It ends Here
I am not giving up
I am cutting loose
Just letting go
I have thought things through
I am letting you win this race because
I have my own marathon to run
It’s not about being weak or strong
Neither brave nor fearful
It’s a matter of a realisation of a mission in life
I can’t spend all of my precious time
Calculating and timing your moves
Drowning in your trivial matters
I can’t walk than a mile in your shoes
I still have my own journey to embark on
I am living my life
In the only best way I know how
Reminiscing about the past
Won’t courier my dreams to fruition
I am curving my own legacy now
This loitering ends here.
Mthunzikazi Mbungwana
Nongqawuse@yahoo.com |
Unrequited
u left my heart very cold –
my bones frozen and breaking,
my muscles burning
and my life’s throat slit
into many pieces, suffocating –
u threw my soul
in an erupting volcano
after cursing my ways of love
but what I do not understand
is how u came back to beg
that I take u back
i am sorry
for u still do not know anything
about (love) the pain u caused me –
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane
kgosi@ld.co.za |
A War with ourselves
Guns sing from dusk till dawn
Blood flows like acid rain on bare soil
Dictators instruct the submissive pawns
While ants and termites run in turmoil
A bullet knocks on doors almost everyday
Whether young or old it doesn’t matter anyway
Canons and grenades yell at their enemies
Hospitals are over-flooded with innocent casualties Nobody wants to find out why we fight
But we express concern about the figures of those who die every night
As heaven and mother earth observe the wrath and egocentricity of these beings
Our forefathers rumble in anger, did we forget the old sayings?
Love is a forbidden subject to entertain
While peace continues to be slippery to attain
The only place to hide is the grave
Faces are expressionless
War washed away all the innocence In our world full of calamities
Lost in our own identities
Children are born in shabby conditions depriving them basic opportunities
A riffle is the only answer to end family woes
Still awaiting a saint to call the truce
HIV/AIDS preys among all the age groups
Bending and breaking all barriers and rules
Child rearing tends to yield felons
Rape, crime and violence are part of our societal norms
A war amongst ourselves, it’s Armageddon.
Kulani Theron Mathye
mrmathye@magicmail.co.za |
My Chance Out of 52
Love is like a pack of cards.
You go in blind, never knowing the outcome of your hand.
But everyone strives for just that one card.
The one card that is said to be the representative of love.
The one card that fills anyone with adoration.
The one card that will make you happy.
The one,
Queen of hearts.
Some find her. Some don't.
Some think they have,
Some never will.
Some run into poker faces,
Then end up broken hearts.
Some will get the royal flush.
I placed my hand into the pack,
and pulled out my symbolic card.
I didn't intend to get the Queen.
I didn't give myself false hope.
I didn't rejoice when I received my card
Nor did I weep.
All I did was look into your eyes
And know you were the one.
My one,
My eight of clubs.
Shannon Gahagan
shan_2hot4_u@hotmail.com |
the past
travelling in my thoughts
wanting to know what I don’t know
realising that what I know is what I don't want to know
need i disappear into these thoughts
or should I just block them all away
and find a window to escape into life
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane
kgosi@ld.co.za |
uncle
the door to the toilet has no handle
and cigarette
always accompanies him to the toilet
as if cigarette smoke and shit stink
have an affair –
tears too makes it to the toilet
as he reads from an old newspaper
about the death of a young girl
who was kidnapped and raped
and left to die in the bush –
u think the newspaper mean anything
more than reminding him of who he is
(a black man who gave up a long time ago)
whose children refer to him as the dad the drunk
if only they could find out why (he always wishes) –
the door to the toilet has no handle
and one Sunday morning
wind blew it open
while he was busy wiping his behind
with a newspaper picture
of a street kid lying carelessly on the ground, dead
and the lady next door covered her daughter's eyes
with her hands and looked away
as uncle zipped his trouser
with swear words coming out of his mouth
directed to no one in particular –
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane
kgosi@ld.co.za |
Like a Rose
You were plucked by the wind
like a rose whose time was done
and yet you were, oh, so young
Everybody asked why, oh, why
did she have to die
does anyone know
why she did it
and then we understood
but the answer was no good
it brought more unhappiness and tears
You did it because of the child
you carried under your heart
and you kept it secret till the end
you were plucked by the wind like a rose
whose time was done
and then you found peace
in the Holy one . . .
