NEWS || 2026 Penned in Rage Journal Pushcart Prize Nominees

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About the Prize

The Pushcart Prize: Best of the Small Presses series, published every year since 1976, is the most honoured literary project in America - including Highest Honours from the American Academy of Arts and Letters.This is a placeholder paragraph. Replace this text with your own content.

Our very first Pushcart Prize nomination (sanctioned by Dr Jive, the Editor-in-Chief) goes to ‘Melon Seeds’ by Obioha Testimony Chidera.

Kindly go read it here: https://www.ellaspoems.com/pennedinragejournalfiction-obioha-testimony-chidera-melon-seeds

I like hard evidence, don’t know about yourselves? Our nominations have been sent off to the Pushcart Press, P.O. Box 380, Wainscott, NY 11975.

I grew up in a home when my Krio mum cooked Egusi seeds in Egusi soup. I straightaway tapped into a shared understanding of the image it creates. The image of Egusi seeds pretentiously referred to as melon seeds by a protagonist is important enough to draw a reader’s attention to it and create subtext in the short fiction.

There is tension and contradictions in the plot— which utilises white space and an adaption in form to tell a story.

All literary devices haul in the right associations initiated in the early sections of the piece.

Below is an excerpt for your enjoyment:

Obiora

I didn't understand why the village breeze felt cooler than the one in Abuja, even though Suleja was located at a higher altitude. Maybe it was because of the many trees that were scattered on every street. Two Oroma trees, one Aki Oyibo tree, and one ube tree. It was like this in every house. Except for Izu's house. They had planted Egusi at every corner of the house. So much that if you should walk around the compound at night, you could risk crushing one of the round melons.

Izu insisted on calling them melons, even when everyone called them Egusi. He said it with a certain excitement in his voice, one that sounded like he had laughed too much. He also insisted on calling me James, instead of Obiora. It was better than “Onye Abuja” that he always called me.

Dr Jive also sanctioned Jonathan Ukah’s poem: ‘Why God Left my Country.’

https://ellaspoems.com/edition6octobertodecember2026#jonathan-c-ukah

British Nigerian, Jonathan is no stranger to literary awards and competition wins.

Below is an excerpt for your enjoyment:

I see the invisible things crawling away,

like a black kite wearing gold earrings,

a yellow mouse digging holes in the sky,

the dead speaking through my mother,

telling her how hunger blinded them to their fate.

My father was always holding my hands

each time he went to church on Sunday.

He never went to church on a Wednesday or Friday,

those days were reserved for the deacons

who must wear a pious mask and robe

and sit on the front pews, rubbing their temples.

Nomination number three goes to the illustrious Obaji Godwin for his poem: ‘Seeker’. I once posted on my Facebook feed that young Obaji should write my epitaph upon my demise. His recognisable style of poetry which plays with text alignment and word spacing, has inked its way into anthologies and competition shortlists. Every word functions, in this delightful piece of his which I’ve selfishly reposted because I can’t get enough of it.

.a decade later 96 kidnaped

Chibok girls are still missing..

BBC NEWS

when I decant

my eyes

into my country’s flag

I see leas of lilacs

I canoodle it.

i fleck its tongue with honey-potted molasses.

when darts rise, I rise,

becoming a sentinel ready

to bleed

for its roots to remain rooted

yes, my country is a home

I am prepared to picket with my life.

Our fourth Pushcart nomination was Yuwinn A. Kraukamp’s ‘There is something wrong with our water.’ I had apple juice this morning instead, because of Yuwinn’s dire warning. On a more serious note, water is symbolic of a thing/an element his family partakes of that is not what it is meant to be. Yuwinn writes in bothe Afrikaans and English and was placed third in the 2026 Bridgette James Poetry competition.

Below is an excerpt for your enjoyment:

URL: https://ellaspoems.com/edition6octobertodecember2026#yuwinn-kraukamp

We drink as much as the living are allowed

in a graveyard like this

but there is something in this water: ashes

and stones, and human bones

and deceased Gods who couldn’t adapt to local droughts

the last rites and first names of slain children

who couldn’t unswallow the easy death

that fills our daily cups.

The fifth creative nominated was Pavle Radonić for his story: ‘Buccaneers & Pirates.’ URL: https://www.ellaspoems.com/pennedinragejournalfiction-pavle-radonić-buccaneers-pirates

Despite the demonisation of Somalis in popular discourse the underling question that pervades the story with geopolitical themes is: Who in actual fact are the pirates? Are colonial oppressors the real villains here?

Below is an excerpt for your enjoyment:

Asked why the Africans resorted to English instead of Somali or Arabic, Allen replied with pique, Because we are not Arabs.

In a recent news-report one of the Somali pirates had been ridiculed for accepting a ransom of only a few thousand dollars for some particularly rich booty. In reply, the man had defended himself by explaining he hadn’t known there existed a number greater than ten thousand.

Ten years the Italians were in Somalia. The first and most accomplished buccaneers, the English, before them and later returning again for a second stint. Mr M. No. 3 was not alone at the café in possession of relevant history; deeply personal history of course.

For a time, the Russians had supplanted the English in Somalia.

The sixth Pushcart nomination went to ‘Owambe and Its Gift’ by Solape Adetutu Adeyemi for its humorous one-liners. I’ve nicknamed her the Queen of Metaphors. Even word does a job in Solape’s story. Solape who has been published in the New York times is also the Vice Chancellor of subtext; she says a bit and let the reader work the rest out.

URL: https://www.ellaspoems.com/pennedinragejournalfiction-solape-adetutu-adeyemi-the-owambe-goat-that-refused-to-become-pepper-soup

Below is an excerpt for your enjoyment:

My husband bought the aso ebi, gold and silver patterned silky lace. The kind of lace that doesn't scratch your skin or argue with your body. It simply rests there like it knows it's expensive. I sewed a gorgeous iro and buba. My hairstylist came to the house and transformed me into somebody's rich aunty. Hair? Flawless. Makeup? Immaculate. When she was done, my husband looked at me, blinked twice and asked, "excuse me... have you seen my wife?"