September & October 2019
Vol IV No V
Not your ordinary poetry magazine!
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Published bi-monthly
African Poetry with editor Vera Ignatowitsch
green is green
green is green
be it lush as the grazings of Nigeria
dark as the envy
in the bladders of our ‘leaders’
cool as the essence of grape
plummy as fresh green apples
or unripe as the inedible fruits
our blind, naive followership bears
green is green
on postcards or placards, or voters’ cards
on flags and banners and posters
on charts and television or news headlines
on rigged result sheets or jigged growth rates
but white is white, too
—free of stain and grime and dust
free of speck or grease and rust
be it the flowing gowns of politicians’ wives
or the conscience they lack
or garments of African leaders in AU summits
who pawn their people’s green destinies
and siphon their wealth into white lands
white is white
the colour of parliament buildings that does nothing
about the dozen colours in white UN refugee camps;
white faces, red sores, black hunger, brown leaves
or the white chalkboards in dilapidated classrooms
or blank spaces on greased farmers’ blank checks.
First published in Tuck Magazine.
​
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, and www.fb.com/semmanuelogboh.
Dissatisfaction
Strange how things have changed
I watch politicians like poppy puppets dangling on strings
spending more time on television screens
On what day will the country be fixed?
yes, we need debates but we also need action
I voted for these men and women
who have somehow rejected my right to freedom
Gone are the days of good governance
on the ground we have bony cheeks and bloated stomachs
I am one of you but you have forsaken me
passing my potholed street in luxurious cars flashing blue sirens
So what can really surprise me more?
You have failed to undertake your duties in office
then allow me to drop a rabbit out of a hat
I solemnly declare we’ll fire your ignorant asses
One Day We Will Know Why
Maybe not in this lifetime
Probably in the near future
One day we will know why
We existed on an earth like this
That orbits in unseen air
Toward and away from the sun
Dancing to our rhythm
Maybe not in this lifetime
Probably in the near future
One day we will know why
We have two hands and feet
And one glorious good head
That works like A, B, C with ease
Although we screw it all up
In the depths of our denial
Maybe not in this lifetime
Probably in the near future
One day we will know why
We exist in variety as humanity
Could it have been a test?
That we failed to see all along
How we are no different
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.
Womanhood
O womanhood
The mother of manhood
And father of brotherhood
Your strength is enormous
And your breath, courteous.
O womanhood
The warming firewood
That gathers the neighbourhood,
O womanhood
The palatable food
That sustains livelihood.
We appreciate you
We love you
We admire you
We salute you,
O womanhood
The diamond garden
Of diamond roses.
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.
Garment in the Dust
Pauper puffy sniffy stinky
Dirty dusty browny tattered garment
Contour of ribs drawn snaky
Visibly and countably undoubtedly
Telling tales of myth
Tales of fate or faith
Dwelling under holey rusty leaking roof
Wandering headlong when cloudy.
His cud lonely and silent
A dried bitter sauce and a loaf
As he caresses his one-eyed black cat.
They warm up beside a smoldering fire
The moon watches as the stars flick
Colouring void and hope combined
Black painted lamp flickering
On the old sapele table
Effortlessly kindling tomorrow
As a false hope.
As he lies on the hard raffia mat
His one-eyed cat accompanying him
He dumbly slumbers in nightly darkness
And sleeps forever
The crowd of condolences
Weaves a wreath of myth
On his muddy and dusty tomb
Where the one-eyed black cat waits on.
Francis Ocran is a poet from Accra, Ghana. He has over 50 poems published on his personal blog www.francispoems.blogspot.com. He loves writing poems and everything about arts.