Anthea Amansure ©
amansure@xsinet.co.za |
Poem of me
Diamond.
But in the rough,
not so smooth
as they would like.
And I love me
love my family
but hate a lot too.
Calm sea at dusk,
raging tempest
all other times.
Scarlet passion for
most causes,
mellow shapely
bottle of wine
until fear pricks the
icy words from me.
Mind sharp like paper cuts
or nettled by confusion
‘til rarely sleep steals me
away to restful places.
Sweetness lures them
to the steel inside
where they knock, knock
against, but seldom
to come in and tame.
Who will harness?
Who will cherish?
Chariot blazing through
the crazy world.
Unanswered they will go
but you will find me
on a beach in a dress
with no shoes and tousled hair
where God falls in love with me
until I soften in His hands.
Keren Oliver
kerenoliver@hotmail.com |
Freedom Through Pain
Freedom Through Pain
Anger fills her.
She reaches for the blade.
One small cut
and the heartache will fade.
She cuts just once.
Behind her knee.
She reaches for the mirror,
she needs to see.
The blood makes it real.
It releases what's inside.
The things she can't talk about.
The emotions she must hide.
She cuts twice more,
the last one makes three.
For now she's okay.
She's set her pain free.
Nicci
nicole.mitchell@liblink.co.za |
KALAHARI
Kalahari,
the fields of gold,
the place where the sun
never greets the grateful eye goodbye,
but rests
under green
camelthorntrees
and proud sanddunes.
The Kalahari,
a place where your heart gets trapped
in the whistling rat’s burrow
and between the claws of the black mained lion.
There where your heart cries the endless song
off the black korhaan
and where your spirit runs
over busmangrass and threethorn,
there lies the place,
the temple
that we call
the Kalahari
Rest forever in the shadow
of hyena and leopard
and where peace and quiet
never seem to speak the words
of ending its proud and everlasting beauty,
the Kalahari,
it’s a place of magic,
a place where only those willing to adapt
will survive.
The Kalahari,
your doorway to a dream
you’ll never want to forget...
Elizabeth
betsiemeyer@gmail.com
|
| The homeless
We see them – we pass them
In our every day life
Like they were monuments
These lonely hungry ones –
We pass them
On pavements in town
With their bellies
Shouting violently –
We see them needy –
And whisper: what a shame
As if whispering
Changes their stressful state of being –
We see them weak
And pass them covering our noses
Like they were contagious
Like they were dangerous creatures
Out there to murder us –
We see them dirty
And pass them
In the coldest of days
Wearing almost nothing –
We see them
Coughing-
We pass them
Dying
And still find time to laugh–
Kgosietsile e.Dintlhoane
Email: kgosi@ld.co.za
Tel. 072 612 1060 |
| The scent of death
The shadow fell
deep that night
and the pitiful mourn
shone his impure rays.
With broken wings
the eternal dove flew
into the sacret rulmb
and the little angles
spread her wings
and she escaped without a sound.
Die sudden death
For you have captured my heart
and my beautiful wings
have crumbed into dust.
Please come silence my crys
for death slept
close to me last night.
Kerry Anne Wentzel
E-mail: bellair@netactive.co.za |
Darkness
To heal a pain that grips me so.
To fix a break that sinks so low.
To mend a heart that has torn apart.
To make me feel,
To make me soar,
To make love
would be to open the door.
To make me whole,
To make me one,
To fix my soul.
To find a solution,
to remove the cold
and renew a life.
To sit in the sun
and remove my knife.
To bring the light.
Remove me from the dark,
lift me from the sea
and bring me to your rock.
By Jennifer Lynn Richards |
The Rising Angel
The Rising Angel
The shame stricken lose
Of one rebellion
Vanished in one miraculous night
Where the planets
Of perpetual beauty
Became one
And the evil
Of my demented world
Slept its eternal slumber,
And as I marveled
At the sanctuary of one man
I said farewell to another,
For the curse of love was forsaken
And the angels mended themselves
For life rose to greet me
And therefore mutual reliance
Salvaged my soul
Kerry Anne Wentzel
E-mail: bellair@netactive.co.za |
CONTINENTAL DEATH
Africa
Blood spent on ancient soil
Blazes desert red and wasted
Massed with the starving crawling millions
Bred like flies
From this damned carcase
War cankered and fed by western wealth; the fuel
Is almost gone.
