Veritas vincit  
Penniless Press... the inexhaustible voice

Jumoke Verissimo

Jumoke Verissimo writes from Lagos, Nigeria. She has been published in magazines like the Argotist, Journal, Bathtub Gin, and the anthologies Ashes and diamonds and Confluence.

from Africa, wheat love 

age meets rage

and the symbol of adulthood


blistered legs

rusted teeth

charred eyes

blue cheeks

kindred in the pain of the heart

in an error zone for human relationship

sour war story testifies to the

bloody ties of a man’s hunger

a people’s thirst

a nation’s wish

a continent’s longing

for there is war in Africa

war of the heads

war of the stomach

war of the eyes

just war

nothing more

than war with its style marks.

      from Africa here is a message

              - wheat love. 


Poetry on the Street 

The street, too many people, unending epics

movie narrated in daily lives

of patterned pace, places and phases

in distrained vocals, strung words, uneven meanings

on the streets

every face is a poem

stifled with unbridled unhappiness contrast of a bonheur

discountenanced dissociations

of feelings sprawn endlessly without words.

expressions – poetry


            Words of grave dreams

saddled on unassuming shoulders. 


fully scrapping short ambitions

down to alleys, drainages. 

Eyes making solemn music

solo performances, holding briefs

sharing moments of passions in odes of grief

and drains of anger seem like a ballad

an abstract minstrelsy accompanying dreams

swift rush as the day runs out,

epitaphs for unrealised ambitions. 


silence steals noise

cementary peace makes love with noise

miscreants scamper in their dreams – awake

      For another classic poetry on the streets

when morning comes. 

World peace  

World peace is flour - mixed with water

Inadequate butter


Together when on a plate for diversification dinner. 


A point between here and there

When the past becomes an incomplete puzzle

And then death is the comma

For those whose dreams are on the move. 

In sniffing for death

And stealing the gas of life

Death becomes the cup of tea

where everyone minds his own share. 

Music is created without rhythms

Uneven choreographs of hurt

Rehearses death as a dance step

Learnt without moving the limbs. 

Promises and wishes strengthened

As human breathe become a task

Infinite wait for the end to death

As a dream and an ambition to loath in wait.




















©2006 Penniless Press