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  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

Aryan Kaganof

a capitalist poem

air is free
time is free
but airtime
you have to pay for

Aryan Kaganof



Songs [for Lucky Dube]

...today the gongs of old lie silent
Silenced by an occupation force
Masked as software in hard computers
The flutes of old have ceased

Sky Omoniyi


Tonight I Stand with Trees

neither rage
nor fear trembles these yearning
arms astonished
in their sudden fruitless, leaflessness...

Ando Yeva

Ash to Earth

A bang
A contrived star aglow

And souls
On flight marked goodbye.

Chukwu Eke


Dear Teacher and Pagan
(To Wole Soyinka)

Dear teacher and pagan,
With prim fronds
I thee wed.

Uzor Maxim Uzoatu

        Lebogang Mashile    

And South Africa is a fractured mirror
A paradox of schizophrenic selves
Who don’t talk to one another
Who fear each other
Who revere each other
Who loathe
And pretend
And try to blend in
With each other

And this is the time when you can become
The greatest substance of your dreams
Unless you live in a shack
And don’t speak English
And don’t know what this poem means

Lebogang Mashile







A Memory of Berkeley

Still, on Berkeley’s Poetry Walk
words are the world’s emperor
and poets are her royal majesties

Nduka Otiono

Nduka Otiono      

Mandela’s Cell

I stood among a crowd
of tourists from abroad
and stared into his past:

a cage of bricks and bars
as gloomy and as cramped
as racial bias in the mind.

Chris Mann

  Postcards from London

I head butt and scream at a brick wall,
show me the life in the dream

Nnorom Azuonye


Jacaranda Flowers

there are jacaranda flowers ablaze
and the sidewalk mood to my home is violet again

Amitabh Mitra

Amitabh Mitra


On Beauty

In the fading light of the day
I see Beauty walking towards me
on her way home and swerve away
just in time to avoid the oncoming bus.

Mark Espin




Tshika ngwe ya rona comes from the reeds
They have built Maluti Mountains with their hands
Beautifully, engraved their narrations on sunburnt hills
Leaving their birthmarks on olive caves

Napo Masheane



I riffled quietly through his bedside cabinet,
Lifted a hundred quid out of his wallet.

One of those things that Ordinary People do.
Don’t believe me if I say I didn’t mean to.

Paul Abbott







Don Mattera/ I feel a poem

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