My Woven Poetry: An Anthology
of Art and Words.
One image, one month.
Not more than 20 lines.
Let the image be your muse,
the text is up to you.

Welcome Note



Alshaad Kara

She springs from within
like an ocean of pride.

She shines for herself.
A queen of queens.

Walking the streets in her own curls
Labelling herself for whom she is,

Her eloquence scalds
like a boiling oil.

She shines as herself,
Walking the talk in her sassy Afro.



Testimony Odey

Big, black & bold,
I’m on top of the world.
I break stereotypes like a glass smashed on a brazen wall.
The curls of this baby on my head,
Signifies the complicated life of a black woman.
I wear my afro like a crown, look how it stands out in the crowd.
I once heard I could name my hair – it’s my child, you know
Freedom, Colourella, Perfection – oh, how I brainstorm names
One. I think. Two. A name. Three. I think again.
And after moments under the star-lit sky
Giving names to the little stars that cover my world like an umbrella
A name for my baby flies into my open heart of colors
Authentica – I hear the whispers in a dazzling twinkle.



Favour Raymond

tap the decline button // when ‘not being enough’ // rings on the cell of your body //
for your body is a symphony // of perfect punctuations // from a fullstop that stops the crowd // or sculpts them into comma that pauses //
as your heart creates bold rhythms // for your feet to dance away grief // and your shadow pleads to rest for a minute //
as your feet stamps empathy // on sheets of paper turned to soils // and your palms create beats to join the song //
as your voice speaks loud // echoes louder than loudspeakers // soothing hearts // craving to listen //
as your hips sway to notes // notes weaved into music // music created by the confidence you command //
as your lips curve into a crescent // your teeth glows like your skin // causing eyes to look a third time //
as your eyes are an ocean // radiates calmness // or becomes a storm // that terrifies weakness better than angry dogs //
as your hair is the shape of satisfaction // like a woman on her first day at work // as your hair beams like Christmas lights //
as your hair is the crown the world craves // governing glittery gold // an orchard it is // just like your body that bears fruits


To Countrymen: An Afro Wields The Heart Than Hoes

Saheed Sunday

There are ways to liquefy ladies with
sequel of determinants, held to their

mouths like cliches into harmonicas
you start, like biceps to the skin to

adjectivise [ebony, red-lipped, afro-
ed] a woman into colors/flames of

turnings —you become a cherub,
winged, telling God how even an

eyeliner afro heaves you weave into
a boulevard of lust, glossy affections

like a sleeping centipede nodding
to every praises moistening its legs

into a classical form of c r a v i n g
Lord, how do we break away from

things that birthmark our hearts,
like hair, like hair, like the afro a

lady wears to squeeze my heart
into tight rooms it does not fit?



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