Kay Ugwuzor

Sweet solitude with a perfect attitude. Sincere serenity; it's like a ghost city. Persistent peace; beyond the life of a lease. Prowling poise; Shake out noise. This must be love fits like a hand in a glove. The cascade of compassion; That throws away caution. A fact so naked When I'm lost in your bed. A cushion of comfort. I'll roll back and forth. There's no need to lie, this is where I'll love to die. Do it to me one more time; It's ecstasy at her prime. ©Spero Rebecca 2016

So the Nobel Laureate Professor refuses to cut his green card now that Trump has won. Professor Wole Soyinka He had said: “If in the unlikely event he does win, the first thing he’ll do is to say [that] all green-card holders must reapply to come back into the US. Well, I’m not waiting for that. “The moment they announce his victory, I will cut my green card myself and start packing up.” Culled from naij.com I was a tad surprised to see this man I respect so much, jumped into such a conclusion as hasty and costly as that. I, on my part, expected Trump to win (I don't know why but I am aware of the uncanny game fate plays. The way she always brings the unexpected). I thought,  as a writer, I needed to be aware of the possibility of a TWIST. So when Trump was leading, I wasn't so shocked. When he won. Huzzah! But Prof has now been put on the spot and even though people would had thought at first that it was a safe bet 'Like, Trump can't win over Hillary,  

YONDER I sometimes wonder The way we carry on Forgetting life yonder Where all we have will be gone I sometimes wonder If the rain would fall On one and not another If pain doesn’t greet all I sometimes wonder If not in vain saints live and die And not in vanity and squander Opposing to wine and dine I sometimes wonder If dreams are not far-fetched Some sort of fictional blunder Yet we stand with our hands outstretched. I sometimes wonder If we did not get it wrong That life is cruel and death is fonder For to her we so often belong.  (c) Kay Ugwuzor 2016

She kept laughing at his interruptive quips. They weren’t all especially funny and the other members of his Company of Friends thought they were annoying but she laughed it anyway. Maybe it was because she felt at ease with him and not as uptight as Amanda had described her last week when she introduced her to this new crowd. ‘ This is my friend, Florence. She is single and uptight’ was plainly what Amanda said. To her that was what being an SU meant but Florence knew she wasn’t an SU, at least she didn’t dress like one. She just had principles about relationships and men and how to manage both, these principles had kept her dignity between her legs so far. Yet it was the way Amanda had said it that night that piqued her. She didn’t want to seem like a turn off to the others. She wanted to prove to Amanda and to herself that she wasn’t a total SU. She decided that if she was going to get a fling, to prove that she could let loose if she wanted to and was only restrained by he

He answered resignedly, proving he had no control over the affairs of his life. ' Ah, Baba how you dey now? ' asked the woman, eagerly, insincerily, a smile splattered over her smokey black face. ' Mummy, mummy ' laughing stupidly 'weHe answered resignedly, proving he had no control over the affairs of his life. 'Ah, Baba how you dey now?' asked the woman, eagerly, insincerily, a smile splattered over her smokey black face. 'Mummy, mummy' laughing stupidly 'we dey were una leave is o' She laughs loudly 'How market?' 'We dey manage o?' 'Family nko?' 'Na God dey help us o' He said smiling sheepishly. 'Ok Sir.' She said, still laughing, ending her half-hearted concern 'Mummy Mummy' he walked away slowly. Announcing at the top of his voice the unfixed price of the sling bags he was carrying, her smile faded to the placid dryness of her every day life. His voice soon blended into the wave o

This is No. 1 of the best stuff I've read this week. From Brittlepaper.com Love Like No Other by Kesiena Enjoy . . . As I walk past the crowd, with the police men shielding me from angry onlookers, I overhear my mother talking to the press; “No comment please. I am not her mother!” she hissed. I smile. Mum can be such a drama queen! An old whore whose philandering ways not only killed papa but also made papa’s relatives kick us out of his house penniless. I enter the court room head held high. Today, I would know my fate. The press would have a field day with my story. Whatever happened, I would not beg. Never! I look around the court room searching for him. He’s seated at the exact corner of the room where he’s been sitting for the past months since my trial. He looks really different with his bleached hair under his panama cap. Sadly, he has had to cut his beautiful dread locks. His beautiful brown eyes now hidden under black contacts and geek shades and