Showing posts from April, 2016

#NaijaPhotoWalk’ – Please Support This Young Nigerian’s Photography Journey

One of the reasons many Nigerian youths remain unemployed/stagnated for very long, despite accumulating degrees (aside the fact that there are few jobs), is that they are blinded by the assumption that a degree = to employment.  Another is the notion that nothing else is worth pursuing once you have secured a degree. So they wait and wait and wait for jobs that are either not there or they are not qualified for. All is futile. There are however a few youths who realize early enough, that some opportunities are more than degrees, that inside (or around) them are ‘ developable’ skills that are more profitable and satisfying than degree-based jobs. These people do fine for themselves. One of them is Emebiriodo Peterson Ugochukwu Hitch, a graduate who studied English Language and Literature at University of Port Harcourt.  Emebiriodo Ugochukwu Ugochukwu, Street Photographer He is presently a Literary Reporter at Poets in Nigeria (maybe not a paying job) and, more i


                   i am a wanderer          walking Life’s streets      i season my word-gruel with the salt of mortality i am a painter slapping paint on the canvas of hearts see my palette of words!                      i am a poet               what can i offer        but my beady words strung on the rope of time?


your body keeps secrets and my fingers can unravel them… let my fingers map out your pleasure paths and undam the many rivers veining your undulating frame let them knead your nippled doughs till they succumb to my heat and sweat out droplets of milk let the cleft-in-the-mound feel the kiss of gentle fingers ploughing in time with the tempo of your heartbeat and gyrating waist let my fingers in-plore deep inside moist inside to ignite your forgotten fuse that you may in-plode into bliss …these fingers know secrets your body hides inside of inside but someone else knows even more the nodding midget between two giants


he was wearing a mask when he walked up to her like one drunk on Cupid’s wine ‘twas a cute mask, so she said, “yes”… and Juliet fell for Iago in Romeo’s mask! she wore her best mask the day she first smiled at him when he brought wine and kolanut and when he kissed her before the pastor… brother Romeo thought her his own Miranda! but time wilted the masks off their faces like snakeskin as each new day usurped the last… alas! Juliet relived Desdemona’s fate and Romeo’s Miranda became Miss Goneril!


poetry is not a flower it is a garden in bloom bloody orchid, saintly daisy and the Devil’s black Rose poetry is not a garden it is the Earth, her people fighting, loving birthing and dying poetry is not the Earth it is our universe gravity and space you and me


look to no one for a reason to be happy for the recipe of your happiness needs ingredients only you possess cultivate the gardens in your heart it has herbs for a ‘happy stew’ you can make you happy look unto no one!