It is time for our poets to realize that a boy is not always a butterfly & our mothers are not all moons. Poetry is first an expression of self before anything. Be original.
WHO IS TO BLAME FOR A BADLY PUBLISHED BOOK: AUTHOR, EDITOR OR PUBLISHER?
The fault for a badly written book lies with the writer while the fault for a badly published book belongs to the publisher’ while the shame is a joint venture. A respectable publisher should never knowingly publish a bad book.
“FACEBOOK IS NOT A SAFE PLACE TO POST YOUR POEMS” & OTHER ISSUES FOR NIGERIAN POETS
Again, by saving your works and releasing them only on foreign platforms, you are inadvertently taking everything away from us and making us have to borrow access. Right now, we can no longer read anything from most of our good poets unless we first access them from foreign platforms.
ON NIGERIAN WRITERS, DEPRESSION & SUICIDE…
In reality, many people discover writing after suffering some physical or psychological discomfort that they want to talk about. Perhaps due to their social circumstances, these people cannot find a voice loud enough to reach the audience they want, or they do not even think anyone is willing to listen or able to hear them. Then they discover writing.
YOU MADE ME WHAT I AM
I am, that was from dead womb born,That drank the spittle of your scorn.And from the riches of your dumpsI got my meals in moldy lumps. That little boy, frail...
THE POET AND HIS POEM: POETRY AS A SLICE OF LIFE
Poetry is a slice of life. If poetry is a slice of life? Whose life? I have noticed of recent that my poem are increasingly being mistaken as autobiographical. People...
AVENGERS: AN EYE FOR AN EYE
I look at the man screaming at my feet, my prisoner, grinning as he groans. You might wonder why he groans. He is simply in pain. I have just chopped...
IN BED WITH LADY ‘X’
Light came on and Maxwell opened his eyes immediately. “NEPA! The idiots have woken up,” he thought. He was lying on his side, near the edge of his oddly large...
WHY OLAMI-UCHE COMMITTED SUICIDE IN ABUJA
When Olami-Uche left his home on that fateful Thursday morning, his wallet had exactly one thousand, seven hundred and twenty naira in it. It was everything he had in the...
NO MORE
Caked sperm flaked off Cynthia’s stomach when she woke up that Saturday morning. She was alone in the bedroom. The bastard was gone. As usual. She heaved a sigh as...