I Found a Poem In Old Newspaper Clippings
[Copyrighted, B. James]
I grew up with forbidden words-
Sex, kisses, boyfriends
could not leave my mouth.
Mum spoke in tongues
Dad was a lay preacher.
Let me learn to say foreign words-
Santo Domingo, roll them out like cigars.
Let me say banned words -
(insert one), H*tler, in your ears under the quilt.
Hold your body, pass into you
inhabit you as an endoparasite:
a MeYou. Say things to make you blush
in the ‘soir’, whisper French, red-lettered syllables.
Appear on front page newspaper in Austria
without a care in the world.
Se defendra
'Woman Lets Her Parents Down'. Shout
expletives at the bedroom wall
and re-live in you – a born-again lover.
A poem by Eniola Olufemi from Nigeria. Also available on Medium. Republished with Poet's consent.
I Saw a star slide down the sky,
Blinding the north as it went by.
Sara Teasdale
If dreams were stars
They would be gases of light
Arms length from the universe
They would die like falling stars
Whose spark was never found
And whose twinkle was never valued
If fallen angels had dreams,
They would fall like Icarus
Who painted the sky his tears
And the sea his blood
They would fall
With the flaming passion of a dying star
If desires were seeds
We would plant them into a tree
Forbidden to all who might trespass
The fruit would become dreams
Dreams we claim to be forbidden but still blinks to all in the vast sky
Midnight Train
A poem by Eniola Olufemi from Nigeria.
I've heard of crossing the bar
and visions of being on the wrong side of the grass
The reaper sharpens its scythe
ready to catch souls who float up with daisies
I've thought of a one way ticket
that takes you across the rainbow bridge
Grey heads with coins in their eyes
take turns on their path to eternal freedom
Young bloods who were caught up
too early think its a path to the wasteland
They wear wooden kimonos
and yet so light to float across a tunnel
Have you ever wondered how
light flashes on and off before your eyes
You're certainly not Jackson,
but you do the moonwalk back and forth
They say death is a path to life
For me, death is beauty, It's change, it's freedom
Dear past
By Shamim Mponda
I have weeded all the burdens
that you watered in my precious heart.
I have chosen to instill peace and prettify my mind
with wise and wondrous thoughts.
All the secrets that were drowning my brilliant soul, I have let go.
I am a free and destined being.
BY Falade Funmilola
FLIGHT
Silent wings outstretched
Soaring through the vast expanse
Leaving earthly bounds behind
Embracing the unknown
In the realm of the sky
Freedom's pure essence unfolds
Unfettered by gravity's chains
The spirit takes its rightful place
With each beat, the heart rises
In tandem with the wings' gentle caress
The world below, a fading memory
As the horizon stretches, endless and wide
In this weightless, timeless space
The soul finds its true home
Where the wind whispers secrets
And the sun shines bright with an eternal glow
Silent wings slice through the air
As the earth below grows smaller
A soaring escape from gravity's chains
Freedom's pure essence unfolding
In the realm of the sky, worries dissolve
Like wisps of cloud, they disappear
The world's vastness stretches out before us
A canvas of endless possibility.
With each beat, the engines pulse strong
Lifting us higher, beyond fear
Through veils of cloud, the sun shines bright
Illuminating the path ahead
In this weightless, timeless space
As the plane banks and turns
The earth's curvature reveals itself
A breathtaking arc of blue and green
A reminder of our place in the universe
Flight is transcendence
A journey within and without
A soaring exploration of the self
And the boundless expanse of human potential
*
We'll breathe from
the nature vase, and
Soar our voices like
the echoing wind tripling
With strength.
*
We'll defy the odds, as
We've done before
In all our thoughts
paddled through
by our inner fright
Of reality's big show.
*
The time has come
to make our mark,
And show the world
what we're made of,
in the dark.
“I'll rise"
By Micheal Bello from Nigeria.
Let the morrow browse
and crow like a roaster,
with the Chief holding a
pen of happiness in her brow.
For the sky is clear,
and the pot is covered.
*
I'll rise like steam,
in defiance of thunder.