Where is the renaissance?
The lifting hope?
The spark of greatness?
Where the lasting glory of its sons?
None or few will last the trial of history grief spent
In suffering; who the saviour hero
That could lift the head
Of death from this
The cradles grave?
Sent home, chased.
The farmers who fed are gone
The wealth made in generations of white toil
Is spent
And all we find
Will soon
Be
Void.
Archie Smith
E-mail: archie@selectonline.net |
Sins of thy Beloved
She calls to me
Sultry, sexy, sweet
Lust and dusk embrace
Overwhelming me
It’s the essence of us
The downfall of all
Defrayed mind
Torn soul
It lies in me
It dies in me
It devours me
David Dippenaar
E-mail: david_dippenaar@yahoo.com |
Glasses
Look at the World through rose coloured glasses
see everything looks new
Look at the world through pink coloured glasses
a different shade of hue
Look at the world and see all the people
that don't have a care
Look at the world and see no hardship,
death or famine there
Look at the world through green coloured glasses
even the rain has come
Look at the world through yellow coloured glasses
there's a morning sun
Look at the world through blue coloured glasses
see the sky so bright
Look at the world through grey coloured glass
see shiny stars at night
Look at the world with strong clear glasses
and really take a glance
Look at the world look at our children
do they even stand a chance?
Look at the world take off the glasses
see what we have done
Look at the world with naked eye
there's anger in everyone
Look at the world through others eyes
and see they have no food
Look at the world through madness
and feel the sorry mood
Look at the world its slowly dying,
slowly spreading disease
Look at the world take the glasses off
we've brought it to its knee's
Shaz
E-mail: shaz@icon.co.za |
New way to look at life
I'm dying.
I began to live, at the moment of conception
I began dying at birth.
the process some called living, is that of dying
slow and pain,
IT is said life is short,
9 months to live is really not that long.
A life time to die no now that long.
In this struggle of "life"
we strive to live long, in actual fact
we just delay dying..
A great loss when that final moment come
A defining silence when the last breath is taken.
The inevitable is inevitable.
So what the heck, I'll enjoy dying
Since I cannot remember my life.
Peter Serati
E-mail: peters@datapro.co.za |
THE GAZE
I am scared
I can't...
I won't smile back!
'don't know how
befriended by loness
A millipede somersaults.
I can't...
I won't look back!
'never been stung,
Brick walled heart.
A knock on the door
I can....
I will break!
Bondages of fear and silence
A nocturnal bird dances
I wonder
I look.
D Maggie Ratsoma
E-mail: RatsomDJ@telkom.co.za |
My Sadness
In the end
by Genocide.....(me)
We are a race that's full in bloom
rushing toward impending doom
on land, in air and in the sea
we conquer all that we can see
But days will come when lands are bare
nothing left to ease our cares
no more fins disturb the deep
no creatures left beneath our feet
As darkness creeps into our hearts
and no one cares for all our arts
when all is lost and no one cares
and all the world is in despair
Only then the night will come****
death will beat on primal drums
the world will end consumed by hate
that is to be humanity`s fate.
Darkness in our hearts
That was never meant to be
Will now be heard
Will now be seen
The Holy one will wash us clean.
Knees will bend and pleas will roar
The Saviour listen's to us all
He gave life forgive our sins
Be prepared look to the sky
All will live all will die.
Give your life to Him alone
Be at His side beside the throne.
Pieter Visagie
c/o jamanda1@mweb.co.za
From Tzaneen - working n London |
Dementia
Twisted, mangled emotions
swim in a sea of debris,
as rusty, jagged edges stab.
Face distorted, mouth open,
bones and flesh scream
nothing but silence,
while the soul cries.
Wild-eyed, demented,
hysteria's uncontrolled waves crash,
breaking all barriers.
Fists clenched, flesh bleeds
as nails pierce.
Out of control, sapped fibres
hurtle over the edge
swallowed by the dark unknown.
