Words Rhymes & Rhythm

FACEBOOK, WRITING AND PLAGIARISM (by Sir Eriata Oribabhor)

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Facebook, Writiing And Plagiarism
www.facebook.com/Authorpedia [Facebook, Writing And Plagiarism]
Facebook means different things to different people. There’s no doubt that millions of young/budding writers are honing their writing skills on this platform. Some are lucky to have friends offering counselling/editing services to them free of charge.

For this category of people, Facebook is a pleasant opportunity to further their capacity to craft powerful lines and possibly make a career in writing.

For me as a Poet who started writing poetry in Naija langwej, most of my poems written in English language, were first posted here to test the waters. I am a ”big learner” whose relationship with the younger friends is helping me to rediscover my glorious past in literary matters.

For the benefit of my friends who may not know what plagiarism is all about, let me advice that it is the use of another person’s work without crediting him/her.

Therefore, to plagiarize the work of another and make it look like yours is bad and punishable.
Plagiarism is a serious offence in literary and academic circle (Facebook inclusive).

Once the owner of any original work can prove the authenticity of his/her work, the one who plagiarized it will pay direly for that action.
Few days back, a young girl posted one of my poems on her page. Apparently, she loved it. She should have simply credited me.
I take it that, she was ignorant of what she did. I drew her attention. She accepted it was my poem and apologized. I accepted.

WARNING: Please run away from plagiarism; it is a ”SIN.”

Below is the poem: Your comments

HEARTLESS HANDS
I speak to my inner,
Start my deep and senses,
Eyes open to sit-walking hands,
Making moves in mucky tail spins.

Awake, I stay…in
Wild search for reasons,
Of seasons of rolling infliction.
All night, they go cutting incisions.

Not a season for back-slapping.
No lines to please whip hands,
Only whips to stir the senses,
No reasons for fruitless seasons.

I speak to hands that fondle,
Every puddle for wad bundle,
Building quicksand of Joy,
Wasting, maiming, killing joys.

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