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Hey poets out there!! Happy World Poetry Day!!! Join other poets and participate in the challenge! START A NEW POEM USING THE LAST LAST WORD OF THE PREVIOUS POEM! To the boys who would date my daughter I haven't met her mum Maybe I have met her But she is laying somewhere there in her mum's belly And I am proudly waiting  For her  She'll met daddy soon And I and her mum Would be so proud of her. I bet you can't wait to meet my daughter You know,  she's sweet, smart,beautiful,virtuous And of course, she's stronger than you all So! Keep off There goes the warning sign! KEEP OFF I'll ring it loud and loud Loud and clear and clear Like the Gospel of an evangelist Recite it with the rhythm of a minstrel And I won't stop until you know it  Like your morning drilll or maybe your mermory verse. Keep off because she's not gonna have to depend on you To help her do this  Or do that Because that'

JUDGES FOR THE NIGERIAN STUDENTS POETRY PRIZE (NSPP) 2018 Poets in Nigeria (PIN) is pleased to announce the judges for the 2018 edition of the Nigerian Students Poetry Prize. The judging panel, chaired by Ismail Bala, includes hülya n. yılmaz, Soji Cole, Kukogho Iruesiri Samson and Saka Aliyu. • Ismail Bala writes in English and Hausa. He teaches English at Bayero University, Kano, Nigeria, where he specialises in modern and contemporary poetry, and literary theory. His poetry and translations have appeared in the UK, the USA, Canada, India and South Africa, in journals such as Poetry Review, Ambit, New Coin, Okike, A Review of International English Literature and Aura Literary Arts Review. Born and educated to university level in Kano, he did his post-graduate studies at Oxford. He is a Fellow of the International Writing Programme of the University of Iowa. • Born in Turkey, hülya n. yılmaz presently serves as full-time faculty at Penn State and as the Director of Edit

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Stepping hard on the pedal, I brought the car to a halt. While the air smelled of the tyres’ screeching. No, it couldn’t be… I mustn’t have heard right. I could feel my heart race, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Unable to get out of the car, I wondered how I managed to get home safe. Safe… Safe? A flood of sorrow threatened to push down the door of my heart, but no… not until I discover every single detail. Jolting forward, I realized the engine was still active. I wasn’t ready to die…not yet. Decidedly, I turned off the engine and made my way towards the house. With every step I took, I wished so hard that the discovery I made was false. That all I grew up believing was not a lie. That the woman I called mother, was the one who gave me life through birth. That the life I lived was not a lie. Once I got in, I shut the door behind me. ‘Why did she lie to me?’ ‘Who the hell was I?’ Series of unanswered questions marauded my head, so much I thought I might lose it.

Image by Gbenga Smith

Image by Majek Poet: Okunlola Azeezat Olayinka _Zeeyola

Image by Miki Tahashi "Mandy! Mandy! Mandy!" Two clocks the time, She came running,delighted to hold that pen, Blissful that she might have me speak. "Please write", I begun... I read through the shallows,my heart soared, Soared because it felt like me. Like that poet lent my very voice. Mandy please do write, I'll give it a darker shade,for there's still much to write. I fumble with the key, A part of me wants to remain locked in, Locked in knowing no one would replace me, I know it's a dream! One in wildest of them. He did call... Yes he called when he received my letter. Strangely, I couldn't figure his voice. I never thought to forget that voice, The one that spoke my favorite lies, "I love you", "I miss you", Yeah and this too..."You're my world." Haha...lies I held dear. "He said all of that?", Mandy awed " Oh Mandy, please write..." The lies I once cheris

​Dedicated to Catherine Nathaniel Image by Gbenga Smith ​I've been thinking,just how sad it is that no one writes letters, Not anymore, So I've resoluted to writing you this, It's not all about the tip of my pen in alpha beta, For even you know I'm not so crazed a writer. I know you'll be on that favourite table of yours, A glass of olive idly sitting by, Your magical fingers working its way around the brim, And yes,the rubber pipe, That too. Like the sea,this runs deep, so I beg of you to listen. You said to me, that you've tried to move on, taken a house down town for a change, I reckon,that you've tried to rid yourself of my presence, All it is that screams my name, Right... You said to me, that you want to bid farewell to all that we ever shared, That you've tried to hate me,and all that I stand for, You said you want a new beginning. Haha, my favourite sofa...you took it out, If I'm not de

