I asked a boy, an orphan, bathing the street with waters
from his body, what led his pedigree to rest.
He said it was a bullet from a drunk policeman’s riffle.
the village chief’s wife & the boy who told tales to a blue bird (a poem by Kukogho Iruesiri Samson)
Today, the chief’s wife visited the village square
her once-rectangular parts now are square!
but we dare not boo or harry her…
ERIATA ORIBHABOR POETRY PRIZE 2022: SOONEST NATHANIEL, JIDE BADMUS & MARTINS DEEP TO JUDGE ₦100,000 CONTEST
Award-winning poets Soonest Nathaniel, Jide Badmus, and Martins Deep are the judges for the 10th edition of the Eriata Oribhabor Poetry Prize, EOPP 2022. Over 450 entries were received for the N100,000 Prize between June and August 2022.
‘BECAUSE BOYS ARE NOT FLOWERS’, ‘BLEEDING EARTH’, ‘IN MY COUNTRY NO ONE PAYS TICKET FOR THE CONCERT’, ‘CITY OF LIGHTS & ‘AUBADE TO DAWN’ (five poems by Adesiyan Oluwapelumi)
Say, silence bears seeds & disperses them through the garden of this body.
Say, her flowers have thorns.
Say, this body is bleeding. Say, this body’s throat is slit & parched.
‘WHAT TO SAY TO THE BOY THAT ASKS FOR THE REMNANTS OF RAIN’ & ‘METAMORPHOSIS’ (two poems by Salim Yakubu Akko)
and the remnants
of the orphaned rain is lying here
between our ribs, sieving the dust
trying to blur the eye’s of this
night would born.
HOW I BAKE MY DAILY BREAD (a poem by Joseph Olamide Babalola )
I launch my day mixing desires in the same
bowl with uncertainties, kneading them soft
on the intricate board of complexities
15 WAYS TO WRITE FASTER & BETTER
It’s important to be able to capture all the great ideas appearing in your head while writing. If you write fast, you have all the chances to do so. Here...
PILKHAN (a short story by Ayesha Khan)
And so I say, “Pilkhan”. It is not a lie, I promise. Not completely at least. There was a tree once. There were other things too, of course. A house that rested in its shade. A bunch of people who lived in it.
‘TO THOSE WHO STEAL GRIEF’, ‘PERDITA’ & ‘FORGETTING TO REMEMBER’ (three poems by Kukogho Iruesiri Samson)
We travel into cobwebbed memories
to recycle our long-binned pains
into brand new Unhappiness.
‘POETS ARE LIARS’, ‘DO NOT WAIT FOR ME, BELOVED’ & ‘MEMORIES I’ (three poems by Emmanuel Karibi Obuala)
O you must watch your steps
even as you pass by
& never fall in love with this poet
lest you forget your gold in his poems