What Came Out as a Poem
The stories that you don’t like are the ones always wanting to become a poem I didn’t choose the lines, I don’t mean to say…
Poetry is the clear expresssion of mixed feelings
The stories that you don’t like are the ones always wanting to become a poem I didn’t choose the lines, I don’t mean to say…
There was this boy I liked we’d sit in his car parked under the night sky, chairs reclined, listening to Fela. He loved to…
May the ground hold our footprints, not the bodies of our beloved fragmented by bombs. May a child not lie at a street in Jos…
When you become a father for the first time, The men in your family will call you a strong man As if you pushed the…
My mother comes in at the stroke of twelve, Clad in wrapper, blouse, and hair net. With a vial of virgin olive oil underneath her…
I grew up in a hazy house – there was always something foggy smoking between my father’s burnt fingers. For years, I watched a dimmed…
I’ve thought about how people who lived a very long time ago may have thought that their time was the best or the worst or…
When you die, someone will write a terrible poem about the fragility of life and what it means it will include calling the ones you…
She’s at the café window, coffee mug in hand nose pressed against the sun-warmed glass across the street, a young man steps into view out…
How do you describe a sofa to someone who has never seen a chair before? Do you talk of its soft and exposed top or…