Home Page African-Writing Online
HomeAbout UsNewsinterviewsProfiles of South African Women WritersFictionPoetryTributesArtReviews

  Alex Smith
  Amanze Akpuda
  Amatoritsero Ede
  Amitabh Mitra
  Ando Yeva
  Andrew Martin
  Aryan Kaganof

  Ben Williams
  Bongani Madondo
  Chielozona Eze
  Chris Mann
  Chukwu Eke
  Chuma Nwokolo
  Colleen Higgs
  Colleen C. Cousins
  Don Mattera
  Elizabeth Pienaar
  Elleke Boehmer
  Emilia Ilieva
  Fred Khumalo
  Janice Golding
  Lauri Kubuitsile
  Lebogang Mashile
  Manu Herbstein
  Mark Espin
  Molara Wood
  Napo Masheane
  Nduka Otiono
  Nnorom Azuonye
  Ola Awonubi
  Petina Gappah
  Sam Duerden
  Sky Omoniyi
  Toni Kan
  Uzor M. Uzoatu
  Valerie Tagwira
  Vamba Sherif
  Wumi Raji
  Zukiswa Wanner

   Ntone Edjabe
   Rudolf Okonkwo
   Tolu Ogunlesi
   Yomi Ola
   Molara Wood

August Debut

Issue 2; October/November


Chukwu Eke



Chukwu Eke

Eke, journalist and poet, writes for The Source magazine, in Lagos, Nigeria. His poetry has also been used by several online and print publications.

  Ash to Earth

A bang
A contrived star aglow

And souls
On flight marked goodbye.

Beyond the fringe
Let them go.
And me moored to ash

Will return to earth
After the
Pious smoke.



Work Man

He molds solid bricks
From the grim face
Of work.

He lays them like a dream on solid skill
And patience raises columns of dimples
On God's just face,

Which is his face from work. Lush as laughter
And sweet as dream-come-true,
He stands an edifice, tall.



Dancers of Pampered Footsteps

Dancers of pampered footsteps
They do not know the stones
For they were invited to dance when
The music was soft, flowing, as sweet breeze
After rain and storm
Gently, gently they dance on soft earth
With no sweat on their foreheads, they dance
With smile bright, and sure as open doors
They dance through and through to gleam
Where nectar-drops on silver plates plays
Them symphony of life sans sourness
They do not guess a stop
Dancing on the heath of laughter
Cracked for them by gods propitious
And they do not have the heat
To wrestle from the wayward sun of life
A permanent shine. Poor as weak foot
They drag to their dull end.

Copyright © Fonthouse Ltd & respective copyright owners. Enquiries to permissions@african-writing.com.