Browsing Category : Poetry

Two Poems by Liyou Libsekal


Into the Earth hands unfurled like asters blooming bold, they expose their center as though to say give what you will what you take I will shed onto the earth I try to keep, keep open to breathe like avid cells leaves crisp like endings should drop with ease from a stem and I want to be weightless, girl in…






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The Period in Puberty by Jumoke Verissimo


You want to know how it is with me brother after I saw the blood You want to know if my breast wears down my chest when I breathe, How the soft heaving settle to carry the burden of every of my sighs. You want to know if sometimes I feel like I could do better as you Subtracting me.…






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Farming, Tending by Bineh Ndefru


My grandmother wore the world Like she wore the same printed cloth around her waist Year after year. She carried it, ripe and sweet smelling Heavy, but steady upon her crown. She carried, both arms shaking But not to spill a drop of its waters. She tied it sleeping on her back. And again. Every time it cried out. She…






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Three Poems by Sarah O’Neal


عسل it’s petty, how i want you to taste copper when you remember me and everything that was you still crave my fingers—strong but timid, remember how i used them to carve myself absent promised to swallow whatever drowned me first until salt grew thick in my lungs burned through my nostrils like wildfire my aunt, ankles swollen with grief…






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the year i stop watching television by Saaro Umar


there is a black line under my fingernail i’ve started praying again i keep the same lover for five years he watches films with guns & white men he sits in an office chair always something occupying his hands i sit in the corner & ask myself how my day was in a dream i paint an impression of the…






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Undecided by Opeyemi Rasaq-Oyadiran


There is a trending picture on Instagram of father and daughter and their abundance of hair. Yesterday, my lover made it his screensaver. After we made love, he trailed his finger down my spine And said ‘our first child will be a girl, with long silky hair. On weekends I’ll braid her hair and she’ll say I’m a perfect dad’.…






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How to Heal Old Wounds by Lind Grant-Oyeye


I heard this house on our mangled street was bought in a hurry but it really does carry its weight and age well: A bird spread-eagled against paled clouds. Timeless Barbie in a modern world of plastics. This over-dressed garden could make for easy loving but the tips of fatigued flowers steal rest from those pretend fawning of lovers fighting.…






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Afghan Refugee by Rohan Chhetri


From her shoulder blade the background softens, where her scarf, once-draped over her head, vanishes into a green eel of silence. Something tells me this was hurried. Her running behind a gaggle of school girls she hasn’t learnt the names of yet- always the slow one-when she was beckoned. A land in its plea has spilled its mood of calamity…






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The Size of Grief by Lydia Kasese


My mother carries a bone on her back too heavy to latch on our sorrows. On most nights we can hear her crying loudly into her pillow, Her teeth biting on her tongue willing it not to come to life, And bring back all those it had lost. We watch her from a distance too afraid to say anything, That…






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(C) Writivism/CACE

Five Stations for Various by Richard Ali


I Flame Lines Lying there, I set fire to your bed Flame lines around you, curl heat of ink Watch you turn your torso, see in the mirror a bird Earth flown, goddess born, writhing, mazariyya—dragon bird! I come to your myths with lies of my own—these Dross of my story. You whispered in my ears once What impels herdsmen,…






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Portrait of My Mother as a Child by Jessica Marion Modi


As if she’s about to tell a secret from her childhood, or mine. Lips almost open, scrunched brow, suspicious of someone looking at her this way. Hanging from pointy shoulders, her dress preserves marks from her mother’s disciplined ironing, straight creases down to her dirty, white sneakers. She balances on the toe of one foot, heel of the other. Arms…






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what is the boy who drags his solitudes outdoors by Peter Akinlabi


(for yomi ogunsanya) what is the boy who drags his solitudes outdoors, setting up a garden in a skeined place, where he skims books in proximate images. he imagines, there, in a memory a little bit different, he might unlearn the swaddling language of early traumas, and walk the knotted shadows to light. in dreams, he often returns to pain…






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Emily As We Test the Mammals by Darren C. Demaree


If Emily is the bones & the muscles & the good synapses, then I must be the hesitation, the pose before the searching ends. I must be what makes us more & less than the others.     Darren C. Demaree is the author of five poetry collections, most recently “The Nineteen Steps Between Us” (2016, After the Pause Press).…






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Via Casa by Robert Gibbons


Think of the long trip home—Elizabeth Bishop I came a long way to get to Harlem, From grandma’s chuck of Indian corn, born Of the sugar ditch, the pitch at midnight Alligators and panthers with eyes of the soul. Was told of the many that died from arthritis and Diabetes, the dialysis of peonage, born of migrant Hands, aluminum pans…






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Giving Head by Kechi Nomu


Overnight this world becomes full of smiling people and I take you by hand to a room because it means nothing and because at some point you’ll hear me say this in a dream: I have been sore for days, years between trying to repeat a 90s love song for mood and conjuring a decade with its sea of hearts…






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Just Another Moonless Night by Rachel Heimowitz


Chugging for home to the boat-engine’s dying cough and sputter, five of us alone together, in the deepest part of a moonless night, 18° North of the equator, under a Milky Way so thick you could pour it into a glass. My father, his loud, black shadow haloed against the night, ranting at the stars: his shitty boat, shitty life,…






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The Moveable Feast of Richard Rive by Abigail George


Teacher, artist. Profound healer Skin like ochre. I found his book amongst my father’s things and fell in love with it almost immediately. I only knew that kind of love with Hemingway and Rilke. You Rive, this part of the world’s son was amongst those days’ intelligentsia. I wondered what he was like as a youth. What America was like.…






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River by Adeeko Ibukun


Gowns of dews laced the dawn. An angel descends the hour stairs on the wind raising the skirting, new veils, floating, guttation beads on the spine indict and then adorn. Morning breathes and you think a woman is spreading her satin on her arm and offers a body. This is what I want to own and you love, pouring in…






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Thirty-Nine Ways to Screw Up by Lois Roma-Deeley


Stick my finger in the coffee grinder while it’s still plugged in. Ask my self this question: What was I doing with this guy/that woman/those people? Hate myself for being stupid. Hate myself for ever being young. Believe someone else is living life better than I ever could. Leave my glasses at home. Go back for them. Drop them in…






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In the Distance by Glen Wilson


After GyulaSzabó …is a house, part of the horizon, but interloper, the planned display of tree corpses as sculpture, as shelter. The walls are stained to slow decay, the rings on wood split and widen unable to spawn offspring they need to tell how full they are of story, history. We have not made straight lines or brought order to…






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