Lucre Svensson
E-mail: looks@ananzi.co.za |
Abstract Afrikan Queen
voluptuous curves carried with pride shoulders
thrust back head held up regally crowned with
basket of freshly baked loaves to sell at stall
elegant sway of hips to market drums- three
children clutch at hem of sarong baby strapped
securely on back another tucked in crook of arm
rays glorify on ebony skin earth eyes peer at
brightness of dawn crystal beads form forehead
upper lip trickling dewdrops between valley of
bountiful breasts barefoot perfect imprints in
sand dunes breeze stirs scents mingling woman
bread children fragile being incredible inner
strength radiance from within truly magnificent
Afrikan Queen
Suny Lou
E-mail: suny@ananzi.co.za |
COLOURS
In silent pride laid up to rest
As witness to a nation's best,
We gave sentinel when we were hung
In hallowed halls, for battles won.
In chapels and churches nation-wide
We dip our colours side by side.
We speak of deeds in a bitter world,
In ancient banners neatly furled
Once we flapped in humid breeze
In distant places overseas,
Flew we high on battered spire,
Wreathed in smoke from cannon fire.
In close-quarter column, in ordered advance,
On horseback, on foot, with sword and with lance.
At Magdala, Alma and Tel-el-Kabir,
'Forward the Colours!', regardless of fear.
On the veld and under fire,
Through trenches, mud and bloodied barbed-wire,
At Calcutta, Colenso and Modderfontein,
The Somme, at Ypres and El Alamein,
With dreadful pride and tearful eye
we saw our guardians fall and die.
Carried through fire and smoke by the best.
Dirty and faded, now laid to rest,
Tattered and torn we accept our lot,
and silent we hang, for the most part forgot.
But when bands do play and soldiers march by
We're stirred to the quick and eager to fly.
But motionless we must remain,
Unless unfurled for Battle again.
John Johnson
E-mail: john@edufax.co.za |
The Golden Castle
Carry me unto the serene valley
where the nectar is sweet,
the pastures emerald green
and the trees are the throne of life.
Take me unto the serene valley
where the scent is pure
the caress is untouchable
and the eyes are the voice of your soul.
Bring me unto the serene valley
where light penetrates your weakened heart
where death never existed
and love lasted for eternity
Please, hold me unto the serene valley
and forgive me.
then hold me, close
Kerry Anne Wentzel
E-mail: bellair@netactive.co.za |
The uncanny generation
The swarm of heart-shaped bees
Injected it's poison of profound scepticism into my fleshy veins,
For we surrendered to the soulless
Existence of our humanity
And the vulnerability of our passion
Dissected our lonely hearts,
So our frail, yet blackened dreams
Was the rapture of our hypocrisy,
That exonerated our remorseful facade,
For we are the wasted generation
And the anarchy of our worthless being
Corrupted society
And silenced us into submission.
Kerry Anne Wentzel
E-mail: bellair@netactive.co.za |
| |
At Pino’s Italian Coffee Shop (fox Street Jo’burg)
(For my daughter, Reitumetse, 07:29 am)
Looking through the window
I find that there is no poem here
Only people rushing to work
The high building outside tells a cold story
A story I left behind back in Bloem
And while the robots
Instructs cars to stop or leave
I thought hard of what instructs me
O my beautiful daughter
I could not be in Jo’burg right now
Had it not been because of my love for her
Yes as the robots
Instructs cars to stop or leave
I on the other hand am instructed
By my love for her
To participate in this maddening rush as well
As it is the only hope for her future –
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane
kgosi@ld.co.za |
The Edge
I walk carelessly in the streets minding my deadly thoughts
Thinking of death like it’s my long lost lover
I walk mapping death spots
Thinking that nothing will ever come to any good
Is something wrong with me or with the world
I am a psycho case
Feeling explosives bursting in my heart
And knives slicing my soul to pieces
I am a psycho case
Depressing farther each dawn
Seeing hellish fire whenever my depression worsen
Of course I am delusional
Or how else can we explain the super-natural things I see
My heart is diving to rock bottom
Digging the ground with heaviness it carries inside
And my soul has become many open graves
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane
kgosi@ld.co.za |
The Rain
Wash away the thoughts inside
That keep my mind away from you.
No more love and no more pride
And thoughts are all I have to do.
Remember when it rained.
Felt the ground and looked up high
And called your name.
Remember when it rained.
In the darkness I remain.
Tears of hope run down my skin.
Tears for you that will not dry.
They magnify the one within
And let the outside slowly die.
Remember when it rained.
I felt the ground and looked up high
And called your name.
Remember when it rained.
