Poetry from Lola Noir

Winter jumper


One of the best things I like about Winter is being able to wear my Winter jumper.

It’s big enough to wear as a dress and the sleeves easily cover my hands.

It’s vintage with Nordic patterns knitted in high quality wool.


His hand dives underneath my Winter jumper.


“Doesn’t it tickle?” he asks.


I contemplate his question.


“No, if anything it tingles like a multitude of needles brushing swiftly against skin. It’s a joyful irritation — a constant reminder that my body is still here and receptive to sensation.”


“Masochist”, I think to myself.


When I don’t wear a bralet the wool burns my nipples.

I often don’t wear a bralet underneath my Winter jumper.

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Poetry from Lauren Ainslie

Wild Children


We were all one before.

No mother

no father

just brother and sister.

We were the Wild Children

who climbed on back steps from balconies

and snatched at butterflies.



Too young to understand she and I

did not notice our brothers were drifting apart.

Did not notice that laughs now had weight

and clothes were no longer passed around like currency.

Age was unreal to us

but to them age mattered—

one was older than the other.



We are not the Wild Children anymore.

Instead wild sisters.

Older brothers left ice cream and trees for darkened smiles.

That family is only remembered when

we lightly touch hands and remember in whispers,

pretending the butterflies are above our heads instead of in our eyes

and we nod because we only ever knew the goodness of it.


Poetry from John Chizoba Vincent

and my CNN opened on a breaking news on a dark street in Libya, about Nigerians chained to be sold as slaves.
the television slide and roved over,
their tears shattered and their blood spoke of pains on the blazing ground.
the newscaster hid her face,
the screen went on chaos,
the remote ceased as their tears quaked the entire earth.
from people’ basket of wailing, my heart shrieked and three cities were built:
graveyard, hell and death.
This was the totality of manslaughter,
a trade made by Africans against Africans.
they made their souls like an old nest,
torturing their brothers as if night and day are not the same to a blind man.
another ship has capsized in my body and my eyes is yet to find fins.
I have to die for these men!
I will hold down Libya for this blood!
I will decorate their cities with skulls and cracking cackling ghosts.
I will spread black demons on their grounded farmland.
I will break the bones of your infants,
Make their youths desolate to the world.
I will curse their old men and women,
Their rivers  shall be blood like Egypt.
Not in this season will my brothers wail like this and my government is silent!
Libya! Libya!!  When I shall start my dirge, your home shall be my starting point.
I have written my national diplomacy,
the world has seen my woes howled,
I have consulted the embassies of the UN
remember, butter is not made for monkeys!
when those blood shall start singing an elegy, none of your ears shall stand.
the last time I visited Libyan cemetery,
Nigerian dusts was what I saw.
if you see my mother looking out for me through the window,  tell her I have gone to Libya for my countrymen.
I am not a streamline to be wasted,
I will like to see if there are survivors,
I will like to see my people even their dust because I will take them back home
If my government is silent, i won’t be!
these are men that have children,
these are women that need husbands,
these are youths, our pride, to run our memories, to sip our memories, to occupy those bed back home.
Libya! Libya!  Where are my seeds seized on your border of sin and destruction?
leave me to a piano, I will play a note of your cruelty and music of sadness!
Bite your own tongue and see how painful it is to engage in a war.
and these weaknesses of my people you won’t see in me,  I shall stand like Okonkwo to kill and make life to those who wants to live!
I will anoint your head with sore palmwine that forsake fermentation.
those blood  you wasted are the sap of ancestral trees.
till then,  if see my father looking out for me,  tell him that I have Libya on my palms, our weaknesses  they saw yesterday is not cowardice but strategies and passport to reach the world.
it is a martyrdom, making me to wax stronger.
we walk our sagging lips
through a street of walls and emptiness
we hold our hopes and they fall like sands creating cascaded dreams like a rainbow in the sky.
  Nigeria is blood not water!

