Eneh Akpan Writes: Shopping

Showing posts with label Shopping. Show all posts

Friday, February 28, 2014

Gift of a Man.mp3 (Poetry Recital)

Click on the link Gift of a Man above to listen to this recital.

Gift of a Man exploits the power of the special and peculiar ability available to every man. There is some unique curiosities surrounding the harnessing of one's talent that the human race is yet to fully awaken to.

Gift of a Man digs below the surface to the very core of this mystery and unleashes the listener within grappling distance of what he deserves and already possesses.

Akpan

Friday, April 20, 2012

Ain't Dead Yet

I ain’t finished with me, yet.

I ain’t a loser yet,

I ain’t giving up yet,

I would be back yet,

And I ain’t dead yet.

I ain’t a conqueror yet,

I ain’t a master yet,

I ain’t there yet,

I ain’t that dynamite yet,

Ain’t the prototype success story yet,

I ain’t a unique specimen, yet;

I ain’t fulfilled a destiny, yet.

But I will.

Just watch me

Cause, I ain’t dead, yet.

I ain’t that star piercing the dark clouds, yet,

I ain’t achieved 300 inventions with a

Handful of peanuts, yet.

I ain’t hitting newspaper headlines, yet;

I ain’t trending on twitter, yet.

I ain’t on the dream team, yet.

I ain’t wrestled a black nation from inequality, yet.

I ain’t scored my first World Cup goal, yet.

I ain't made it to the mountaintop, yet;

I ain’t slain my Goliaths yet;

I’m even short on rocks for my sling.

I ain’t on a world class record crew, yet;

I ain’t been to the ends of the world, yet;

I ain’t seen the rainbow’s end, yet,

Sheez, I ain’t got a dime to begin with.

I ain’t six feet under just yet;

I ain’t dead, yet.

I ain’t the man in the mirror, yet,

I ain’t the strength of a worm, yet;

I ain’t a prisoner-turned-prime minister yet.

I ain’t a Zwelinzima, yet;

I ain’t who I seek to be, yet,

But I ain’t tripping, you bet

I ain’t dead, yet.

I ain’t taught a soul to fly, yet;

I ain’t on top of the world, yet;

I ain’t broken a record, yet;

I ain’t slain my Egyptian, yet;

The cloud’s moving but my stuff ain’t packed, yet.

I ain’t the beauty of the earth, yet,

I ain’t the black pimpernel, yet.

I ain’t a celebrity, yet;

I ain’t the shining coal, yet;

I ain’t a Nobel laureate, yet.

I ain’t on the winning side, yet.

I ain’t the African dream, yet;

I ain’t the future of the world, yet.

I ain’t counting blessings, yet.

Guess, I haven’t written my Same Song

Recital, I gatto floss against all odds

Or I just ain’t dying on me, yet.

I ain’t that superstar, yet;

I ain’t the greatest, yet;

I ain’t written my Godfather, yet.

I ain’t History, yet,

I ain’t the voice of a dying nation, yet;

I ain’t survived a civil war to invent

The fastest calculating machine, yet;

You can bet your life on it, I ain’t done yet.

I ain’t getting me limited by popular opinion, yet;

I ain’t crippled by status quo, yet.

Even World War 3 ain’t a threat.

If before I achieve, my body hits the cemetery,

Don’t turn the page and close the book, yet;

I’m coming back after they bury me;

I ain’t dead, yet.

Akpan

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Drama

A little bit of attitude

Another sister impregnated

Another accidental product of a mindless twosome.

Another brother incarcerated

Politicians they call us the modern Sodom.

Now we got a new barbershop around the corner

Thanks to the system college dropout increasingly normal.

The streets are more or less unsafe

We on the bloody failure’s backtrail.

They call life a picnic

While the ghetto kid’s rationing meals.

The essence of power they abusin’

We workin’ our souls sick

They busy talkin’ sh*t.

Have a young chap share his thoughts on the future

He’ll lay it on you it’s a defect of nature

He was ever born or preserved by nurture.

Can you picture the dilemma?

Situation’s full of drama like King’s Dreamcatcher.

It’s hanging way all up over our heads

Like the sword of Damocles

Holding on to nothing but a strand of hair.

We await the promise of a ghetto miracle.

If you never been to this side of the line

You ain’t know what it means to survive.

It’s like sweet goodbyes and sad hellos.

Still a ghetto star’s never known to compromise.

