Biography of Joba Akinola
I'm a male Nigerian who writes deeply inspired poetry of many forms and themes, transversing politics and love, to spirituality and philosophy. An eclectic poet indeed. I believe that poetry is not an art form intended to be written just for the fun of it, (though it is definitely meant to enjoyed, hence its beauty) but with a wider view to enlighten and heighten social consciousness. So I always say to the modern poet: 'Keep it conscious, if you lose it, your poetry's dead...unconscious.' I also perform spoken word poetry.
Joba Akinola's Works:
Still cooking 'em books! ! !
Joba Akinola Poems
Those sultry nights, those salty thighs she parted for me, Her own pearly gates, wrapping me and giving me a taste of heaven, Sadly, it was all pearls before swine, for I was undeserving.
What’s wrong with being wrong? We do wrong a strong wrong By painting it so wrong For wrong is what we call wrong
Tonight I Sleep With Mother Earth
Seventy more years must pass, To plus these ones gone past, My eyelids, before they may close Before Mother Earth opens up her core
It Was Me
The false hoods with which she adorned her speech, he wishes she hadn't 'cos he loved her. Ignore the tense, he still does...though his feelings are no longer anywhere near as intense As they used to be. He's still trading time for hope to his heart...that maybe someday, Her eyes will open and see that his eyes were not closed, all the while her mouth was open,
Why Should I?
Why should I abstain? What do I stand to gain From denying myself The pleasures of the flesh?
I Must Fly
I am trapped and bound Shackled and chained to the ground I am locked shut in this dark dungeon Buried in this gaol, all alone
Saline floods rolling down the cheeks Releasing pent-up emotions caged for weeks A cathartic stream, that’s catarrh-tic too The weak weep for weeks, for them it’s a process
I lie in my bed, savoring my dark solitude Listening to the buzz of the mosquitoes, The crickets and the croak of the toads This is all I do, this is my nightitude...
I Need Red
He sees red. In a snap, He frees head He flings it, away with all decorum. A quorum, his mental faculty cannot form His mind is at once deformed into the form,
Across The Bridge
For many months we journeyed, Through too many moments of horrid Scenes, flashing at a pace so torrid, paddling through, alongside tall reeds
The Poetry Flows
Like the fat of fast food blocking my arteries So was the blockade of debris obstructing my poetry My floetry failed its name, and then fell in stock, 'Cos like water through a closed tap, it was stuck,
The Bar-ttle indeed is ahead of us, Like cattle, a head of course, And we're set to it devour I can hear the applause, the devoirs
In my pursuit of happiness, I took detours, But at each turn, I found sorrow,
The Poetry Flows
Like the fat of fast food blocking my arteries
So was the blockade of debris obstructing my poetry
My floetry failed its name, and then fell in stock,
'Cos like water through a closed tap, it was stuck,
Thoughts seeking expression, words sick in expression
But lost in transmission, here's an admission;
My mind was plagued with the papyrus virus,
My tongue, baned with the rantimus stymus*,
My stylus, could engrave nothing on the tablets