Nonsense Poetry

This week, the young people, inspired by Edward Lear produced their own limericks.  Here's a quick intro to Edward Lear and an example of his works:

Edward Lear (12 May 1812 – 29 January 1888) was an English artist, illustrator, author, and poet, renowned today primarily for his literary nonsense, in poetry and prose, and especially his limericks, a form that he popularised.

'There was an Old Man with a nose, Who said, 'If you choose to suppose, That my nose is too long, You are certainly wrong!' That remarkable Man with a nose.' 'There was an Old Man on a hill, Who seldom, if ever, stood still; He ran up and down, In his Grandmother's gown, Which adorned that Old Man on a hill.'

The Words Apart collective formed our own limericks accompanied with illustrations: 

By Fauzia - The Lady Gaga Limerick

By Arj, Vain Pete

By Zain - The Turd called Clegg

                    


                                                 

  
By Special Guest DJ Steaz - Broken promise

By Tajhame Jackson - Marriage Baggage Limerick 

Exclusive Youtube Channel: WordsApartPoetry

Tajhame Jackson with the poem 'Jamaica' at Finchley Youth Theatre.

We now have a whole host of youtube video's on 'WordsApartPoetry'

Be like a Candle

Be Like a candle…

Light up faces with a smile

And spread warmth when you walk,

Speak purity all the while

And beauty when you talk

He told me be like a Candle,

The flip side of a sandal or

flip flops when it hits the dust

Knowledge merely a particle

as we promote trust

And expect nothing in return,

Each day passes we earn and learn

Don’t count your blessings..

Store them..

Be like a candle,

selfless like an anti-consumerist society,

Shelf-less

Don’t be restless, patience, control your mind

Hasten.

Rather than chasing 360 and get called dizzee

Be like a candle,

Noor in the darkness,

Sense amongst the senseless,

Like the only ethnic in the census

Direction for the headless

We’re Chickens on the coup,

Fear, as we wait for the military coo

Don’t be scared

Throw your shoe at a dictator. Mubarak

Give like a candle gives light,

Live the way your soul deserves to live

Be a freedom writer, free-writer, free runner

Keep your candle alight, don’t survive,

Fight from an unjust night to a blessed dawn

treasure time, the wick will waste away

As the drummer's kick will awake us one day

Dormant to suffering 

like a volcano lacking heat

conceit 

don't let the wax that moulds us

control us,

don't let hope melt

I repeat

we fly, not spiritually like Rumi

merely physically. over countries.

not hearts.

We have the potential to bring warmth to every human enveloped by darkness

Just like a candle.

The potential to bring a smile to those enveloped by pain

Just like a candle

The potential to conquer hearts which are enslaved

Just like a Candle

But eventually

Our light and warmth will turn to smoke and

Ascend to judgement

From tar filled smog to a beautiful incense

All depending on the intent

Before that unexpected, unknown end,

Simply, Be Like a Candle. 

By Mohamed-Zain Dada, poet and writer: www.times-series.co.uk/blogs/mohamed_zain_dada

Twitter: @Zainthepoet

VIDEO COMING SOON! 

Invasion

that long awaited disdain 
which exchanged jealousy for pride
and cast off the unfortunate
persuasion of an anger
discarding the age old tradition
of its foremothers in an attempt
to outdo its betters
had arrived.
the urgency of the current
emergency was lost on it.
purging the florid joy of which 
the atmosphere boasted
was its main priority.
interiority is not to be found
therefore in this speech here.
sensing its own inferiority
in its effort to terminate
the bliss and delight in its wake
condensing the serenity
and requesting for support
that long awaited disdain
retreated disturbed by 
the probable possibility
of a putrid checkmate stalemate.
soon joined by an
unmistakeable misfortune
who held a rather fair disposition
and equally followed by a
constipated fear
whose countenance was disrupted
disdain felt its own sense
of discerning pleasure
which was in essence
disgusted discontent.
at the front, the derobed, devested
truth soothes the Bestiality
of all sides
into submission.
fury runs around looking
for someone to blame.
problems, real problems were 
ignored. 
ignorance had prospered.
it was too late to turn back
the flow of despair
tranquillity runs around looking
for someone to blame.
once acclaimed, twice shamed
that long awaited disdain.





by Comfort Fabian Nwabia, a poet, playwright and actress and part of the youth poetry collective Words Apart.


