Healing Hands (Collection of poems)

This collection of poems serves some purposes. First, to share in the burden of a mother (Ma Brigitte Poirson)who has been part of the success stories of many burgeoning poets whom she has not seen physically but has been a part of their lives.

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SERMON FROM A STAMMERER (chapbook) by Micheal Ace

FRESH RELEASE: Sermon From A Stammerer by Micheal Ace

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Sermon From A Stammerer (Chapbook) by Micheal Ace

 

Here comes the first collection of poetry by Micheal Ace,the magical poet, titled ‘Sermon From A Stammerer’.

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Miseries of First Love; A true pathetic story by Micheal Ace

Miseries of First Love
My pathetic story

As a young boy, I knew somethings are just never meant to be just like I have been taught. My mother is this strict disciplinarian who would slice my brother’s skin with a blade and put in some fresh grinded pepper, just because the cunning boy hid a piece of meat that was supposed to be shared with others under his big rock of àmàlà.
She hates lies but passionately dislikes the liar unlike God who hates sins but loves sinners. Well, she is an african mother so I understand now that I should have expected no less.

Somethings were never meant to be. Yes, just never meant, like lying, stealing, chasing girls around and any other things attributed to the ‘ungodly.

If I begin to tell those stories of ‘The me and my mother combat’, then you are most likely liable to getting scolded by your boss for negligence at work or having that food get burnt

My pathetic story began it’s prologue when I failed my third o’level examination and still went ahead to show ‘Jega‘ my competency after I scored ‘148‘ in the UTME.
Even though my father wanted me to continue coursing the bushes with him doing architectural surveys on land, my mother would never concur; She values education more than the stones on one of her favorite dresses. She wanted me in school by all means, she would say ‘I know Dòtun to be an average student, so letting him stay at home for long will only improve his cooking crafts but get his brain deteriorated.

Finally she got me the Obafemi Awolowo University’s predegree form and I left my hometown for the big campus in order to have myself tutored for some months before the entrance examination.

  • Miseries of love by Micheal Ace continues on ACEworld

It was unusual, the endless noises on campus mostly from students who had forgotten the sorrowful hymns their ‘GP‘ sings, the early morning visits to the bathroom and toilets {there are nothing like ‘restrooms’ in most Nigeria universities}. My hostel was at the ‘Post Graduate’s Hall‘ where I was harboured by one of my distant cousin’s friend: a male. I couldn’t stay with my cousin, maybe because I have the rod while she has the hole even though she was old enough to be my younger brother’s mother, Nigerian’s mentality.

On getting to campus, I realised none of what my cousin told me was lie. She said; ‘ OAU is for the read-a-holics‘, meaning the lazy readers cannot graduate with any ‘class
I was never a reader neither was I a writer, I was just this young for nothing kid who wants wealth and fame, but OAU changed me, I began reading at nights and even my cousin’s friend most times look at me enviously; what a promising lad.

It was this monday morning, I woke at exactly 7am as usual, ‘sometimes, brains get addicted to particular actions and it happens inevitably‘. Even if I didn’t have any plan for that time, I would still have woken.
Like many others have phobia for water when it comes to bathing, so did I. I would wash my head, pour the rest up and run under it, only the lucky splashes would touch my skin. It was the usual custom that day, nothing else changed except for the ‘supposed to be fortunate‘ meeting I had with her.

  • Note: I was not attending lectures but lessons, I was still an ‘under-undergraduate’

Luckily, I dressed well that morning, In my ‘well ironed shirt‘ and my black jean. I walked majestically into the class since ‘Dr Pass was not around yet, then I saw her beside me while I was trying to find a seat; she wasn’t there for me though.

Have you ever felt the disorganizations caused by a little ant or small pebble in your eyes? If yes, that was exactly how I felt when I saw her. if no, then give it a trial. She wasn’t really beautiful but she was just beyond it.
If there is anything like ‘Love at First Sight, it would be that. She smiled when she gazed at my side but I guessed they weren’t for me, I tried as much as I could to be noticed but all to no avail but then, ‘Dr Pass entered’.

I said he entered, so then, lecture began…

I remember we did ‘Use of English‘ that day, I was one of the rated guys in class, maybe because I had all textbooks as others come to borrow with their hands in their tongue.
She came to me, it was as if my eyes were glued to the air, I couldn’t believe what I saw but I got myself composed despite my heart which had started pumping wine.
‘Can you borrow me your textbook’; she said.
I wanted to say ‘YES’ but it took me longer than it took the professor to write the textbook. Alas, I was stammering.

To God be the glory, I made it to the end of the word, then she smiled and took the book away, as she was going, my eyes were moving with her but this feet would never leave their spots.
‘Hello’, I called out and she looked back.
‘Please don’t forget to bring the book tomorrow’, she made a nod and walked away smiling.

This time, my eyes had stopped tailing her, but my brain did. Only God knows how I made it home, but I made it home.