In the water I remain
Running down
Johnathon Lawton
E-mail: studboi@vodamail.co.za |
Departure
He took his final breathe
Shortly before walking away from the face of earth
Days galloped, as the doors of the Kingdom slowly opened
Tears rolled, as emotions crept
Hearts were adamant to set free
Reluctant to admit the adversity
But the will of the Almighty has been done
Moments of strong sadness and numbness transpired
Heads bowed as his last bed lowered
A departure to the land of the unknown
Where dignity is equal for everyone
The will of the Almighty has been done
His footsteps may disappear from the soil but remain in hearts
Loved ones say their last words as he departs
The remaining are fruits that he sown
And he passes everything he owned
The Lord has given and has now taken
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes
Then the curtain on his life closes.
REST IN PEACE
Magoro R.A (2007)
Kulani Theron Mathye
mrmathye@magicmail.co.za |
violent winds inside winds inside
i am tired to the bone
and my soul lies flat on its face
who knows where does my life lead
and what is to be found there
i have been waiting for this long, for too long
and nothing fixes me –
inside I am still like a bomb waiting to explode
who can tell me where does my life lead
and what is to be found there
i am scared of myself, too scared and scarred inside
my eyes are full of resentments
and my hands are eager to take a life, my life –
i am like a red hot iron
coming straight from the coal stove
ready to burn shirts, trousers, faces even
hence i need to escape
to somewhere where I will be left alone
to die if I die, to suffer if I suffer, I don’t care –
but can someone tell me where does this life lead
and what is to be found there
if only it could lead to where my ancestors are
so that we can burn wood together to warm my frozen heart –
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane
kgosi@ld.co.za |
skeletons testifies
skeletons are my witnesses –
they are not brown or pale
they are white as milk –
they give no clue
to who was superior
or inferior
and if u seem to obsess
on the difference
of our skin colour
go argue with skeletons –
hold them up to the sun
and examine them –
swim them up and down if u like
or smash them against concrete
until they break into pieces – but
i can assure of one thing
that all u will find in the end are pieces of skeletons
not pale or brown nor superiority or inferiority
just pieces of human skeletons –
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane
kgosi@ld.co.za |
What shall I give you..
What can I give you..
You've got heavenly eyes.
You've gone through life's menu
Its loves, lusts and lies
I'll give you a NEW map!!
- the one to your soul..
I'll take my heart's toolbox
and I'll make yours whole
I'll give you my body
so you have another
And I'll give you my life
to love you like no other..
Retha Burger
Suries@mweb.co.za |
You walked my way
You walked my way, so shy and sweet and asked me for my name
Not knowing I should prepare myself for the friendship I was to gain
“Your favorite color is what” you asked, I don’t know why I lied
Forgive me for not realizing the man that sat by my side
Our friendship grew, and I grew stronger, you changed my every way,
I will thank God all my life, for sending you that day
You turned my world upside down, and showed me how to feel
How to love, and how to care, but mostly how to heal
So tell me now how I should let you leave and just be strong,
When you’re the only reason that I have been going on this long
My waking thought is you my friend, my dreams are just the same,
My picture of life just won’t make sense, without you in the frame.
I’ve never been good with patience, waiting, or, goodbyes,
But something I feel strongly about is never telling you a lie
So no more lies from me to you, the truth is what I’ll tell,
I’ve loved you since forever and love you forever I shall
Good luck to you and your new life, may God’s best come you way
With all of this been said and done, there’s nothing left to say
Liz van der Merwe
liz@intouchsecurity.com
|
OUR LIVES TOGETHER
We had some great times
that indeed is true.
We watched movies
and had parties all night through.
I really started to like you
And hoped you liked me to
Then I started to love you
But your love for me seemed untrue
I know you cared for me
And I knew you were going away
I knew you were going to leave me
But you could have done it, a better way
So many times that I was hurt
So many times you left me to bleed
Seemed like you didn’t care
Seemed like you didn’t know my need
Why you had to leave me
So many times over
Each time you asked me back, hoping for luck As if we had a four leave clover
So I ask you today
Hoping for a true answer in a way
What’s going to be different this time
Why would it suddenly work on this day.
Hennie Meyer
hennie.meyer@globalwheel.net |
Puffy eyes
Puffy eyes, sniffling noses,
Weeping into my pillow that smells of roses,
The smell doesn’t even make me feel better,
I can’t stop thinking of that stinking letter.
