CategoryPOETRY

  FOR DAYS BY VICTOR SESE There are days when the only place I want to be is beside you Days when I beg you not to get out of bed Because then the cuddling ends and the warmth leaves with you Days when I shudder at the thought of being overwhelmed by the cold Because I fear the warmth may never return   But I’m glad today isn’t one of such days Today, for the first time in a...

My Relationship Saga by Raheemat Jimoh    Popping pills everyday Because I can’t find a better way I’m a drug seeker seeking drugs for healing  I know what you’re thinking and you’re right I’m an addict But not of marijuana or cocaine, but of folic acid and OPIOIDS Addiction takes many forms, and mine wears a mask of healing   Like a vampire, I take blood too From sack to...

Shayo by Tolu Fowowe

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When you’re two bottles deep, and you begin to feel that trap door sliding open from underneath you, Maybe, begin to say maybe, Maybe pacing yourself will serve better than screaming “Shapiru, Shapiru!” at the very top of your lungs as you hold firmly to bottle number three, ice-cold but sweating just as profusely as it’s wielder. Maybe begin to look ahead, Maybe...

Málomó by Tomi Olaniyan

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Struggles of motherhood, Agonizing, however fulfilling. I toiled day and night, So I may reap what I sow.   Bodies grinding with sweats, With no pleasure on sight. Despair had been my abode, With no child to call my own.   Then you happened, The joy that cometh by morning. Only that I was jinxed, For I bore an Abiku!   With a razor, you were scarred Never to return to my dwelling...

Mother called by Desire O.

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today my mother calls me, even though we spoke the night before. i am not ready for any of it, so i still, until i can, until i am alone, and am charged enough to hear it  whatever it is.  in her first syllables, i hear that she is worried about me, and perplexed, i ask her why,  wondering if this is about the fact that i poke needles through my flesh to relieve pressure but she...

High on life by Nana Osei Agyeman

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The music wells, caresses my ears and tickles my brain. I look up to the sky, blue with hope, optimism… Adorned elegantly in clouds, white, pure, ever changing.   The foliage whisks by, luscious, green, making an otherwise bland landscape vivid and interesting.   Faces, they move past me, different and unique, each wearing different emotions. Sad, happy, concerned, surprised...

RANSOM BY CLARA JACK

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A lover woke me up this morning before heading to work I kissed them and they said “See you soon” Soon being anywhere between the next moment if they forgot something in the room, in our life and came back for it Or the next six months I am too weak to recount another short affair But I will try We rarely have the privilege of remaining in love these days No memorabilia because “people will see”...

HOLD THIS BY CLARA JACK

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  An old lover sent me memorabilia of our love So here’s this poem to hold it Call it architecture He ponders on the effect I had on him He aims to say “When I loved you, I did” I smile and in light tones and say, “I was a great girlfriend” He agrees and apologizes that he was unsure in the end I remember what his uncertainty did to us But, Here we are, with the gift of passed love and lived...

SURULERE BY TOLU FOWOWE

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I am Surulere  Born and Bred with akara, pap and Agege Bread She lives and moves She is home to me From Eric Moore Towers To Mercy Eneli   I am Surulere I am Suburbia and Serenity I am Lazy Saturdays Eating Oats on the balcony I am Government School Yellow, Private school Blue and  After Church on Sundays Cruising down Adelabu   I am Surulere I am busy like Masha Busy like Eko...

Afraid by Muktar Mustafa

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  It is a very quiet terror. The kind that finds you in moments when you’re alone. Cold, eerie silence. The lack of substance to everything. The taste of iron in the air. Fear. It invades the brain in a series of coincidences. Like an unlucky day gone quiet. Like the expectancy of death. What threatens a predator? What scares a god? What lives within that void that even gods try to push at...

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Pencilmarks and Scribbles Magazine was founded in 2017 by Clara Jack to be a home for African writers, asking them to come as they are and giving them room for growth. The publication aims to give back to the Nigerian Literary scene for the things it has given us.