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    Unoma Nguemo Azuah
Unoma N. Azuah

  Isobel Dixon
Isobel Dixon

              The whole green world
was subject to my knife,
till more burgeoned from the box
than I could chop.

This wasn’t what we signed up for:
our direct debit, like the widow’s jar
of oil, a source of never-ending

  Tanure Ojaide
Tanure Ojaide
I’d rather hear hate loud and clear,
And feel its bite, and go from here
In honesty and painful understanding.

African Writing is not all about writing. Sometimes, beyond the picture and the words, the poem is best conveyed in voice. We are also happy to receive your audio submissions alongside your text for our online editions. Please send (wav/ogg/aiff/wma/mp3) files to the  editor.

  Kobus Moolman
Kobus Moolman
  Loud, the river repeats
a stencil of waves
across the black air – .

Three ghosts of trees wait
for hanging three
undying messages upon.

  Genna Gardini
Genna Gardini
Time’s licked me nut, and right to the bone.

Once, strange hands furred us down
and we were the nodes on furious mice.

  Detail, Florence Beal Nenakwe
Bobby Gawthrop  
Then it happened,
my second son,
the eldest,
my heir,
his body, limp, bent,
mother’s song, lament,
for the fever had taken him there

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So, dear reader, cross the border and get Behind Every Successful Man at a good bookstore near you after June 1.
(Come on. You knew that was coming!)
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