|
Place your ad here for only $15.00! Reach thousands of writers and visitors! CLICK HERE
|
|
|
 Born Bayo Akinnola though hail from western Nigeria, he sees himself as a citizen of the world,he believes neither in segregation nor descrimination.
A typical African man who lives in Lagos Nigeria, an undergraduate of Computer Science.
Bayo is working on his fourth consecutive collection (though non of his works has been published yet). He is keenly looking for a publisher.
|
|
MY ACCOMPLISHMENTS:
- The Chief Poet (ASSA Editorial Board)
- Poetry Editor, Kwara State Polytechnic, Ilorin
- Chief Cartoonist, Nigerian Association of Computer Science Student.
- Member, ASSA Editorial Board
Senior Editor NACOSS Editorial Crew.
|
|
MY NEWS:
THESE ARE SOME OF MY POEMS:
African soldiers
I was at the armoury
Three hundred bullet of similies and metaphors
Four thousand short guns, all sophisticatedly made
With the strongest metals of words
Twelve thousand bombs in general
All of highest calibre
Round and heavily fabricated with wording of poem
Three gigantic armour-cars
Painted in the colour of blue ink
Then I saw three hundred poets marching forward
In their uniform, singing the slogan aloud
Carrying their deadly weapons
Pens, ink, bullet of similies and metaphors
All under their arm-pits
I asked a man marching towards me
where they were heading?
He said they were going to war
They want to go and defend
Their fatherland.
|
|
MY RESIDENCE INFO:
City: Shasha
State/Country: Lagos/Nigeria
|
|
BOOKS PUBLISHED:
 THIS IS ONE OF MY OLDEST POEMS, I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT:
The grass
The grass has not died
It just uncovered its green garment
Bowing to the law of hammattan
Don't mind its shrink stems
The grass has not died
The grass has not died
It went for honeymoon under
Hiding its head
In the kingdom below
The grass has not died
The grass has not died
Its fore-fathers did same before
Wearing a brown robe
In the season of oye
The grass has not died
The grass has not died
You'll know if I lied one day
After a drop of just single rain
when you'll see a green shoot peeping
The grass has not died
The grass has not died
Come back few days more
And you'll see a full grown leaf
In the community of goats
The grass has not died.
|
 FOUL PLAY IS ALSO ONE OF MY OLDDIES:
Foul Play
I saw her within the garden
Planting my soul
Singing for the rain to fall
And the seeds to grow
I saw her cultivating the stubborn earth
Making ridges within my fragile heart
She cut and burnt
The stubborn grasses
Packed aside the grown weeds
And made mulch
I saw her
The soul planter
Harvesting my blossom soul
Basketful and ripen
I saw her within an incenerator
Carting the basket on her head
Fuelling the fire with the seeds
And they all burnt to ashes.
|
|
|
|
