Oskilo's blog on decentralized web

THE NAMING OF THE SHREW Now that our parents put their prayers on our necks like grinding stone, what are we to do? Don't you see how they name us; wealth, praise, promise, god hears. How do we become amen? Because my body has

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Blockchain Poets6 days

The Dying Body Chronicles 28: The Graveside Monologue Soon death soon the river's endless thirst Bring waters of tongue the dialogue at the grave It can be rainfall or sweat spatter the undertaker's animated brow Give space so the empty identity behind naming

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proofofbrain12 days

Into the eye & more is there in the gunshot for silence The people pray short & shave the monochromatic grass a dark path There are two seated bodies but nothing is there— the sculptor is shelved from tools

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warpedpoetic69

The Ink Well13 days

Genesis After the genocide, after the noise had stopped, the machines began rebuilding the earth. It was not a difficult task to plant the trees, to irrigate the soil and grow the seeds that cleansed the earth’s

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warpedpoetic69

Blockchain Poets14 days

These diamonds have been broken There was joy our diamond body, not that we had shine; we thought we would never break. We lived forever the briefest flicker of moonlight settling our bed at night & we loved the sea's quiet rhythm

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warpedpoetic69

LeoFinance16 days

Blockchain development and Knowledge of cryptocurrency trading can be exclusive of each other.There are some growth in cryptocurrency that seem to have no impact on projects and systems launched on the blockchain space and it makes one wonder how long it would take before folks begin to connect

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The Ink Well19 days

A short look at how terrible power can be forged.There was this hunger for salvation, the arms holding me must have been baptism & sanctification. I cleaned my footsteps at the mouth of the door & it ate the dust from my toes. Pixabay I must

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Freewriters23 days

The Dying Body Chronicles 27: Bidding my time So he said; I'm deleting myself from people. I'm emptying my body of this life it's been carrying about. The weight's become too much to bear. I just want you to know I'm drawing my curtains & lowering

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Freewritersa month

A Dying Body Chronicles 26: what God has made Deep night wandering salesman enters the bodies of light the sky has brought the table there's journey their soulless eyes there's madness their pitted gaze he drinks nectar their dead skin the distant

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Freewritersa month

A Dying Body Chronicles 25: To become a god's spittle From the pantheon of African kings, from the blood of ancient Ogodomigodo, I arose, a twisted tree from that red mud, crowned myself with thorns, carried my cross & climbed the slumbering hills of

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Freewritersa month

And now I too must grieve In this quiet night, I must once again sit with grief. I must examine the slow untying of time, the vagaries of life. Like a reel, I must unspool the many yesterdays before me and capture the points, those

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The Ink Wella month

Wild imaginings A paper once penned many millennia before it fell into fire. There was famine & the fire was thirsty so it drank the paper until ashes coughed up its lungs. The ashes was given wings by the gods who

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Blockchain Poetsa month

The Dying Body Chronicles 24: Furnishings now empty of warmth How do you write your name in the language of grief? Do you put each letter between silent hyphens? Do you count the vowels for wailing & gnashing of teeth? How do you put the bones of your palms into

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Politicsa month

A speculative look at colour I will not say I'm colour blind though but I have never really being interested in how much subsets there are to colours. As a writer, that makes writing about a lot of things difficult I guess. Pixabay

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The Ink Well2 months

A Dying Body Chronicles 23: The Flood The tree crushed the foot of the house as it rushed by. The storm had ceased but the flood still flowed fiercely. The air was filled with insects frolicking with the dew rising like steam from the top

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Blockchain Poets2 months

The power of mother Show me mother's face where the rivers drag debris through forgotten cities. The country of her body is fought over even as her children wear her & forget her bleeding by the kerb; another victim,

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The Ink Well2 months

The Dying Body Chronicles 22: If walls could talk The house was one of the oldest in that street. It was built in the 80's and carried the artistry of that time in its roofing, windows, doors and even the gate that led into the compound. Though it is

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The Ink Well2 months

The Dying Body Chronicles 21: The hunt for mother Atari was swimming in the black sea. He was black so you could not tell where the sea began & where his arms ended. Maybe it was because it was night, maybe not. He was swimming against the waves,

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Writing Club2 months

Shadow walk with me Walk with me Shadow. Remind me of the night when the moon is brilliant. Hide my scars in your smooth eternal skin. Stretch me on the rack of time & smuggle my soul through the shrieking horde. I keep

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Freewriters2 months

The Dying Body Chronicles 20: The history of roads You see, these roads carry my journey in their scarred tarmac. It is afternoon where my journey begins. My feet eats the dust & cigarette smoke of other long distanced afternoons. I can almost taste

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