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



Naida Mujkic

There is something evil inside me

I enjoy watching
decay in the landscape

I enjoy the smell of rot
as I walk through the woods

I enjoy the sound of dead
crickets crunching under
my cold feet

And if that wasn’t enough
I make a wreath out of the lifeless
leaves and wear it on my head
like a little girls crown


I Never Saw My Mother Dance

Doug Tanoury

I know that this may seem somewhat odd,
But I never saw my mother dance.
I think because it calls for throwing off
All inhibitions and stepping
Through the world for a short time
With unselfconscious joy.

Neither tango, nor rumba
Not even a weak attempted cha-cha,
But always looking wistfully
From the sidelines.
She is of course Canadian,
And therefore, a bit rhythmically challenged,
But even they can do
A crude flatfooted Celtic two step.

I think that it was just too many fears
And too little joy that are the root causes
Of her inability to move free
And unconstrained, like music itself,
Across a large dance floor.


How I View Freedom From A Windowpane

Hassan Usman

in a bird flying at sunset, talk of starlings
how they go crazy in murmurations, grieving
i hear their plumages praying not to be preys this evening
while they run from predators to their roosting

in a timid boy on a playground
the bigger boys hijack his toys & his heart pounds
he wraps his tears, voices out in a shuddering sound
& awaits a hero that might come around

in an ex-convict
how he lives each day in the echoes of his verdict
the society still clusters to call him a drug addict
& he’d never get to run for any office in that district

this is how i view freedom from a windowpane
in the fear that makes starlings go insane
in the horrified heart of a boy with paper planes
in a prisoner freed into the hands of pain

so i choose to be locked
than gifted freedom that’s fucked
which is why i built my heaven in this hell
saying: a caged girl is a happy girl


Beyond the Bronze Gate

Joseph Hope

Locked like the passage of rite,
the gates of the underworld

won’t open unless you have lost the key
to the door of the living.

Crawl under your skin and
you will find the backdoor to the temple

of the three beautiful black sisters
braiding their hair to keep score

of the stray souls that have stared
at their beauty and begged

never to return back
to the land of the living.



Afolabi Femi

I built this walls
thick and strong
a fence no one can scale

Away they’ll go
once they hit the wall
for they are walls of brick
laced with some iron bars

I need my space
from all these noise
an escape from life itself
So I build…

Love had brought me to this
path and dumped me
In the quicksand of life
I sank

So I built this walls
not to keep you out
But walls to keep you in.

Locked, with me
Never to leave again…


Her Place; Her Voice

Cynthia Mbamalu

Dear woman,
for centuries you were told
to stay in your place.
Better seen but
definitely not to be heard.

“Don’t forget your place woman,
don’t project your voice,
it’s not your right”, they said.
After all, you’re an idea
shaped by society
and society says you
have nothing to say.

You’ve grown
and you’ve fought
to be heard.
You can’t crumble now.

Dear beautiful woman,
you can’t go unheard,

never again.



Promise Micheal

Just how she likes her hair to be,
but not exactly how she would like her words to be.

It is not an argument she can win,
not when the world around her fastens her thoughts
before they fall off her lips.

Quite often, she would stare into the void,
like she could make out something that looks like her,
and then hold onto that figure with a gaze so relaxed.

There is a thin line between who she loves and what she loves.
Sometimes, it is the sound of her father stomping his way through her,
and burying the seeds on her face right after.
He would make hand signs
over his lips, as if to blow a kiss to his lover.

Other times, it is how quiet the world becomes,
when she buries herself in the bath tub, under water.


Apparent Not Spoken

Remii Oluwaa

The pain that pokes her heart rests on her shoulder,
From birth to death,

In the name of love and security,
She is despoiled of liberty, happiness and achievement,

In the name marriage and commitment,
She lives to make meals, wash garments and bear heirs,

In the name of peace and harmony,
She bears agony, oppression and suppression;

For no sin she has committed,
She is to blamed for looking too beautiful,

With no choice to change fate,
She lives her life by what the society lays out,
Striving to keep her head above water,
Time isn’t her friend nor man her companion.


When hearts are locked

Alaro Basit

when hearts are locked,
the mouth becomes a dam of caged feelings
that paves way for escaping torrents of undiluted emotions.

the body itself, becomes a beast of beauty
that mauls at the fluttering flaws of lovebirds
and drags away booties of their captured souls.

when hearts are locked,
the brain builds an aquarium of liquid fantasy,
several feet below the surface of solid reality.
fingers fiddle on glossy sheets of epidermis
and draw on it faint lines of erotic ambiguity.

when hearts are locked,
they beat concurrently, like the resonating sounds of a tambourine while lips synchronize with sorcery, like the magical lamp of Aladdin.


How do I Sing Songs of Praise

Amina Akinola

how do i sing songs of praise,when i am stuck between space finding a suitable language to define

the demon that eats my testicles all the way.i envision the quest for truth

to tell the gravity that sit in my sternum,
when others cling to their beloved at night.

the truth is,i am a captive of griefs a metaphor cannot unveil.for sometimes

all a metaphor does is sharpen grief
or give it a new name.

here i am stuck,trying to forget the tumor that stained my albumin.

i am married to an illness that flours my
tongue with sour rhymes.and the truth is

i want to air a simple hallelujah from the
depth of my heart,slashing all my maladies away.

i want to praise the Lord with new poems of sweet metaphors.