In the ghetto, it’s like we locked up

Ya’ll in the hood and everything’s just clogged up:

Mama’s got a trade,

Papa’s got a spade,

Big brother’s got a shaving blade

Oh, and that’s for the barbershop.

Little sisters weaving braids

And now you know what’s up.

Politicians spitting heresies

Mouthing murderous blasphemies

But seriously, no one’s seen their taillights recently.

Society inflicting pain on bleeding injury.

My homes subjected to penury

The government ya’ll penny pinching.

Ghetto children sinking

I know some defeats’ more triumphant than victory.

We intend to change the situation

Consequences of the impasse,

Yes, we can. We full of ammunition

Redirecting our energies like a compass.

The tragedy won’t come to pass.

Got the masses

Chewing grasses

Sweating their a**es

Rulers making passes

Let’s skip these classes.

The program’s busted

Me and my crews the most wanted.

The charge?...

Gang related.

Trying to get us annihilated.

Well you know they say,

Don’t sweat it.

Raised in the ghetto for dilemma,

The nation ain’t helping matters.

We feel a hunger for survival.

The pressure’s

Way beyond measure.

If you believe we was the future

How come we ain’t treasured?

I’m burning my brains out

Trying to find the way out

It’s hard to stay on the grind

I’m freaking out on the inside.

Picture the tears in the kid’s eyes

Yet, hypocrites entertain us with lies.

Waddup in this mother?

Don’t know ‘bout chu but we call it, drama.

Akpan

Monday, January 17, 2011

Odds

What do I care about odds?

The skin of my teeth is tougher than husks

Of raisins scorched by summer's sun.

I set my focus on my locus

That's what decides my status

So, what do I care about 'em odds.

I'm an ant the size of an elephant,

Agents of change bend to my command,

What d'you think are the odds against me, then?

Eneh

Friday, December 24, 2010

Eleventh Day Of Christmas - A Poem

You set me among the lilies

Place roses in my path thro death’s valley,

I open my door to greet your fragrances

And drown in the perfume of your presence

You are my frankincense

You heal my world with a touch of your friendship

Raise me up on your shoulders, eraze my glitch

You rock my boat like a storm tossing a ship

Doing it all with a tenderness that takes caring to a new peach

You are my myrrh

You place the power of the sun at my fingertips

Plant the rainbow’s end at the limit of my wits

You call me by name and stole my heart for keeps

You, silly you, gave your world asking nothing

You are gold . . .

My gold, explicitly.

Eneh

Sunday, November 7, 2010

License to Steal

President Barack Obama presenting Maya Angelou
with the Presidential Medal of
Freedom (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Spewing on the insides of the species are latent properties, poignant assets to usher in our becoming. Diving into the aspects holds a rare kind of electrifying activity. We all are created with a dash of creative abilities. Tucked right in there within all of us like a truckload of chicken waiting to be plucked. You could reach inside this very minute and make a grab 'cause it's yours for the taking.

We are sufficient in ourselves. "Now, hold it right there", you say. "Ain't that flaunting?" No, I reply. No it is not. Unless my words lean to the reasoning that I do not need you and you do not need me. But that isn't what I mean and we do need one another. That's one reason you read this.

On another level, it's such fun to know that when my skull hits the pillow at night, that right there in bed with me is the power to write my own reality; that when the lids of my eyes are afire with the red glow which signifies the morning sun is coming through my window and is on my face; that at the very moment of my waking, the source of my relevance in this world jumps out of bed with me; that he or she is with me as I type this words.

We need to remember that we are created creative and can invent new scenarios as frequently as they are needed. Maya Angelou.

It's crazy what we possess in the light of the individual's outlook of his own personality. And I ain't talking wit, buddy. I'm talking homegrown ability that has origins in your heart!

You got what it takes. I got what it takes. We got what it takes to walk the ocean floor and never have to breathe! Never, ever, ever, ever!

Most of us have no idea of our real creative height, we are much more gifted than we know. Julia Cameron.

I can sense the tide coming in. And just maybe, I need this more than you do. Maybe, I'm talking to myself after all. When you have just one molecule of your limitlessness placed under a light microscope and magnified forty times over to present all the glittering details . . . No feeling on earth is as powerful as that. To stand in the knowing of who you are, top that with a premise that you have absolutely nothing to prove to anybody, is like a license to steal.

Keep Your pen bleeding!

Akpan