When Gaia is veiled in obscurity And the erratic stars ablaze, When Helois wraps up his piece And the Luna fails to fortify us, Like the diverging rays of light,I'll fuel your vigour. When winter befalls us And the roarers our lofty fortress euthanize, When Venus,cloaked in swathy black,averts her gaze And restless torment grips our sapling, I'll fall on my knees before "He", the fountain of tranquility When the tears,from my eyes arain And the gods turn deaf ears to my pleas When fate unleashes woes And the furies menace at the threshold of hell, My heart,a cushion,your soul recumbent. Okunlola Azeezat Olayinka _ Zeeyola

You have reclined with the hope of a better morrow, Fed your kids with lies, sliding it slowly down their throats, like poison. Tomorrow gradually becomes tomorrow and the day after that, nothing changes. Well, I am the wail you hear in the middle of the night, the untainted blood of the sackless, the pride rent off the juveniles, The moan you emit when big fists meet your stomach, the churches and mosques disintegrated at their decree, the result of discrimination, segregation and integration. And this isn't a poetry of rage – I am the offspring of prejudice and injustice. I am South Africa, Congo and Niger Area. I am pregnant with fire, my feet swollen with vengeance. And this isn't a poetry of rage; this is my body bleeding and my belly fuming. I will hit them like plagues on the Egyptians, Greeks on the Trojans. I have been moulded with chains and bullets, bombs and prison gates. Herbert Macaulay, Ellen Johnson, Patrice Lumumba—I conjured the

My pen itches to kiss a book-fell, To bleed and end this flow, Sleep,it's willing abbetor strays far from my eyes, Tears, in its stead, I'm bereft of words. Take me to that room; gifted with golden heights,exalted with shelved thoughts. Send me monographs, Take my hands,lead me down memory lane. Fill my heart with history,tell it to me, the tale of how it all began... Show me the evil of men's hands, whisper to me,their lies and secrets. Unveil before my very eyes what for so long has been inconspicuously lain among the pages of shapened ply wood. Give grace to my heart, so that I may discover, Broaden my lenses...fuel my zeal Pervade my psyche, hone my sentience But above all, let my pen bleed. Let it bleed, From constant injuries, zots of untainted babes,zaps of clutched infancy.. Let it bleed, From lesions of freedom fighters,gauged eyes of the watchful ones, Let it bleed,  From wounds of war and conflict of nations, loss of br

To Generation Unborn... Listen; I'm sorry that your little eyes may hold so much pain and atrocities,that your feeble body may never be held for as long as you deserve. I'm sorry that you'll be emotionally distressed and mentally vulnerable at such a tender age. I'm sorry that society has taken much more than it will ever be able to give. I'm sorry that lies and deception,corruption and hatred, has overpowered goodness and happiness,love and loyalty. I'm sorry that you'll have to carry a burden of whose genesis you know not. I'm sorry that our economy has drastically failed and so much expectation has been invested in you even before you were formed. I'm sorry that again you might have to pass this on to the next generation...and they after them. To our fallen heroes; I'm sorry that after much said and done, your courage and struggle has been seen as 'out of place.' I'm sorry that your grave has been spat upon b

Today,my heart melted.Tiny arm s locked my hips in,holding me captive. His little head came thudding on my lap. And then he spoke, or maybe he didn't,I stood too tall to hear him. But I knew what he wanted. Everyone in this part of the  world knew it too; A few moment's change. Only but a few knew he needed more. He has been out here for hours,perhaps...days. Threading this muddy grounds,hugging feets and pulling arms. Giving a silent call to all who cares to listen. So I delayed, holding him closer to myself like he was my very own. Perhaps she who gave him birth stood watching close by, I could care less.And perhaps everyone who spared me a glance thought I might be mad,a beautiful raving lunatic. But I wasn't. I Wasn't naked,dancing out in the street with no music. My veil rested upon my shoulders,my skin fully covered. For a moment, I might have had the urge to lift him up,or perhaps, it was the urgent need to fall down to his height. I couldn&