My love, my god.

By Mojisola Josephine Kuwadinu: My god, my Love. Like a nut is useless without a fitting bolt, so am I without you. We fit together in every way possible. You are the bolt I need to be screwed on lest…

IMAGINATIONS

By Mojisola Josephine Kuwadinu: Perceived thoughts and obvious sights are tempting snares, Withholding humans far from their expected plans. Words heard from the mouth of rumor mongers, Are barricades to that which our hearts hold dear. The moment ears become…

SURVIVORS OF WAR

By Mojisola Josephine Kuwadinu: Broken wills inflicted by the guns’ butts, Many hopes and dreams smashed and shattered. On the women cast they their lots, And the men’s brains gunned and scattered. Infants’ cries searing the pensive air, Breaking pregnant…

SOUL THIEF

By Mojisola Josephine Kuwadinu: Muddled thoughts, stirring demons are my companions, Fiery bloodlust and soul-thirst arouse me, Stealthily, I invade innocent minds, Knocking on hopeless hearts with my two-faced knuckles, Terminating raw passions and destinies. Broken hearts by loved ones,…

Adam Then and Now

By Mairo-the-Poet: When Adam was born, there was no breast milk. No crazy budget for his nappies. He had no wardrobe full of pants. No shoe rack full of Gucci! He just woke up a grown up man. He had…

Have We Become Too Busy For The Lord?

By Mairo-the-Poet: Lord, on your Second Coming Please do not return on a Monday Monday morning blues will be hanging around me like thick clouds. So I won’t be a good and amenable guest! Please on your Second return Lord…

Love

By Ace Hart: You’ve probably heard your fair share of love poems over the years. I know I have. But I had something I wanted to say and figured why not make another cliche. Love an intense feeling of deep…

The Vigilante Fights a lone battle

By Mairo-the-Poet: The sun dreams up a blood moon On a solitary veld. We made laughter roll on lips of ghouls Teeth bared at the innocent, sinister! Our victims are washed in blood, hear us banter No shackles on our…

Coo Me My Dove

By Mairo-the-Poet: Our love At its coolest should be hotter than an iron stove At its sweetest much sweeter than honey. Let roses sprout from the gentleness of our soft noon Let the primrose stand guard at our feet Where…

I saw red

By QUIBAOS: My sister made me mad last night. She guilt tripped me in no respite. I saw red and lashed at her. I hunged up on her. Not now will I give respite.