“Green Love”

Hurt is not hurt if not from thy love

and love is not love if all is sweet,

love goes through hell but stands the test

Yes! like an amour you both wear

overcoming all who seek you to tear

Also Read:http://crabbitamedia.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-broken-walls-of-my-vagina.html

Watch if love says all is well

lest what love harbors swells,

bursting, you can never stand the smell -

Love like Love is gentle, kind, peace, and never rough,

but know times may get tough,

here your love you should prove,

all to your maiden in truth, 

and high above the roof -

love is Love when it overcomes them all

like Christ who gave it all.

By Crabbe Nathaniel

Poem: http://crabbitamedia.blogspot.com/2016/09/patriarchal-nonsense.html

“Careless Lover”

Oh you want him?

he's all yours -

and did you ask if I mean it? 

Of course!

After all, it was all headache when I had him.

Take him; you sure have got something better

he's a good cook, his soups were salty -

have him and please guard your heart

else he'll tear it apart

Also Read:http://crabbitamedia.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-broken-walls-of-my-vagina.html

Take him - I have someone thrice better,

he's a singer and a charming teacher -

thank God it all came to a fall -

and dear - take his box, there is paracetamol

you sure would need it all.

By Crabbe Nathaniel

FEATURED: ROSIMAYA

You stone
my Saturdays,
You waste
my Wednesdays
And tear up
my Tuesdays
Into two:
You snare
my Sundays,
You squeeze
my Saturdays, 
And toss
my Tuesdays
Onto thorns

II

You feign
You feign
you
Feign
you forget my face
In even
The pious
Presence
Of God our God
The Father Almighty
The maker
Of heaven and earth.
Including all−
Even you and me,
Who today
Both hold on to worlds
As different
As the land from the
Sea.
Why can’t you tell
Me
You no more love
Me?
Or why not tell
Me
You can love me no
More?

III

You scorn
my Sundays
You freeze
my Fridays.
And sink
my Saturdays
In a swamp:
You wet
my Wednesdays
You soil
my Saturdays
And milk
my Mondays
Of their mirth.

Also Read: http://crabbitamedia.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-broken-walls-of-my-vagina.html

IV

You feign
you feign
you
Feign I
did not tell you
The time and
Place we were to meet;
But I know
I know I did tell you
You did
Repeat it yourself
My witnesses
Are your innocent
Ears, not your
Faithful tongue and eyes
Who’d also
Refuse to remember:
Why can’t you tell
Me
You never had loved
Me?
Or why not tell
Me
You just will not love
Me?

V

You slash
my Saturdays
You teased
my Tuesdays.
And snob
my Sundays
In the sun;
You mock
my Mondays
You wreck
my Wednesdays
And smother
my Sundays
In the smoke.

VI

You feign
You feign
you
Feign you
do so love me
But the truth
Is now like the rain;
He who sees not,
Feels it on his skin.
And with
A deep paralysing pain,
Erodes away
The still wet-walls of
Our strong castles
Built in my dreams.
The terrible truth
Is now like the sun –
Where it is
Not seen, it is felt;
Skin of your words
Show a tell-tale tan,
Scales blinding
My eyes start to melt.

VII

You foul
My Fridays
You starve
My Saturdays
And mess up
My Mondays
In the mud;
You shun
My Saturdays
You maim
My Mondays
And heap heavy sorrow
Onto my soul.

 By  Prof. Atukwei Okai

Nigerian Literary Icon Buchi Emecheta Has Died

Image: Buchi Emecheta: Credit;ALAMYImage

Nigerian author Buchi Emecheta, whose works includes 'The Joys of Motherhood', 'Second-Class Citizen' and 'The Bride Price', has died at her home in London at the age of 72.

Emecheta's books were on the national curricula of several African countries including Ghana.

She was known for championing women and girls in her writing, though famously rejected description as a feminist.

"I work toward the liberation of women but I'm not feminist. I'm just a woman," she said.

The topics she covered in her writing included child marriage, life as a single mother, abuse of women and racism in the UK and elsewhere.

"Black women all over the world should re-unite and re-examine the way history has portrayed us," she said.

