The winner of the April 2020 Giveaway is Lydia Ritaro
How to win?
Read the current publications on the SprinNG website for May 2020.
Write a comment on 2 or more of the publications posted on the website for May 2020.
Please add your name and email address when filling the comment box.
Note: Email address will not be made public.
See the guide to providing good feedback below
TIPS FOR WRITING GOOD FEEDBACK
The goal of providing feedback is;
1. to invite another reader into the world of beauty you have seen in a work
2. to provide a very brief summary of what you read.
3. to give your interpretation/perspective of what has been written.
4. to provide suggestions for improvement.
We encourage that your comment meets at least 2 of these goals.
The SprinNG team will evaluate the comments and select the winner of the book at the end of the month.
Note: Comment on the poems, book reviews, articles, interviews and guest posts.
How to Fall in Love Again in August
they all look the same to you.
aunty Yetunde has repeated
'beware' like they were dogs,
always on heat.
prancing on their hind-limbs,
looking for a game to play;
but you're a woman, not a bitch.
papa said; 'they are passing cars.'
they'll fade into thin air
as soon as they appear.
changing colors like clothes.
gifting them a heart
will mean digging early graves;
but you're a woman, not Santa.
Today I Choose Joy is life-affirming poetry and a short-story anthology from thirty-seven contributors of diverse backgrounds and ages; from experienced poet and literary promoters like Jide Badmus to fresh, hopeful voices like Praise Ebirim and Victoria Otti.
I can now drop the cup anywhere I want;
Anywhere is indifferent to me.
Even sleep on the table, if it proves cozy enough.
Walk around the park without my socks on
"Dear," the name doesn't haunt anymore.
The sun is up so I will bask in it,
like a lizard,
like a snake,
or any other reptile that sheds it's skin
Four Litres of Death
Listen, child, let me sing you a dirge
Let me tell you how death was measured in litres
Don't try to wipe the pain navigating my eyes
Chase the birds from my window, I don't need their songs
How many litres did they bring? Maybe four or even more
Right in their grandfather's compound, behind a high school wall
In the glaring eyes of the sun, they strap darkness on their backs
And massaged demons on behalf of kids who cry of toothache
Come on, bring me writhe for the four holy schoolboys
Who left their mother's arms and returned home only with ashes
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