League Day 5, Round 1 – LOW18


Welcome to the first round of league Day 5.

League Of Wordsmiths is an initiative of Whyke Anthology which began last year. Serving as a means of promoting poetry, story writing…and art as a whole, across Africa, whilst also serving as an aid for young, budding, aspiring…writers in the African diaspora.

This round is for the poetry category, and would see Faleke Oluwatoyin, Oni Tomiwa, & Yusuf Halima slugging things out for the prize.

Theme For This Round is: Missing Missiles, Missing Minds


1) Judges Decision takes 80% of the total decision, while votes recorded from voters takes 20% of the total decision.

2) Under no circumstance should you guess the owner of the individual stories.

3) Voting lasts for 24hours.

4) Only Votes recorded in the comment section of this post remains valid.

5) Vote using “I Vote Poem 1”, or “I Vote Poem 2” or “I Vote Poem 3”…

6) A voter is allowed to vote maximum of 2 stories out of the 3 contesting stories.

7) The contestants are urged to invite friends to vote for them. No rule exempts you from canvassing for votes.

Let The Game Begin!… May the best story win.

Poem 1

Missing Missiles, Missing Minds

World War 3 started in Baba Tope’s house
Wife 1 against wife 3,
Child 6 against child 8,
The war almost never ends.
There was no chill pill left in the medicine cabinet.
The last one had been swallowed by wife 2 when wife 4 walked in,
Swallowed with a cup of bitterleaf juice.

You would think the presence of Baba Tope on the day missiles are thrown, would make a difference.
But Baba Tope just sits.
He sits as the stool thrown by wife 1 misses wife 4 and lands in with a loud bang.
He sits as child 10 cries his eyes out as his mother exchanges words with wife 2
He sits and sits still
Because like the missiles that miss their target,
His mind was missing.

Poem 2


You could smell the gunpowder,
You could feel the dew
Boiling on your skin.
Until a missile went missing
You have heard them say
The riffle is harmless,
But the hand that pulls the trigger.

These sounds tell you
That Armageddon is here.

This time, fate boxes you
To a corner and you couldn’t
Deduce which is more unfortunate
Between the casualties of these wars
And the engravement of chaos on green souls.

But this world is a circus,
This world is no home.
Maybe that’s why even under the sunshine,
Everyone hides their heads.

Poem 3


I woke up feeling like I just ended a relay
And glanced at my husband, he was in dismay
The whole hospital stenched of sorrow
And my last image was of me in a wheel barrow.

Where is my baby? My eyes questioned every soul I saw
But the numbness of my mouth left them unsaid
I saw water form tears drop down to hubby’s jaw
A lady in white told me my baby was dead.

Maybe I don’t deserve to live, or doctors don’t deserve death
We both can’t live because one must leave.
I prayed to God to make my enemies cry,
Maybe I am my own enemy.



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