Like an only dear son to
a family of none.
*
I'll be a radio with
listeners held tight.
Our legacy will shine
bright, like the memory
of Biko, loomed together
on the fabrics of our heart.
*
What if we all
rise together,
to create a sky of
Hope, where no
one is left behind?
*
Like the morrow
grace upon the
neck of everyday,
Our story can be
a pouch that covers
Yesterday's shame.
*
In the darkest night,
our spirit will rise,
In defiance of hate
and spite.
*
We'll climb higher, to
our throne of authority
Without hiding from
the clouds that rumble.
For the sake of hope,
we'll not be cowed,
Our story will be one
of glory, not futility.
*
And so, let the sun rise,
let the sky clear,
We will stand tall, with
nothing to fear.
*
This is our time,
our destiny,
To shine like stars,
for all to see.
To foam and glow
Like the white of a soap
In a spa of the bereaved
Where souls find respite.
*
A gas is a trial to rise.
A tap is a force that
pushes.
Rising spirit emerge
from a heart tabernacle.
Let's rewrite the story so
that the awakened fright
will sleep a death slumber.
{Written by Micheal Bello, from Nigeria.}
A
little girl
borrows a library
book, dozes off reading
the story. Characters whisk her
off into an ocean of imagination the
instant she flips its pages.
A
line draws
her further in into the sea-world
of make-believe. Images popping up
in her head, through her mind’s eye.
The
breath exhaling
from her nostrils transports
her to a fluid universe of magical
twists and turns, never ending possibilities.
She
dives into
the plot staying immersed in the tale,
wakes up, returns the book minus its
covers to bind the pages of her dreams
into a delightful real life narrative.
Please visit Bridgette's Writing School, Facebook for interviews with contemporary African writers and book club episodes featuring their publications.
Poetry by B. James
Aged ten I imagined being dead
was like entering a bubble of life
still alive, invincible, reincarnated
in god’s paradise, pampered by angels
I opened my eyes still breathing
in lofty aspirations of growing up
getting married, having children,
growing old but ripe with eternal life
I would outlive the dust I kicked up
the raging storms battering our house
the dust has settled as I grew older
weathered by tempestuous storms
bursting my bubble- if the days of a woman are three score and ten
the aged ten was when I last lived.
The war
--------
By Ibrahim A. Kamara
[From What the Seashell Said to Me}
It came
at the height of our despair
raged on till every home got a taste of death.
It was hell and seemed not to end. Even the land robbed
of its peace. We lost on every front. Forgot we were one,
from a land of gold to sowing seeds of greed.
War: brought us to our knees
Nuture Seeds- B. James
The man on the internet swung a pendulum at me.
I was online shopping for nude tights.
He wrote, “Clasp it with both hands, press it close to your chest, wear it like a second skin.”
My sister was crouched underneath an Orange tree, clutching pips in her hands, muttering secrets. “Look, I found two heart-shaped ones- I’d be lucky in love and fly to England.”
In my mother-tongue they say where you plant an Orange tree there it will sprout fruits. The wayward breeze blew her wishes erstwhile like the woman’s on the TV saying, she found a man twenty-six years her junior on Tinder.
I replied, “Life begins at forty.” Daredevils are those who through caution to the wind. The subtitles bring me back - a boomerang: Woman’s Nubian Lover Was a Scammer.
I log off, scribble a wish on a post-it note, “To nurture my sister’s pips, I want to fly back to Africa.”
The day I became a mermaid
I shouldn’t have gone to my aunt’s birthday party in 1999, dressed as a mermaid,
but I did, emerging half-woman, half-fish, a mystical creature from our
twenty-third floor flat in the high-riser.
My sister heaving like a whale, shoving me from behind through tight crevices then into the narrow lift. “Trust you to be conspicuous.” She moaned, neighbours stared and pointed.
“I was hiding in plain sight,” I explained. I was hiding beneath an air of mystic, my eyes protruding from gaping holes on my amphibian face, on the look-out for fishing nets.
My torso and legs scaled up, safe from wolf-whistles. No guys cat-called me on the underground, a male remarked, “It smelled fishy in the tunnel.”
