by CWPF | Jan 21, 2026 | Contest Entries, Poetry
# African Motherhood In the heat of the sun, she toils and bears, A pillar of strength, through joy and despair. Her husband’s infidelity, a weight on her chest, Yet she stands tall, a fortress, unbroken and blessed. ka odiri Chukwu, she prays with a sigh, ”Let it be left for God,” as she wipes away her tears, and dries her eyes. Four girls, no boy, a societal shame, But she beams with pride, at her daughters’ names. Childless, she’s labeled, a woman incomplete, But she knows her worth, in the love she creates. Expected to be a wife, and bring to the table too, She works hard, and provides, with a spirit anew. In the midst of struggles, she finds her voice, A warrior, a mother, a queen, a choice. She rises above, the societal norms, And forges her path, with a heart that storms. Her strength is her shield, her resilience her might, She faces each day, with a courageous light. ka odiri Chukwu, she trusts in God’s plan, And finds solace, in the love of her clan. She’s the backbone, the heart, and the soul, Of the African family, she’s the goal. Her story’s one, of trials and strife, But also of triumph, and a life worth living, rife. So let’s celebrate, this African queen, A mother, a warrior, a woman serene. her story’s told, Of strength, resilience, and a heart of gold, Ugochukwu!
by Versatile Paraclete | Jan 21, 2026 | Poetry
“Life isn’t meant to be fair to you” one of my priest told me this in secondary school and I kept thinking why.
Life isn’t black and white
It isn’t a bed of roses
It isn’t meant to favour you
Sometimes is not just about hard work, there’s also a thing called GRACE.
So in life, we should all work, pray and ask for sufficient grace…
My first blog
© Versatile Paraclete 🤗
by CWPF | Sep 30, 2025 | Contest Entries, Poetry
by CWPF | Sep 30, 2025 | Contest Entries, Poetry
She our pride
With a dark radiant skin
A skin where beauty bide
She my African pride
Even if shackled shines
Turns pains to gains
A heart warmer than a furnace
Wilderness and tenderness
Soft on the inside
But not a weakness
In love she resides
She my African pride
Ferocious she’s a tigress
Loving so kindhearted
Nothing can bind
Her my African pride
This realization
Drives me to a conclusion
To praise without preclusion
Nothing matches my African women’s adoration
by CWPF | Sep 30, 2025 | Contest Entries, Poetry
Calloused Crowns:
(Encomium of African Motherhood & Resilience)
By: Zosu Selome Elisha
(Penname: Quill Scribbler 🪶)
Contact Information:
Email: selomelisha@gmail.com
Phone: 08164597315
Calloused Crowns
(Encomium of African Motherhood & Resilience)
By Quill 🪶
She does not wait for dawn—
dawn waits for her.
Her hands are calloused crowns,
palms carved with sacrifice.
Her back bends, yet does not break.
She has buried sons to hunger,
daughters to silence,
dreams to the hunger of nations.
Still she rises, still she sings—
still she will not break.
African motherhood is not softness;
it is steel wrapped in tenderness.
A river that carves valleys of stone,
a drum that beats even cracked.
Her song says: we do not break.
The nation forgets her often,
yet it is on her chest it has slept.
Her milk, her sweat, her blood—
the verses of survival.
Still she whispers: we do not break.
Writer’s Bio:
Zosu Selome Elisha writes under the pen name Quill Scribbler 🪶. An African storyteller at heart, his work leans into the raw edges of life—grief, resilience, love, and the quiet power of memory. His style blends raw emotion with vivid imagery, often weaving ordinary life into timeless metaphors. He believes words can hold both wounds and healing, both silence and song. Through poetry and prose, he seeks to honor the unseen, give language to survival, and remind readers that even in the darkest night, ink can still bloom into light.
by CWPF | Sep 30, 2025 | Contest Entries, Poetry
Motherhood is the first religion,
where every child learns the language of love
before they master the alphabet of life.
O Mother, cathedral of resilience.
Her back is an altar, bent in sacrifice,
her hands—twin scriptures of mercy,
her voice—a psalm that tames our storms.
O Mother, cathedral of resilience.
She is the sun clothed in flesh,
burning herself so others might grow.
Her prayers rise like incense from cracked lips.
O Mother, cathedral of resilience.
Mother, the first prophet of hope,
baptizing us daily in rivers of sweat,
her laughter—thunder turned soft,
her tears—a rain that waters becoming.
O Mother, cathedral of resilience.
And even when time folds her body like paper,
she remains a hymn carved into bone,
a living scripture written by God Himself.
O Mother, cathedral of resilience.
by CWPF | Sep 30, 2025 | Contest Entries, Poetry
Encomium of African Motherhood and Resilience
Before the sun yawns over the hills, she wakes,
Hands weaving hope like threads in dawn’s loom.
A home without a hearth, yet her spirit is the fire,
Rain drums the roof like an impatient drummer,
Still—she whispers, “A mother’s love must feed.”
The wood sighs in smoke, then dies in the rain’s fist,
Yet she stands, a lone tree against the storm’s teeth.
Her skin drinks the cold; her bones hum with ache,
But her heart beats louder than the thunder’s roar.
Still—she whispers, “A mother’s love must feed.”
She seeks refuge in the hut where hens dream,
Where goats curl in the dark like folded shadows.
Smoke coils upward like a prayer to the ancestors,
And grain surrenders to the bubbling pot’s song.
Still—she whispers, “A mother’s love must feed.”
At eight, the storm bows and the children rise,
Their laughter spilling like sunlight after rain.
She smiles, wearing the crown of quiet triumph,
Her sweat the gold, her pain the scepter she wields.
Still—she whispers, “A mother’s love must feed.”
©Aisha Adams
by CWPF | Sep 30, 2025 | Contest Entries, Poetry
by CWPF | Sep 30, 2025 | Contest Entries, Poetry
All what we went through,
All what we faced,
All what we fought with,
All what we lost.
All what we quest for,
All what we cried for,
All what we departed for,
All what we lied for.
All what we needed,
All what we seek,
All what we buried,
All what we cherished.
Everything we exhausted,
Everything we failed to do,
Every past mistake and illusion we thought could be real.
Some say it’s a matter of time.
Time, we’ve been waiting for it for long.
Where could it be?
Where could it be facing?
Where could it have gone
That has not made it come?
Some superstitions,
Some illusions,
Some repercussions
That made us weary.
All what we went through
Was not a game,
Was not a joke,
Was neither food nor water
Like as if we enjoyed it.
All what we faced and passed through
Pushed us to the limit.
But with hope,
We moved hardly,
Little, little, and by little.
by CWPF | Sep 30, 2025 | Contest Entries, Poetry
She our pride
With a dark radiant skin
A skin where beauty bide
She my African pride
Even if shackled shines
Turns pains to gains
A heart warmer than a furnace
Wilderness and tenderness
Soft on the inside
But not a weakness
In love she resides
She my African pride
Ferocious she’s a tigress
Loving so kindhearted
Nothing can bind
Her my African pride
This realization
Drives me to a conclusion
To praise without preclusion
Nothing matches my African women’s adoration
