November & December 2019
Vol IV No VI
Not your ordinary poetry magazine!
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Published bi-monthly
African Poetry with editor Vera Ignatowitsch
I Am a Replica of Dad
When I accidentally broke
A neighbor’s glass window
While playing football
Dad, infuriated, insisted I pawn my shoes
And pay for a new glass.
Today, he caught me holding Nneka’s hair
And screwing her from the back.
He simply stood at the door, deadpan,
Watching me dress up, sweating, in shame.
She sobbed — a mixture of humiliation and relief.
He stood till she got dressed and left
Then he stepped in and sat on the bed
And talked as if I had barely switched the TV channel
Calmly telling me
He had caught me watching porn, several times
And how it demoralizes sex
Depicting and degrading women as objects.
“Sex is for men” he said
“Not boys who draw their partner’s hair
And turn, deaf to their protests,
Not boys who are not ready for responsibilities.”
Mom came an hour later
And told me how much
A replica of Dad I was,
But she also reminded me
How right he was, too.
​
​
From the Diary of a Tired Woman
the pop of my gum
sliced through the misty silence
blasting in the room
& rings of smoke from his cigarette
sailed into the laundrette
where a blood stain hides
under starched, unironed shirts
i roll the gum into a ball
i am the one who is hurting —
yet, whose apology he awaits
i throw the gum out through the window
but it is like a part of me
now takes the projectile’s path
down into the empty swimming pool
enough!
enough of this.
​
Emmanuel Stephen Ogboh is a young Nigerian poet. He started writing poetry—his observations and experiences—four years ago and has been published in several literary magazines. He can be
found at https://medium.com/@Stephenecdotes
Accountability
Accountability is a calabash painting
not on the wall but in the field of the mind
guilt spreads like gossip when you are alone
the hand is forever a figure restless
to snatch idly what does not belong to it
Somewhere in the mist of June,
my bank account was on a serious diet
how unfortunate it is, to never be remembered
when the chunky chips are down,
but they never forget you when you fill their cup
Now left in this hour of self-loathing and doubt
chances are high it was my own doing
you can ski on ice for a little while longer
either way the meltdown will follow you afterwards;
rather have it equal than to have it lethal
Accountability is a calabash painting
not on the wall but in the field of the mind
we have a choice to cleanse our dirty laundry
which is our old wicked looming thoughts
or else spiral down the masked gallows of hell
​
Lazola Pambo is a South African poet, novelist, and essayist, with work published in acclaimed literary journals such as The Criterion, Sentinel Literary Quarterly, BlazeVOX, and Gemini Magazine. He holds a BA in Creative Writing from the University of South Africa.
The Gut of Africa
Inside the gut of Africa
All I can see these days is war
Too many strange minds, no love
Bodies painted with strange blood
The temper of jealousy for our fellow blacks
Is tearing the future apart
The children of peace are drunk with hatred
I see the wounds of the next generation
Wounds that cannot be cured
Wounds that will linger to pass through bloodlines
Staining the thoughts of the young
Africans are erasing their own lives
Like fire eating up dry leaves
Many times this continent has raped itself
In broad daylight and through the night
Tell me what is right
A palace built by God is now the devil’s rest room
And the world is keeping silent
While all are being silenced
So much disunity and apathy
Participating to burn Africa
If the parents of this home cannot control their anger
Their children will forever be on fire
Ibrahim Sorie Bangura aka Cleffy, is a Sierra Leonean poet and musician who has published in several online journals and in Written Off, an anthology available on Amazon. He recently completed a poetry project supported by the Prince Claus Fund.
Dear Democracy
The more agendas you unleash
The more I feel finished,
The more your orders proceed
The more I see greed,
The more your troops advance
The more frightened I become,
Dear democracy
I hope you are not a tyrant.
Severally, you have failed me
Times without number, you tricked me
Countlessly, you pranked me
Numerous moments, you blew me
Dear democracy
I hope you are not a sadist.
No oneness, no orderliness
No clarity, no unity
No equity nor equality
No justice but malice
Prejudice even to the novice
No integration, but migration
No solution, but segregation
No harmonization, but discrimination
Only cabal too fatal
Dear democracy
I hope you are not a killer
I pray you are not a terrorist
I believe you are not a racist
And may you not be a tribalist.
Ngozi Olivia Osuoha is a Nigerian poet/writer who has published over one hundred and twenty poems. Her first two poetry books, The Transformation Train and Letter To My Unborn, were published in Kenya and Canada respectively are available on Amazon.
For I have had enough today
I have been dreaming of you, soxna*
Have been washed away, because of you, just like seashells
On the riverbank, lifeless and colourless
Not only long but frosty feelings of our shared dreams
Butterflying in and around my skin
I have voyaged, and blindly too, but willingly
Between the shores of the rivers Gambia and Niger
You are in me, and I have you in my thoughts
With this endless dream butterflying inside my stomach
And my eyes become a dreamless gelatin
Soxna*,
I have come back to you, with this epic of dreams,
Luxuriating in your slippery arms
Without my regalia, a stranger on the smiling coast, songless
As thought of you has brought forth feelings in me
And words, the words of a poet imprisoned in huge silence
These words in my heart restless against cold marble
Are still erupting lucid and imaginative
Words of myths, of love and dreams; and of
River Gambia kissing my river Niger
I smile
I close my eyes, seeing
You as a blackbird perching on my window, beautiful
It’s you, flowing with the waves
Oh my blackbird
There is no I
Without the you
For your image, beyond my touch, is just like a vapour
Cycling round and round in the wild wind
I wake up this midafternoon, and
The Niger calls again
With a stronger call this time around
I must leave, and I shall be lonely
Haunted by vapoured days of you
And the strong striking dreams of holding you
Fly away
Oh flow away and away river Gambia
For I have had enough today
*Soxna in Wolof means wife, woman, or lady.
Obinna Chilekezi is an insurance practitioner trained as a librarian and journalist. He has had a book published. His poems have been published in anthologies such as New Nigerian Voice and Young West African Poetry. He won the African Insurance Organisation Book Award in 2016.
