Back against the world
Facing a towering wall
Resurgence alive
*Inspired by the image prompt
Ofuma Agali
Ofuma Agali
Ofuma writes poetry and fiction as his current genres of interest. His works have appeared several art pages of newspapers in Nigeria, such as The Guardian, The Vanguard, National Mirror, and The Post Express Literary Supplement. Outside Nigeria, his works have appeared in Sentinel Literary Quarterly, Praxis Journal of Gender & Cultural Critiques, The Kalahari Review, The Purposeful Mayonnaise, among others. Five of his poems have also been published in anthologies (including The Poetry Marathon Anthology). He received an Honourable Mention at the 2001 MUSON Poetry Competition, and has written a collection of poems as well as two unpublished collections of short stories. He is currently working on a third collection of short stories and a second collection of poems. While making attempts at residency writing, he emerged a Finalist of the 2019 New Orleans Writers Residency Program. Ofuma lives in Lagos, Nigeria where he has been a journalist as well as a communications practitioner. He had also been editor of two national specialised magazines. He has been involved in many writing projects he is open to proofreading, editing, and ghostwriting gigs.
WHAT IS WORK (hour xiii)
Work is not about the midnight calls
It’s not about the late evening client parties
It’s not about the pillar-to-post dashes on public holidays
It’s not about stealing worship presence on Sunday mornings
Work is not about the nightclub rendezvous
It’s not about killing effort and exalting results
It’s not about grave-bound multitasking that defiles time principles
It’s not about being a parent by proxy
Work is bliss as play is
It is to create and see creation flourish
It is to write and see words in command
Work is a smile, like a fruitful journey and not an avoidable end
*Inspired by the text prompt
CHARGED (hour xii)
Supplications fill
the closet, potent and live
Fill me on entry
+Inspired by the text prompt
THE SUPERORDINARY (hour xi)
He is stuck with me
Always telling, showing me
That spirit in me
*Inspired by the text prompt
POETRY MARATHON (hour ix)
It gives you twelve months’ notice
More than enough time for a full-term pregnancy
Alas, even after the delivery
It still leaves butterflies in the belly
There are butterflies in my verses tonight
The delivered poems stutter in hollowness
Finding form, aiming to be firm
Long after the stitches heal
*Inspired by the image prompt
UNEASE (hour vii)
Reality stands on it’s head, feet flapping in the air
It’s watching the courtroom drama as petitioners and
respondents do the drama of debacle
The jury and the spectators look on over solemn lunch, as
reality stands on it’s head, feet flapping in the air
The empty high seats creak under the weight of the judges
It’s a long walk, paths snaking out from chaos toward sanity
The mob outside wait, looking to lift the court building, to chant down the street
Reality stands on it’s head, feet flapping in the air
*Inspired by text prompt
LORDS OF THE RING (hour vi)
When a people mine their blood and vote with it
When a politician burns healthy chunks of their votes
When a ruling party tells the victims to go to court
When they propose to buy up the judgment upfront
Then the people shall go to the ends of the earth
Then they shall look down the edge of the flat earth
Then they shall see a bottomless pit and say it’s a luxury hotel room
Then they shall ask all those in discord to go to court
*Inspired by the text prompt
BAGGAGES (hour v)
The crowd gather at
the center of the city
Their means are stolen
There is a suspect
walking through the gaping crowd
Something is stolen
There is a suspect
guilty until Judges prove
innocent and clear
Bags of gold litter
street sides, baggages roll over
More stuff are stolen
Searchlights beam, more lights
The suspect is the lone thief
buying handshakes hard
It’s arresting time
Then the thief steals himself, and
baggages grow heads
*Inspired by the text prompt.
THE SEASON OF PRAYERS (hour iv)
They are burying
their witless open secrets
in void orisons
They are seeking the
faces of supplication
merchants, in vacuums
They are plucking out
stars from the dark skies, sweating
All wide eyes on them
They are exhuming
their decayed consciences from
graves of opulence
They are sending scared
sacrifices to a heaven
that will not open
*Inspired by the image prompt
THE MUSE OF DEVIATION (hour iii)
Laughter shows itself bare
It’s the moment the garment over it is unveiled
Feet tumbles with the reverberation
It’s the vibration of the contagion
The course of sound and rhythm and symphony
They are jettisoned for the path of the blue ocean
The muse of deviating, aided by the laughter
Finding manifestations in impossible abode
*Inspired by the image prompt