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Poetry from J.J. Campbell


in over a decade
trouble seems to
find me no matter
how many times
i try to change
my disposition
evil women like
to give me the
but in today’s
culture i have
no damn clue
what that look
means anymore
i still find myself
listening to basslines
in songs even though
i haven’t played in
over a decade
in my mind, i’m
smoking a cigarette
while chatting with
joan jett
reality is a state
of affairs not fit
for the words it
would require
chicken wings and beer
it’s having to take
a shit and you’re
three miles from
and there’s traffic
you’ve learned
over the years
that any sudden
movements mean
you are buying
new clothes
and in the worst
case scenario
a new vehicle
the sprint doesn’t
need to happen
until the toilet
is in sight
one of these days
you’ll remember
the pitfalls of
spicy food for
a beacon of hope for the world
two in the morning
scribbling down
pretending my pain
is a beacon of hope
for the world
pretending i never
have the urge to
kill or love
this war inside my
head is rather tiring
these days
i once asked my
doctor for enough
pain pills to kill
he laughed and
complimented my
sense of humor
no one seems to
understand i haven’t
told a joke in over
a decade
another empty bottle
of rum for the pile
one of these days
i’ll find oblivion
to the cruel world
try explaining to the cruel
world that a poet doesn’t
need to worry about money
or fame
the only thing that matters
are the words and the people
willing to publish them
that doesn’t pay the bills
ask not want not
you and your bullshit
philosophy shit again
how will we ever provide
for the children
or get a better home
or find a better school
you try to explain that all
these things have already
been decided on this long
strange trip
you just simply have to
be willing to take the ride
fast forward twenty years
and your children hate you
more than you ever believed
was possible
perhaps a solid job wasn’t
that bad a choice in hindsight
these padded walls beg to
into fruition
life is a scam
much like religion
or weight loss pills
it’s nothing more
than the placebo
and i hear all
these motivational
speakers tell me
that i need to think
it and believe it
into fruition
i never
got to six
feet tall
and i never
have fucked
a supermodel
just more bullshit
to sell some books

Poetry from Mahbub

See You Before Death


So many years I wonder

so many times my brain got

tempted and tempered eyesight

became dull and dim

can not move foreword

many times I tried and tried

much more than this or that

I can reach my goal

but faltered and stood up again

to move forward

at  last time came finally

I am at the time of pathetic death

in the meantime you grown up with

so many branches with so many leaves

my eyes lift up with joy

to see the green and flourished

colourful sunny  beauty of  the tree.


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Elizabeth Hughes’ Book Periscope

Essence of Neverland by Juna Jinsei
What would happen to Neverland if Peter Pan met his demise? When Peter Pan decides to torment and tease Captain Hook once again by slicing the ropes on the masts and sails, Captain Hook climbs to the top to stop him. Captain Hook begins to fall and accidently impales Peter on his sword. Without Peter, Neverland begins losing its magic and beauty. Everyone begins to age at an accelerated rate and tempers flare. The Essence of Neverland, also known as Mother or the Mountain Witch, sends some fairies to look for children with intelligence, kindness and pure of heart who can be brought to Neverland. Their assignment is to restore Neverland to its magical state by uniting everyone towards a common goal. Essence of Neverland is filled with adventure from the first to last page. It is also about empowering one’s mind and building self confidence that can get one through many difficult times. I would highly recommend this book for teens to adults. It would also make a wonderful gift for yourself or someone you know. I absolutely loved this book.
Review of Where Losers Live, Heroes Die by Gary Helzer
Where Losers Live, Heroes Die by Gary Helzer is an action packed and suspenseful thriller. This book will most definitely keep the reader on the edge of their seat from the first page to the last. Hans Metzer gets out of the Army after putting in time in Vietnam. His Sergeant Pete talks him into taking a job with him in the Bahamas. The job pays well and will help Hans’ parents save their farm in Idaho from foreclosure. When they arrive in the Bahamas, Hans finds out that this is not an ordinary construction job. What follows is an action packed story filled with twists and turns. I highly recommend this book. This would make an excellent gift for yourself or someone you know who loves action packed thrillers. Enjoy!!
Review of The Million Dollar Man by Thomas Brennan
The Million Dollar Man is the story of boxer Jack Dempsey. He was a boxer in the early 1900’s. This book covers his life before boxing and when he began boxing. Jack Dempsey made a name for himself by boxing anyone. He was very tough and unrelenting in the ring. Mr. Brennan brings the story of Jack Dempsey’s career to life. You feel like you are right there watching the fights. Mr. Brennan has done an excellent job chronicling Jack Dempsey’s life. This is a very interesting book, from the first page to the last. This is a perfect gift for the fan of boxing. I highly recommend The Million Dollar Man by Thomas Brennan.
Million Dollar Man can be ordered here.
Review of Confessions of a Bunny by Melissa Jackson
Confessions of a Bunny, written by Melissa Jackson and illustrated by Shannen Marie Paradero, is a delightful story about the life of Bun Bun and her human, Reagan. The illustrations are bright and sweet and small children will enjoy looking at the pictures while being read to. Bun Bun is the favorite plush toy bunny of Reagan. Reagan takes Bun Bun everywhere, even when she starts school. Then one day Bun Bun gets lost. This delightful book is told from Bun Bun’s perspective about how Bun Bun loves going everywhere with her girl, Reagan. Children will love this delightful, colorful book and will want it read to them over and over. I absolutely loved this children’s book and highly recommend it. If you do not have a child it would make a wonderful gift to a child you know or one in need.