Masthead

A Canadian copywriter and copy editor now based in Moncton, New Brunswick, Adrian Slonaker is fond of opals, owls, thunderstorms, folk revival records, fire noodles, The Alfred Hitchcock Hour and non-alcoholic blue drinks. Adrian’s work has been published in WINK: Writers in the know, Ariel, and elsewhere.

Antibiotic Blues

I’m bulbling, bumbling like a dumb blond(e) from the Golden Age of Hollywood
without the figure
or the yellow locks,
a himbo who isn’t very beau.
How can a petite podwery, poerdy, poderwy
POWDERY damn it
wite, white pill-or is it the pinkish-bluish capsule with the cryptic digits-
besiege a brain and morph it
into mash, or is it mush, to match
the collywobbles in the gut during
eight days of frustrating pharma fog thicker
than a full-frat, full-fat Frappuccino?
Science squashes my IQ as I misplace my cell phone, followed by the TV remote, keys and
bank card and my, um…I forget.
As if hijacked by the shakiness of a heat haze, I stumble to the ice machine but
come back with nothing.
Dates and deadlines become meaningingless in a malfunctioning memory bank, and
I fix and refix phrases like “extra much” that sounded Shakespearean when I typed them.
Mercurial emotions mock me like the menacing Space Invaders of my childhood as
innocuously constructive criticism punctures the pacifist in me.
Someone’s profiting from my prescriptions while I’m vantiqued, vanquished by
the salvos of adverse effects.

—From U-rights Magazine Issue One


Eremika Ebere is an avant-garde creative writer whose repertoire includes but is not limited to storytelling and poetry.
Her writing skills have earned her scholarships and global vacations. She polishes off articles and blog contents to the peak of standards and is very genial.

Dawn

Like an explosion of flowers, the dawn was regal and malapert in her
ornamental garb—with Marabou plumes that strew a myriad of colours
over the spectre of darkness as she stood before me.
I gulped, enchanted by her glassy eyes relentlessly cascading soft ethereal
flakes of affection, imbuing me with a longing dusted in beguiling velvet.
Torn between Earth’s awakening and her—a dead ringer of somber
galactic comeliness, I beheld her—svelte and alluring and decked in the
chippings of naked desire; her infectious smile heralding the day break
and stirring the hunger in my gut.
She had spumes from a highball spewing over from her cut−crystal
tumbler−tall and flanked with crescent moons which she held out to me
like a Capodimonte rose.
I breathed the brisk air for a while. Then, let my eyes fall in declination
over her silky loins: “No, “ I whispered and turning away, squelched up the
sodden path. I knew I’d hurt her.

—From U-rights Magazine


Nnadi Samuel is a 20-year-old graduate of English & literature from the University of Benin. His works have been previously published in libretto magazine, Artifact magazine, Inverse Journal, Awakening Review, The Collidescope, Jams & Sand magazine & elsewhere. He got shortlisted in the annual Poet’s Choice writing & was the 2nd prize winner of the EOPP 2019 contest. If he is not writing, you find him reading out memes on Facebook @ Samuel Samba.

My Girlfriend Says She would Die in a Street Lamp

when we found her robbing death of its lumens beside a highway.
her eyes were jejune tangerines.
peeled into the barks of our anemic street lamp.
because it held her blood in a lit cell.

there is a disturbing need for more lamps on the streets across my country.
everyday a girl is plucked into the ripe night.
& nobody cares to know from which branch she fell off.
they simply rear her in slices of their curse words, when they refer to her mother.

i lost my girlfriend to a blind date with her guilt.
she was tensely dressed, except for a little flaw in her mascara.
& how it didn’t thicken the cloud she carried beneath her eyelashes.
he proposed, & she fell head over heels, into a bulb that mates an army of dragonflies.

i admired her beautiful looks in the lamp.
she seemed more handsome in death, than she had been in life.
more pleased that a whole city couldn’t do without her now.
a car stopped by, & asked why the other roundabout was not lit.

i smiled.
& told him, each time a street lamp comes erect, a maidenhead goes limp.
he shook his head & zoomed off.
this time, with my regrets boldly seasoned on his plate number.

—From U-rights Magazine Issue Two


Wanda Morrow Clevenger is a Carlinville, IL native living in her husband’s hometown of Hettick, IL – population 200, give or take. Over 600 pieces of her work appear in 170 print and electronic publications. Her published chapbooks include: This Same Small Town in Each of Us (2011 Edgar & Lenore’s Publishing) and the first two volumes of a 5-volume set released through Writing Knights Press. young and unadorned (where the hogs ate the cabbage) and no dyeing in machines (where the hogs ate the cabbage).

hallucinating for beginners

there were these
multi-hued threads
snaking from his
maroon-shirt shoulders

headless flower stems
that I tried to snatch
between thumb and finger

I heard myself say
look at the pretty colors

9 days later
another voice said
Wanda, open your eyes

it had all gone sideways
upside down flower heads
with no stems

— From U-rights Magazine Issue One


Ajang Precious is an Award Winning African Poet and Social Activist. His long poem “Savour of Paradise” won the first edition of the Dr. Linda Ayade Literary Art Competition in 2018. He currently lives and writes in Nigeria.

Lukpata Lomba Joseph lives in Nigeria. His poems have appeared in Jacar Press’ One, Poetry North Ireland’s FourXFour Journal, Squawk Back Journal, South Florida Poetry Journal, The Collidescope, Runcible Spoon Magazine and elsewhere. Recently, he has fallen in love with satirical writing with a deliberate focus on morality. He likes reading Aesop’s fables. You can find him on Facebook through facebook.com/lukpata.joseph.9