The president of the Association of Nigerian Authors, Denja Abdullahi, said: "We have lost a rare gem in this field. Her works would forever live to speak for her.

"It is a sad loss to our circle. She was known for championing the female gender and we would forever miss her."

Media captionNnedi Okorafor: Her work is one of the reasons I started writing

Lagos-born Emecheta had moved to the UK in 1960, working as a librarian and becoming a student at London University, where she read sociology. She later worked as a community worker in London for several years.

She left her husband when he refused to read her first novel and burnt the manuscript, a World Service series on women writers reported.

The book, In the Ditch, was eventually published in 1972. That and Second-Class Citizen, which followed in 1974, were fictionalised portraits of a young Nigerian woman struggling to bring up children in London.

Later, she wrote about civil conflict in Nigeria and the experience of motherhood in a changing Ibo society.

Credit: BBC

An assessment of her writing, published by the British Council, says: "The female protagonists of Emecheta's fiction challenge the masculinist assumption that they should be defined as domestic properties whose value resides in their ability to bear children and in their willingness to remain confined at home.

"Initiative and determination become the distinguishing marks of Emecheta's women. They are resourceful and turn adverse conditions into their triumph."

Source: BBC Africa

The Broken Walls Of My Vagina

Photo for effect purpose

Broken, torched and stained,

how I felt after he took my "pride",

the pearl of my life,

every woman's "pride"

trampled with so much disdain,

leaving me in blood stains

from the broken walls of my vagina,

Heaven remained shut at my prayer,

so it seemed for I; crying, shouting, 

screaming yet no Helper

to pull me from underneath a man

whose lustful thrusts that afternoon

would leave me frightened

at the hearing of a male voice.

I am still yet to come to terms that it is a cross

I must excruciatingly bear,

here in a world that labels me a whore:

that says I am the cause of his failure

to keep his libido in check or listen to twerp 

talk such as "I must cover up

else I deserve whatever I lure" ~

such patriarchal nonsense

from persons who without shame,

continue to posit vain and lame

arguments as reasons he robbed

my innocence -

with brute violence

Also Read: http://crabbitamedia.blogspot.com/2016/09/patriarchal-nonsense.html

Photo used for effect purpose only

It was the year nineteen sixteen (1916),

I was only fifteen,

a blossoming young girl

with so much hopes of a well

tailored life for a towering future -

hardly would a girl my age dare

"think [herself] a bird" to share

a stage in a man's world so-called,

she must braze herself up for a cloud

of detractors should

she make it out of that village in Paga

where still, the boy-child is rather

the preference to some sort of education.

Pardon the digression,

PHOTO USED FOR THIS PURPOSE

at the silent afternoon of doom,

that rode with it black-dark-grim

spells in an attack greatly foul,

and left my pure soul

scared, spirit heavily broken

and my womanhood stolen:

he entered my room, locked the door,

held me brutally on the floor -

I can still remember myself say

in a faint voice - Jesus -

hoping that in my breathless

state Help would come my way

to rescue me from a man whose

d**k left more than wounds

in the broken walls of my vagina -

my very being crushed as the World Trade Center.

Read: http://crabbitamedia.blogspot.com/2017/01/vanity.html

Sadly you are part of the problem -

when you shift the burden of responsibility from

him, posit that we "cover up" or blame

our parents of failing to train us well enough,

designing excuses for psychopaths.

You are the problem when you make

the onus of controlling one's demons

that of the raped and not the rapists -

I hope you get it, if not check

yourself because we all have

the responsibilities to protect, save,

the boy-child especially the girl-child

from God forsaken deranged morons:

pedophiles, rapists and hobbyists

Not forgetting that I was only fifteen

with beautiful imaginations of a teen,

as your girl-child,who may not survive

the kicking, beating or revive

from a broken wall of her vagina.

By Crabbe Nathaniel - Journalist - Publicist - Blogger - Poet - Customer Service

For statistics on child rape in Ghana check: http://cmcghana.blogspot.com/2017/01/1296-girls-defiled-335-women-raped-in.html