Selected poems
Three Poems
1. Sunday II
I ran my father's kiss
into a bible thrice
& prayed
it turned blood to bubblegums
sliced my skin
to avocado halves
& a miracle
turned a frying pan inside out
on a candle
I rebore in chumming
of lathers
candy and apples
Jesus wash his wound
in lime water
while I draw ghost at night
& break songs from a cherry seed
2. (S)he
From an acoustic
you pluck
an apple
Ultra whiffs waft
red bleating
into spheres
he wash a strand
in teasmoke
& weed
Behind a mural
she is a nude
drawing of orange
water
your feet unlocks
& flares waltz
while whirling
into creamlight
3. Fun era
A day in the absence
of transparent leathers
— a funeral café or birth —
there was wine,
to many songs,
spilled gin
& long spiral smoke
in dispersal in a red room.
gleaming heavy humans
choke the house —
these passive bees
my best me in air
entered them
in the kitchen
& ran back to me
I sew mallows
from pig skin
arrange them on grandma's bed
like fine plaited whorls.
Did not wish
to be found
tucked in a beautiful
blue and white morning
the outline of my bone
transparent in sin —
Covexes apt
to break under
a thread of
blue light
I was in a wine tumbler
glassy, ice in my ears
churning in orchestra
and my intestine
spilled itself
in an unsteady stream
stirring in acid
— Victor Ugwu
The homeless fugitives from the east
We remember that sad morning,
when the bombs exploded,
when the cold air, suddenly became too hot,
when the flock became wild,
how they ran into the wild.
look! see! The vineyard is still on fire!
look! see! The market stalls is still on fire!
We slowly limped,
towards the west we head,
to where the air is still cold,
to where the field is still green,
towards the West,
to where came the bombs, we head.
Day and night, with,
blood and tears, with,
hope and patience, we limped,
towards the West we head,
to where came the bombs.
We have escaped,
the burning flames in the East,
we have trend,
the thorny paths,
We have crossed,
the Rocky Mountains,
we have sailed,
the Sea on makeshift boats.
At last! The border we see,
towards the West we approach,
to where came the bombs.
At the gate of the West we stood,
we request entry,
we request a stay, at least for a short while.
No was their reply,
why no, we asked,
because you are fugitives, they answered,
No place for the fugitive,
the East is on fire,
the gates of the West have been shut.
We the homeless fugitives from the East
limp about with no place to seek refuge.
— E. Unimke Ugbong
Be bold and build him
Be bold and build him
He's not good enough for you
Pick up his bones and make him better
Bae is not sufficient to run the world
C-suits demands for bosses,not baes
You are the queen of his heart
You can be better if he owns an empire
Yes,you touch the floor for him
Others will kiss it for a moment with him
If only your unending demands
Would be unending investments
Sister, there's no shame
In making a man
Drop a sweat rather than
Dropping your dignity
In endless make-outs
They won't earn you any worthwhile title
The baes and the sweetnothings
Will never weigh more than
The title deed you own together
The turn-ups and the girls' night-outs
Are heart-lightening moments
But moments come and go, time lapses
But a place to call home always stands tall
Even when you are short of the once glowing skin
And the club lights can no longer shine in your old eyes
Be wise, be bold, build him and broaden your titles!
— William Okello Kadima
Victor Ugwu writes from Minna, Nigeria where he's a member of the Hill-top Art Foundation. His works have been featured in various journals both online and in print. He's a photography enthusiasts as well as a lover of music or anything that excapes the mouth of an R&B artist.
E. Unimke Ugbong is a poet and a teacher of social studies and global literature. He is currently studying history and international studies at the University of UYO, Nigeria.
William Okello Kadima is a final year marketing student at Strathmore university Kenya.