  • Miseries of love by Micheal Ace continues on ACEworld

I said I made it home, yes but only my body did. My spirit was at ‘Elegushi beach with her ‘merry-go-rounding‘ and flexing with our hands held in love, it was the first and last time I would ever daydream.

What’s wrong with you“, that was the interrogative but alarming statement made by my cousin’s friend after I came back from the mini-market with a bottle of groundnut, whereas I was sent to buy a bag of pure-water. Both were often sold at one hundred naira, I guess that confused me.
But in reality, I was convinced I had lost something, concentration or sanity, something was gone.
My meetings with her gained their morale the day I summoned a ‘man-made courage and asked her out.
She was a christian, I was too but she was religious {well,I was not} and her response showed me exactly what it’s like to woo a ‘redeemed girl
She said, ‘I cannot date you, we can only be friends’.
That did not suit me, I wanted something more intimate, I had watched a lot of romantic movies and I knew I wanted someone I could kiss and cuddle, someone I could caress on those cold nights.
But I never thought of sex, maybe because I wasn’t used to watching ‘blue films then.

We played a bit after I agreed to be a friend, we exchanged numbers too but hardly had she saved my number when she received a text message sent by me. I cannot remember the content {Kindly remember I told you earlier that I had lost my sanity}.

The examination wasn’t around the corner, It was standing right at the door but this love that enslaved my heart would never let me see my dooms writing their lyrics on my wall. Meanwhile, most of my time was spent on writing mostly love songs; songs I’m still yet to know if it would be my grandchildren that will record them.{I have more than 150 songs written, {I’m just that jobless and talented}.

I won’t fail to mention my friends back then; Chuks, Joel, Emanuella and my crush herself Love
My teachers; Dr.Pass the corporate, Dr.Peter the preacher.

September came, our judgement day broke, We left the campus for ‘Moro, OAU predegree centre’
I was a bit late so others had gone earlier, I remember promising my cousin a huge success, I remember assuring her of scoring more than expectation.
I remember the fear that lingered my heart while the bus propelled down the tarred road, I remember my every heart beat that wished for miracle and I remember that side of me that believed in itself.

I was placed behind the system, it was a computer-based test. I logged in the programmed application and started handpicking my destiny, it was an objective type and every single question increased the rate of my heartbeat, I kept choosing my fate with my finger constantly tapping the mouse pad.
At that moment, my mind went through the struggles my mother had in getting me the opportunity, I thought about how much she had spent and how high her expectations would be, I smiled when I remember my father who had started boasting around town that his son is a student of GREAT IFE.

Finally, dream came true, I attempted the last question and made it out of the examination hall ‘hale but not healthy. I teamed up with my friends and we went back to campus.

Three days later, my crush’s parent came and took her away, it was like my shadow walked past me and I couldn’t hold back, I nearly cried but something assured me we would all pass the examination and resume back together. I was sure I would pass.
The fear remained, the love I had still stayed.

Few days later, after we had all departed to our different homes, the result was released.

  • Miseries of love by Micheal Ace continues on ACEworld

She was cute, I know she will still be. She is an angel, I remember her favourite song then; Bottom Belle by Omawumi and Flavour.
Most of those nights on our way to reading room along that plastered path to ‘Moremi Hall down to White House‘ at ‘Academics‘, I would play the song from my hypertensive ‘chinko phone, she would then sing along;
Oga buy me bottom belle cool my heart eheheh“, she had the voice too.
I remember that was the first time I watched ‘3 Idiots‘, I also loved ‘Eze Eligwe’ by Frank Edward and the tune ‘Akwa Ibom Ayaya’ by Mish. So sweet and unforgettable memories.

{I couldn’t start with the released result, maybe because it was nothing to boast on. It’s often better to say the good news beofre the bad one}

Yes, it was no lie. The result was released.
One of my ‘goons’ while we were at school just called me that morning, my phone rang!

Me: Hello
Caller: Hello Dotun, I have checked my result, 59%

{I was like; if this guy can have 59%, then I’m sure far above 60%}

Me: Wow, congratulations friend, can you help with mine as well? Username- Oyedokun, Password-Jesus
Caller- Alright, I will be back

{ It was my cousin that registered me using that password, I wasn’t that spiritual}

Caller: “calls the name on the result slip” and asked, ‘is that you?
Me: Yes, what is there?
Caller: “Silence”, call dropped

This time, my heartbeat was enough for ‘Eminem to drop his usual fast raps. I was home alone so I had enough liberty to rehearse my madness.
I had no airtime, so I sent ‘call me back‘ to ‘Joel who was my best friend and he called almost immediately. He scored 68% but when he checked mine, he said;
“I’m not sure this result is yours Dotun, I’m seeing 39% here”.
.
.
.
.
.
I cried, I died but the same death woke me, my deserved regrets wouldn’t let me be.
I called Dr.Pass to help out but my grade was too low, far from the cutoff mark. I failed myself, I wasted time and money, I lost my most hard earned opportunity.
I disappointed everyone, I missed the steps.

