Browsing category: POETRY

I am a woman now: Jennifer Dafwat

Yesterday I played among the boys and girls I took off my wrapper and held out my chest I invited one of my mates to see the colour of my dirty panties. Today mother says I can't do the same Her and  me are under the same attack Today's stigma came with a flow A stench lingering long after the boys have gone to rest. Mama said I'm a woman now I must learn to cover my treasures She said she was sorry The used cloth is all she can afford To help me drain this blood Flowing incessantly from my opening As for father

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PALESTINIAN CHILD: Precious Oboh

I never saw a rose bloom Never had a garden of lilies But all we had is a garden of landmines. When was the last time I saw a blue sky? There is always a rising smoke With a smell of burnt flesh that assail my nostrils A waste land of ruptured limbs, Parched eyes too dry to cry "Be careful where you do a moon walk bro, the grave is half full" The little boy told me. (C) Precious Oboh Precious Oboh is a passionate Nigerian creative writer. He has worked to poise himself to win the hearts of many with his poetry and

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Motherland: Taiwo Lydia

The land that bore us Is now against us. The home that is ours Has thrown us to the wolves. Stifling our breathe, Our Motherland says we will be fine The fathers of the land Stand akimbo,as our light is doused When we are gone And our life force is out When dreams are dead Murdered by the hopelessness injected Our Motherland will rise, Soaring among peers. She will instruct other mothers Forgetting she killed us. (C) Taiwo Lydia Taiwo Lydia is a Nigerian poet studying Medicine at the American University of St

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Letter to Hurricane-Matthew: Elemide Benjamin Odunayo

Memories were written into dreams in the sleeping eyes of Haiti, of Mexico, of Jamaica... ...by you. When I see through the lens of roaring wind under the scope of watery confusion, I know it is you, Matthew, a breath that stiffens the necks of men... Are men not dust? You incited dust to rebel against sky, wrote your name on Caribbean sand with warning fingers leaving us to ponder on mysteries that pirouetted through space and time. Like Abiku, you are an un-dying death that mocks human innocence with

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Baami: Tonye Willie-Pepple

Baami, when this chunk and that shall cease to fill this your royal bowl,what will I eat? When this plate is pushed down by your evening cloth to become a broken China ware, with what shall I dish? Tied here as a majestic cock in this fortress of your pride,how shall I feast this cult who applauds even your fart? From where will I  get the gin to pour in the glass piped down to your yonder throat like you do grandpa? Baami, allow me  learn where the mouth of the canon is, if you do not want your cult to see

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When sorrow sings: AP

This lacerating maps on the soles of my feet needs no compass, It knows no friend but foe. My leather bed will sing their ode and chant testimonies of their incising deftness so old. I know the road they trail grazing on barren lands so frail. This grumbling beast in my stomach knows nothing foreign, But the feasting worms in it, It churns its life Vomits it, and swallows again. I hear its rumblings I know the cacophony of its mumblings But like it, I'm not deaf to its rants I feel it too. Yet this

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Marriage of convenience: Ojo Taiye

Abeni, Different strokes for different folks: Difficulties abound for a lonely Ori. Abeni, Let’s agree we will have no hope. Let’s agree we will have no seed. Abeni, Let my fingers strike your thorn with a Cupid’s dart. Abeni, Let’s just be companions, Let’s interlock hands and mouths and dip into each others underwear. Abeni, Life is sweeter with a companion of the heart. *ori: soul *Abeni: a mature barren woman who refuses to marry again

Ojo Taiye is a young Nigerian who uses poetry

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ESTRANGED: Farida Adamu

The woman in me has journeyed to oblivion So I am wandering in the torrent, Flowing without a course Searching, Looking, Staring into the bark of trees Hoping that I find her On this dusty path that leads to nowhere. I want to fade away with the setting sun But hope won’t let me Maybe I will find her before the sun goes into hiding Maybe I’ll see her in the shadow of branches Maybe on the hills Or maybe she is somewhere, Deep within Waiting for death Waiting for sunrise. <br

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We are COAL

COAL’s mission is to support and provide opportunities for budding writers in Africa to develop their creative independent voices and to explore careers in professional writing. To help creative writers and spoken word artists realise their literary dreams by providing platforms for their self expression. .........

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