VIDEO COMING SOON! 

The Power of Words

I took the words. I loaded them. Took aim and FIRED! but there was no sound. I cocked back my pen, fixed the jam, took aim again and fired! but again nothing happened.

The words that were once my private passport to another world seemed empty. 
I once commanded the verbs, the nouns, the adjectives, the adverbs like my own private army completely loyal to me and willing to be strategically manipulated at any time - day OR night. 
Able to strike fear into an enemy's heart and nourish the soul in the same poem and all that was needed in the middle...was a full stop.

What I thought flowed from the soul, through the heart, took a right at the brain and exploded from my right arm onto the paper.

I didn't write to topic or to please an examiner and I didnt care who liked it! I wrote for ME and if someone happened to like it then the more the merrier.

The ideas of rhyme, form, pentuplets, sonnets were nice but rather like being told to pick certain sweets at a pick and mix...the final taste just wouldn't be what I really wanted.

The concepts that wordsmiths had struggled to define in rigid formats for millennia came easily to me.

Love wasn't love. 
Love was a demonstration of compassion that held A beauty so unique that only the beholder could perceive it.

Hate wasn't hate. 
Hate was a manifestation of the souls response to its own misgivings - to the moments that felt like a lifetime of torment - to everything wrong in the world.

I was one. Heart, body, mind, soul and pen. 
My own musical instrument. 
My loudspeaker. 
My comfort and my real voice. 
The "like"s, "blad"s, "bruv"s and "fam"s of everyday life replaced by words of infinite majesty and terms of blinding greatness all wrapped in a sheet of A4.

And yet here I sit, words on the paper, life displayed in the ink and the death of my poetry seeming evermore fictional.



By
Eddie O'Garro-priddie - poet and part of the Words Apart collective! 

The Quest to Peace

This poem was inspired by a book called: Purification of the Heart translated by Hamza Yusuf.  The book is based on a poem called purification of the hearts translated from Arabic by Imam Mawlud from Mauritania in West Africa.  

'If you want to change the world, do not begin by rectifying the outward, instead, change the condition of the inward.'  Hamza Yusuf

The Quest to Peace

On a quest to peace,

Wearing a superficial fleece screaming: ‘free my people!’

But who are my people again?

I’m trying to change the world before I change myself

I’m trying to change the world before I change myself

How’s that gonna work?

I told science I’ve seen a black hole

Bigotry is contaminating the soul

Arrogance and ignorance going

Hand in hand forming something called an ego, ready to expand

Socially conditioned like moths hitting the same flame,

Rust on our minds like a broken bike chain.

The path to truth will get me that peace

Fire missiles with wordplay I’m acting in self-defence

No sense, your two cents is not appreciated Regev

Trying to maim verbally a political Rumi

Leaking like a WikiLeak or a spiritual Sufi

He Put a knife to my throat and said ‘gimme your inner gold.’    I said I just have a blackberry, and its not even the bold

Trying to steal my soul and hold my heart hostage

Trying to steal my soul and hold my heart hostage

Language spoken in the dialect of hate not love

crimes of war and humanity influenced by envy, anger and greed

as politicians plant the neo-colonialist seed

Tyrants say its for your own good

they say: War is peace and slavery is freedom

They say: there is truth behind the lies and lies behind the truth,

They say: Shallowness is in, Modesty is a sin
 and burqa bans are soooooooo 2010

Now days justice starts with a conjunction and its ‘in’

In ‘justice’ like a sickly cough tickling our throat, and the medicine is in our hearts.

Before I find my mirror I need to find myself

I’m trying to change myself before I change this world,

Im trying to change myself before I change this world.

 ..............................................................................................

 By Mohamed-Zain Dada - Poet and Writer: www.times-series.co.uk/blogs/mohamed_zain_dada

Twitter: @Zainthepoet http://twitter.com/#!/Zainthepoet

Yemisi Blake - Poet and Playwright on Words Apart!

'The Words Apart Collective is a brilliant example of how, with a little passion and a lot of effort, poetry can bring together young people to express and inspire others at the same time. Their achievements should be celebrated and supported to carry on succeeding'.


Yemisi Blake - co-organizer of Poetry International at the South Bank Centre, poet and playwright