I lost it all but there remains just one reality;
If I’m given the same opportunity again, If I’m made to meet ‘Love’ again for the first time. If that time come back for the chance to live it again, I will still live it the same way”

I will spend every moment like I did, I will hold her hands everytime, I will smile at her every chance I have, I will miss classes because of her.
I will play her songs and watch her sing, I will follow her to the campus’ “New Market“, I will accept the name “DotLove” which was coined for us in class.

And, I will do my best not to cry when my result comes again.

Then, I will lay with my pen if she hasn’t reached ‘menopause‘ and we shall birth this words again;

Not as ‘Miseries of First Love‘ but as ‘My sweetest moments of life‘.

Story Source;
Oyedokun Adedotun Micheal
Written by
Micheal Ace

A copyright of ACEworld

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Writing To Win: An exclusive discussion on the beliefs of contests and duels

Writing To Win

If there is anything loved by a poet or writer, it will be having his name printed large and bold on the flag of victory. We all want our names as the gum in-between the jaws of every person.
But if I’m mused to ask?

Do we write to win?, then Affable will thus answer;

  • I don’t write to win but of course one of the reasons I enter competition is because I might be lucky to win, never forget, there must be a winner since it is a contest.
    Mesioye Affable Johnson

Then Ayoola Goodyness should have his view as;

  • A big question! As much as I like to participate in competitions , my sole aim is not about winning, it is first about expression and being heard. As long as my lines are read, I am satisfied.
    Ayoola Goodyness Olanrewaju

Further more, the poetess must say that;

  • Winning a competition is really the last in my mind. I actually write, just for the passion of Poetry!.
  • It is my main aim to get my work into the mainstream, have people opportuned to read it, and be blessed with the message therein!

Not even a single worder will admit the sleepless nights they often have at the anticipation of contest’s results. But even if we understand the concept and reasons for the initiations of literary contests and duels, it’s often imaginary to feel positive and only positive about whatever the outcomes may be.

But being frank, is it not futility to have a poem win a contest even though if fails to satisfy the audience?
For instance, if a poem suits the justification of poetry but some of the readers fail to decipher the context, then of what use is it?

  • If my poem wins a competition but my readers are unable to decode the message then I will feel emotionally unhappy as a writer because I need to let my readers understand me and my message and not to confuse them.
  • But if my poems are crafted to my reader’s *mental grips but still it fails to earn me a medal, then I shall feel the sweet urge to access my works and do more to my poetry.*
    Mensah Atta Francis

If I will rephrase the above, I will encamp it in this simple quote.

  • There is no such award like those I receive from my readers each and everyday
    Micheal Ace

We are often rewarded more than we ever think as regard the mind lifting comments we receive from our readers and those who appreciate the gifts of art. But nevertheless, can we conclude that a piece winning a contest on a justify ground makes it actually the best?

  • All writing is subjective. A judge attempts to say, “This poem is good,” or, “This poem is bad,” but really, they are just choosing based on their own idiosyncratic taste. Winning most times comes down to luck. Or God. Or what the judge ate for lunch that day.
  • What is the writer to do then? Submit your piece, pray it wins, and then go write your next poem (and find a new contest to submit to). Nothing else can be done.
    Joe Bunting

In conclusion, Duels and Contests are important aspects in building poetry, they help with muses as well as the urge that drives them, moreover;

  • The purpose or goal of a poem will influence the direction of poetry, If the goal is a duel, the poem does two things: write for the audience to elect your poem. The second is that in trying to win a duel, you become conscious of the will of the audience. To suade them to your side, you want to write the best to win.
  • In all, poetry wins, the audience benefits.
    Sir Phunsho Oris

So if you are given an opportunity to contest now,
What will push you, is it the urge to win or the depth of the theme that your pen will scrutinize to suit your readers?

  • What actually push me to compete in any poetry contest is not the urge to win at all, but to be counted among the athletes that wants to run the race, for if at the end I eventually lose. Won’t I commit suicide? since my mission is to be the winner.
  • Even if I loose, my joy is that the contest has granted me another opportunity, to creatively explore the depth meaning of the theme given. And at large, my joy is that the contest has added another feather to my wings, i.e the competition has birthed me another prowess and mused-filled new poems”.
    Oki Kehinde Julius

In another view;

  • Don’t forget the word ‘contest’, contest is a competition and a player should be preoccupied with the aim of winning, no matter the mindset with which you play.
  • *So, If I contest, I have the urge to win, and I expect my opponent to have the same urge too, then we may now console ourselves with some other forms of motivation if we do not win. But somebody just has to win! *
    ***Tukur Loba Ridwan***

In Aremu Adams Adebisi’s voice, i say;

  • The depth of a theme explored gives a poet pleasure and the desire to post it for the world to see.
    Aremu Adams Adebisi

And I will say and say again if need arises that **Writing To Win is nothing bad, a contest is a contest, but alongside, a poet should write for the audience and for poetry.

If there are anymore words, then it shall be your comments which will be appreciated

Thanks for the time but we implore you to SHARE
A friend, even an enemy might need this!

Micheal Ace
Secrets of Magical Poetry
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