardom waiting by the door and an English pregnant wife with a daughter running late ready to rain her Jordie wrath on him.

In Aiyetoro, Ogun state - Southern part of Nigeria, West Africa where Oyewale hails from, being the first son of a polygamous family of three wives and 11children and only child to have crossed the vast oceans to the promising shores of western lands, this wouldn't have been an issue at all. The reason is unknown.

- Aburo #greenvocabs

Monday, 13 February 2012

Earth's girl and Sky's Angel - (Inspired by Susan Amissah)






Dear Whitney,


I'm shattered, scattered on the floor with tears, with heart, with hand and with knee
Eternity was what you said it'll take to break us
Where do I draw strength to go on with the belief now that I'm weak in brake-horse?
...
Now Earth offers you all it's precious hidden jewels as food to eat
Warm Earth offers your coldness some covering - does it know you won't sing to it?

Earth thought it was the only world who listens to you singing
'had no clue sky angels crave you too and envy the world you sing in
Earth is like a mother-hen with nightingale chics and these sky angels are hawks.
Who protects Earth - has it got a rooster, where is its cock?

They couldn't wait for your time so they had to whisk you into that abysmal slumber
Their talons' marks are allover a daily routine you've done times without number -
That now you're steel cold, not a CPR if powered by the sun will bring you back to life?
If the whole of Earth's iron ore were fashioned into the sharpest sword/knife,
It won't scratch the ropes of lure that's pulled you beyond the sky's lens?

The gathering of Earth's best choirs will never out-sing your songs' silence
And as you join others to sing in the skies, we'll forever dance to your echoes
Sadly, to the world's unborn children and future generations there goes..

I take off my art, earth, heart, hut, hurt, and hat (lest I get lost in..)
And lowly give a bow, a salute, a tribute to our Earth's regal Whitney Houston!!

Adieus..xx

Dedicated to Whitney Houston - RIP!
byPaul Martins

Wednesday, 14 December 2011

Start what?




If I start it lovers will come.

They'll come in their hundreds;
Each with most loved of their lovers, they'll come.
The venus sounds of mute words laid in bold brilliant yet subtle colors will speak to them;
Each one thinking of the next one they'll come with, they'll come.




'We'll come' said one, 'Paul please start it, others will surely come.'


'We'll come in our thousands;
Each with hopes of ...leaving with an extra lover, we'll come.
Let it be summer - One of those nights when the moon is consumed in black jealous clouds and
Bonfire flames burn higher as we feed fire all our skimpy dresses
Each of us gleeming at the reflection of bare nature - bright silhouette, we'll come'.








'Tobi, start it people will come; people must certainly come!'

Dude..









Still broke at 38
Stress aggravates
Suicide.. contemplate – wetin I go do?



See, I like to brag
Like I got millions in my bag
But really I'm a rag – wetin I go do?






Her face is like crash
But her butt is the splash
Plus I need her cash – wetin I go do?



She’s also 38
She's got real estates
But she lacks a mate – wetin I go do?



She works in a bank
Then she fills my tanks
(I think she likes the spanks) – wetin I go do?



She don’t dress to kill
But she dey foot the bills
In bed she got skills – wetin I go do?
 


She’s an ‘after three’
Each from different daddy
They  all call me daddy – wetin I go do?



She works 9 – 5  
Keeping brother alive
I sit she drives – wetin I go do?






But her cousin is the ..ish
Pretending.. How I wish..
I want more than her dish – wetin I go do?



Time and millions in my hand
Her cousin's my demand
Teasing I can't stand  – wetin I go do?







by Paul Martins. (in Nigerian Pidgin english)

Wednesday, 1 September 2010

tales of a dying love.




When love grows stale

Expressions seem like tolerable mail

The mind and heart eclipse

And day for a loved one is gone.



When love turns pale

Feelings remain numb and very frail

Communication becomes a baneful necessity

And anger’s litmus turns blue quite easily to small deeds.



When love grants bail

Kisses no more lighten any trail

Touch becomes colourless as the wind

Then an old enemy, Distance, becomes a good redeemer.



When love resumes to sail

It takes away its blinding veil

Leaving errs and faults instead of compliments

Vague unique memories and no special moments anymore



And when finally love becomes a tale

It is told to another lovelier fe/male

As time makes space for new events

And plenty of time too as currency to spend



Understand, love is energy

And our hearts are temporary!






by Paul Martins

Friday, 27 August 2010

Love was you

You were what I always dreamt of!

Somehow you came to me

And like a child

I came pure, innocent and young.

Like a man,

You came with your sweet big heart.






Still think about those nights:

You and shy me;

Me and silly you.

You made me laugh

I made you cry!

Gave me love

More than I saw

In my sleep.



Love became all we had -

All we wanted

We did not know where to put it,

Ran out of space

And lost the difference

Between good and bad.

What was so strong

Became paper thin

And blew away with the wind.



 Still, after all these years,

Through distance and time;

Flings and lovers,

This bed

Still feels lonely without you.



 Find it so hard to believe myself,

How you got me in every single inch.

No one has come that far

And I am so proud of you

You and your sweet mesmerize!


Muah!


By Ima Boma-Granville