Painting of Poetic Commerce

The global pandemic has only magnified an existing loneliness epidemic. It didn’t create it. Yes, loneliness was an epidemic during the time we now refer to as “before” (like the pre-apocalypse world in a work of science fiction.) Even though we have…

Book Review: Art in development – a Nigerian perspective

In reflecting upon Uche Okeke’s paintings, poems and drawings collected under the handle, Art In Development – A Nigerian Perspective, one is constrained to appropriate a Roman Catholic analogy; Asele is Uche Okeke’s patron saint and Ana is the deity.…

THE LOVE AND THE MONEY

See the chirping of the love, I think he’s angry at the shove. He finds it hard to see the honest, Overshadowed by the impatient pianist. Who is that calling near the idea? I think she’d like to eat the…

MY DOGGY ATE MY ESSAY – BY DARREN SARDELLI

My doggy ate my essay. He picked up all my mail. He cleaned my dirty closet and dusted with his tail. He straightened out my posters and swept my wooden floor. My parents almost fainted when he fixed my bedroom…

THEY COME

They Come BY HA JIN Sometimes when you’re walking in the street, returning home or leaving to see a friend, they come. They emerge from behind pillars and trees approaching you like a pack hounding a sheep. You know it’s no…

RITMO/RHYTHM

Mad has decided to catch a vulture, the biggest bird she can find. She is so determined, and so inventive, that by stringing together a rickety trap of ropes and sticks, she creates a puzzling structure that just might be…

HONEYMOON OVER

Is it still love or am I just used to it? The everyday grotesque is just fine. Content may mean good… But the crying, why is it, that I find it so easy to walk away By: H W Erellson

A YEAR DOT

BY DG NANOUK OKPIK For Arthur Sze (Qin) Dim Sum equivalent to: dot, speck heart. Stone piled on stone I finish my meal. In this early sunrise I see shadows where a cairn of rocks used to stack in the direction of eastern…

INVICTUS

Invictus BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced…

AT THE WINDOW

At the Window The pine-trees bend to listen to the autumn wind as it mutters Something which sets the black poplars ashake with hysterical laughter; While slowly the house of day is closing its eastern shutters. Further down the valley…