Browsing Category : Poetry

Two Poems by Pamilerin Jacobs


verdigris bones frail, light as a thread every time i cough a vein snaps, organs splinter. call me a catacomb, i hold death in my mouth like an oath. to kiss you, is to suck out your soul as marrow from bone. skip with me, this existence of half-eaten breaths. pry open your ribs with a crowbar when you see…

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Nursery Rhymes by Ann Christine Tabaka


Nursery Rhymes   A childhood full of nursery rhymes, as violent as her past.   Restless sleep with monsters under her bed.   Nightmares fill her days, as memories creep back in.   Now morbid, unreal images wake her in the night.   Her heart races wildly, as sweat pours from her brow.   Forgive, she has done, forget as…

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Two Poems by Echezonachukwu Nduka


INSIGNIA (for Christopher Okigbo) The first is Okigbo’s pipe. His puffs were verses and songs rendered con spirito.   Idoto’s son dropped his pen, closed the piano, and picked a gun.   At Opi, bullets cut short a poet’s verse, leaving his pipe and pages as witnesses.   Spilt bloods are death’s signposts but a dead poet’s blood is history…

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When the wind was heavy on the borderline by Chisom Okafor


after Yusef Komunyakaa The voice that comes with the winds at nightfall is a refuge seeker’s, dying inside my head. His socks; two burning cities, rise like carbonsmoke. The wind undressing him, is best served cold best unveiled in the space between full-light and sundown. Beyond closed eyes, he sees the world again a drift of bodies; an elegy to…

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Two Poems by Olabisi Abiodun Akinwale


BOYS ON DUSTY ROADS   Here is a rose for their absence – boys chiseling God’s eyes to look like him – boys running in circles, after their reflections – boys cuddling their dreams on cold nights under the bridge   The radio said a boy dissolved in his mother’s eyes, following the footprints of the wind Same path his…

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All the Lights Going Out by Gbenga Adeoba


All The Little Lights Going Out after Warsan Shire Between the losses, I too, eyes for the little lights going out, have come to this fold of love to know you, beyond being Alan, evacuee, scion of Kurdi, a lost song shrinking the heart at each retelling. Before home became the mouth of a shark, you would go with him…

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The Journey of Man by Ola W Halim


  in the morning, man is a cocoyam shoot, life is served in dews and golden horizons; mists would wear hues which would get darker, drier, as midday draws in, suckles sunflowers to wilt, renders the field rust, a tawny tabletop rattling under soles   several bouts of reality sprout at midday, when harmattan winds wind nature into a hovering…

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