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Author OMWA OMBARA is a prolific African Voice in Diaspora. Her resilience hardened verses send a rebellious jab to the cantankerous, unrepentant COVID 19 pandemic. She sings a bitter hymn against chair warmers and lazy hands -on- keyboard scribes, who thrive on abusing and harvesting the sweat of resilient writers and voices from digital thicket, without any ounce of their own effort. Her rebuking lines in her hefty protest poem IN HONOR OF PRESS FREEDOM DAY 2020, a Satire glow with hard truth and snorts in the remorseless faces of double-chinned charlatans and double bellied pseudo media bosses burying the pseudo revolutionary imbecility in borrowed political berets. The Protest Poet is not holding her horses, back she throws sharp jibe into the belly of COVID 19 and her irritating twin imbeciles daughter Quarantine and Lockdown.






I am an armchair journalist scouting Zuckerberg’s ever busy streets for free information

Feeding off the sweat of frontline journalists and eyewitnesses

Taking credit for those who risk their lives everyday in the COVID-19 war to bring the news home.

I am an armchair journalist, I work in pyjamas and bathroom slippers

I sip endless cups of coffee and hug my whiskey bottles against my protruding potbelly.

I am Media

Proclaiming freedom of speech to justify my waywardness

Scrounging for leftover news to analyze, interpret, criticize.

I steal pictures faster than they hit facebook

Downloading, cropping, filtering.

I switch my remote control 24/7 to keep up with the latest news channels

Give me forty winks and I’ll do the trick, I sleep with the pen and notebook on my lap for tips and balance.

I am the yellow journalist

Conveniently starved from the appetite of quoting sources

Too entitled to attribute websites and pages I have stolen from.

I am an armchair journalist

I celebrate press freedom today

Can’t you see my armchair is rugged from my tired butt?

I am the press,

I hold the power of the pen.

I ‘kill’people with rumors and post their photos before they truly die.

I do not use the share button

‘Copy paste’ and ‘stolen’is my Press Plagiarism Card

I am an armchair journalist begging politicians and fans for donations to buy bundles and pay for internet.

I have not been to any COVID-19 spotlight zone

I’m so afraid to die

And leave all the news behind

Let the other journalists with spine sweat it out in the hot seat.

I am the armchair journalist

Mocking journalists in jail, those murdered for speaking truth to power and asylees

Holding my large nose high in contempt

But I have thousands of likes and followers and I must feed my fans.

Don’t you know ‘image is everything’?









Tick tock tick tock

Multitude clocks chiming

Time’s not waiting

Two million bells and still counting

American forest alert sounding

Cowards, Brave rangers trembling

Elephants fighting

Fires excreting

Grass stop singing

Displaced ants cringing

Sun’s face hiding

Everything is -inging

Anthills shaking

Termites stinging

Elephants charging

Trumpets blowing

Giant feet thumping

Snakes coiling

A thousand fireflies dimming

What an -ing -ing -ing

Tortoise fleeing

Dust, blinding

Ostrich speeding

Eggs breaking

Monkeys swinging

Owls blinking

Sick bat bleeding

Ill wind swaying

Earth sinking

Helpless doctors watching

Mass graves loading

Masked undertakers smiling

Bottomless pit dining

Gluttonous womb breeding

Freed souls merging

Rich and poor uniting.

Cherubim and Seraphim bowing

Mystery doors closing

What an -ing -ing -ing

Till they find the vaccine

We’ll soon be -ing -ing -inging

Still, let’s not stop singing.

Ink pen flowing.





Those ploughing along the borders

Scratching through the barren land

Soaking the soils with sweaty armpits

Absorbing the cloudless sun’s rays

Have you seen the eagle?

The one with the powerful claws?

And swift wings?

He has stolen my young ones from the nest I built with tough twigs.

He picked my healthy chicks, locked them in cages.

He left behind the sickly ones.

To stray into detention camps.

Those digging the walls by the borders

Have you seen the noisy hawk.

Tell him my breasts hurt with milk

The babies hadn’t weaned

And an alien virus lurks in the fields.




                              MEET TIME OF THE POET REPUBLIC  eDitor

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Mbizo CHIRASHA the  Founder and Author of  the Time of the Poet. UNESCO-RILA Affliate Artist.  Featured Poetry Artist  at WorldBeyondWar.Org. Freedom of Speech Fellow to PEN- Zentrum  Deutschland,Germany. Alumni  of the International Human Rights  Arts Festival in New-York, USA.Literary Arts Activism Diplomatie.  Globaly Certified  Arts Mediums Curator and Influencer. Internationally Published Page and Spoken Word Poet. Writer in Residence.  Arts for Human Rights Catalyst.  Core Team Member of the Bezine Arts and Humanities Project. His illustrious poetry , hybrid writings , political commentary ,short fiction , book reviews  and Arts Features are published in more  than 400 spaces notably the Monk  Arts and Soul in  Magazine  in United Kingdom. Atunis in Belgium. Demer press poetry series in Netherlands. World Poetry Almanac in Mongolia.Poesia journal inSlovenia. Bezine Arts and Humanities Webzine in USA. The Poet a Day in Brooklyn ,USA. Litnet Writers Journal in South Africa. African Crayons in Nigeria. Poetry Bulawayo in Zimbabwe. Pulp-pit USA.the FictionalCafe international Journal , Texas USA

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TIME OF THE POET REPUBLIC -An Internet based Poetry Center,  Archiving Theme based Digital Poetry Anthologies and  Profiling Iconic Poets and Writers.

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