In the hall, guests politely nodded at my sister avoiding the conspicuous cluster tagging behind her- me.
I was the only one in fancy dress, other females came as social constructs, glittered up to the nines in sequins. My costume had lacklustre pearls decorating a humongous fish head. Worn with pride, they came from the sea of problems overcame.
Fully clothed in attire, I still splashed, wriggled through chairs, tables, dancers, cumbersome obstacles, unnoticed.
I now adorn that costume when faced with awkward scenarios. Charming humans with an aura of false pretence to hide the real introvert.
The lady that I met at the sweets shop
{By Bridgette James}
was buying exotic sweets wrapped in blue and yellow polypropylene.
handpicking colours carefully. Ticking off her shopping list
like a painter tasked with creating a masterpiece, scanning the small print
to avoid mixing her shades with other similar pigments.
In her shopping trolley she kept stacking memories of a childhood when she strolled the aisles of life back home in Kyiv, arm entangled in her mother’s,
before the blasts were heard.
“A taste to bring back the sweetness of youth. Hold on to the pleasures of the aftertaste of peace.”
She mutters to me, trusting me with a guarded secret.
Eureka! I instinctively re-read the labels on her delicacies in English.
Peace is a candy. Cherish its sweetness.
I scooped up a handful of pick and mixes
to suck on, in my underground bunker, in case a Russian explosion shattered
the fragments of my taken-for-granted life.
the man online breathed fire
smoke engulfed his words
they fell on my ears- embers
he said- I HATE...
the ground sparked up flames
accelerants scorching my toes
they pierce my soles into my soul an
inferno blazes he wrote- I hate you,
a stranger because my mother taught me not to love
any woman because my dad told her she was lower than
tree roots; he typed in his lingua franca – I HATE you
because you were born to be chaff sifted by males -
unfiltered husky rice on a winnowing fan -
discarded like ashes trampled on underfoot
Illustrated by Kambumban Chawinga
From Malawi
Stanley was one of the judges in our 2023 Easter Short Story Writing Competition.
Poem of Place
Every person in this city
is on the mental fringe
Everyday women and children begging for alms
Sisters taken to the street walking naked in the night
Brothers taken to arms making money with their guns,
egunje collectors on the highway,
one sees a broken molue in an ocean of people at the bus stop,
street traders littered.
Lawlessness is on the rise.
Stanley Chijioke is a Nigerian Poet who studied Bachelor of Arts in History and International Studies at the University of Calabar.
A Haiku
By Lergon Parris, Jamaica
A good book can sing
Song sweetly soothing one’s ear
The mind’s secret smile
The Magical Artist
By B. James
His pencil sketches fine lines
over the blank easel of life in Malawi
drawing over lines disjointed by poverty
joining them into a continuum of hope.
Focused, he traces over dots, hyphens, erasing blotches.
Filling in a dark canvas with pigments from an artist’s rainbow
A Poem by Josiah Kaisi
Sue me if you want
Sue if you want
but I won't hide
my intentions anymore
I won't let you confuse
visibility and value anymore
I won't let you engulf and digest
my courage anymore
like antibodies I will fight
the germs that me cry
you have given me
the vocals chords
that my brain can't understand
as the hypothalamus and its friends
are taking a nap.
Sue me if you want
but I won't let
my nerve transition
or muscular contractions stop
I will not let muscle fatigue
from strenuous exercise
stop me from following you.
Like a mute volcano through its space
is not even available to melt and drift
Towards you. I am I here
Sue me if you want
but like agglutinins
I will clump your tears
Lysin- I will dissolve your fears.
Like antitoxin
I will neutralize your sick thoughts
like an anticoagulant
I won't let you clot in agony.
I will let you be smitten with joy
I will not let your pulse rate increase
let you produce more glucose of peace
When I am around you.
Sue me if you want
But I won't hold my breath
like lungs I will exhale your sorrow.
Like anaerobes I will still survive
without moisten air or your efforts.
But like cilia and mucus
I will trap your painful old days
and childish character.