I sit here and feel betrayed,
Good and bad memories, away they fade.
I wipe away my tears,
But it doesn’t take away my fears.
I think why this happened to you,
After all, it only happens to few.
Why did it have to be my heart that breaks?
I lie on the floor while my body shakes
I look into the mirror at my bloated face,
Light patches where tears have affected my base.
Shannon
shan_2hot4_u@hotmail.com |
South Africa
We used to be married you and I
Our love was so intimate, then.
We use to laugh together,
Cry together,
Play together and
Hurt together, then.
Your hills were green,
Your rivers were blue,
Your sky was clear.
But now,
Now, you’ve become a barren wasteland
A land where
Crime,
Murder,
And rape
Has become part of your culture;
A land where hate takes preference over love
A land where violence rules peace;
Your desolation has become the epiphany
Of my sorrow,
I use to love you, then.
But now
Now I hate you!
James Dodgen
james.dodgen@gmail.com
|
An Elegy
I feel like I am an empty house
Long built –
Walls dilapidated –
Cracked and falling –
My heart is more cold
Than most winters
And my mind is a grave of her –
I feel my neck choking
And my body sweating
As I think of the day she died
On that terrible car accident –
Kgosietsile e.Dintlhoane
Email: kgosi@ld.co.za
Tel. 072 612 1060 |
Lipsticking
Come Saturday night the babes are busy,
lips in mirrors, outlining, smoothing
and getting them delicious for kissing
ready or not you get happy fuchsia faces,
"oh's" for surprises, "aahs" for admirations.
The bars are ruby red tarts, sweetly pinks over dinner,
caribbean browns for jazz, musky melbas for coffee
You done for at the mysterious smile
when they lick their teeth and head off somewhere
The powder room is the half-way mark, see?
they're gonna repaint and kiss the toilet paper
But if she forgets to make up
and the napkin's stained red,
If the wine glass has wispy underwear lip-prints
and her gloss is trapped between the creases,
You gonna get lucky legover man
and her mascara is gonna run.
Lesley Emanuel
E-mail: lemanuel@global.co.za |
- lag-lag loop ek deur die lewe -
sonder klere
sonder skaamte
al die kere
swak momente
deur my sorgelose lewe
probeer ek strewe
teen die rente
van geraamtes
in die skeure
van my hart
se fondamente
Madalene M. Moddervoet
E-mail: asiamudd@hotmail.com
Read more of Magdalene's poems at http://www.linx.co.za/poetry/asia.html |
THE RUSH HOUR
The taxi glides hurriedly,
A blaring “He Mzala” deafens our ears,
“Four Four,
aweze ngezihlalo amapondo.”
The driver says,
Amidsts ear bursting sounds,
“ngiyehla la”,
Screech!
Beep! Beep!
The blurring sounds deadens,
As Twalatza gradually ceases.
Sipho Mnyakeni
E-mail: mnyakeni@uniqwa.ac.za
Read more of Sipho's poems at http://www.linx.co.za/poetry/sipho.html |
Ice
My heart as cold as ice,
As hard as stone.
My heart broken twice,
I'm always left alone.
Dead inside,
Hiding behind so many walls.
A smile once so wide,
A smile that hid so many falls.
My heart torn apart,
A shell left in its place.
Each laugh a dart
That rocks at my base.
Locked in the dark
A face wet with tears
Every hurt that hit the mark,
Left a face knocked by fears.
Through the darkness
Comes the light.
Strike through hopelessness.
Prepare yourself to fight
By Jennifer Lynn Richards |
War
Echoes of gunfire on enemy ground.
Men of war turn to corpses found,
thanks to capitalisim, the whore of war.
Rank determines their dismal fate
Once the numbers start to dissipate,
Again thank capitalism the whore of war.
The pain of families robbed of spouses.
Only mothers and children in vacant houses.
The bastard boy begins to cry,
because today his patriot was sent to die.
All this for unity, the visauade of war.
Carl Piek (17 year-old scholar)
E-mail: prozak_kid@hotmail.com |
Urban Decay
Walking through the city streets
Seeing bodies beneath your feet
Women, children crying in pain
But their eerie wailing is in vain
Who is responsible for this crime?
It is simply mankind trying to progress through time.
The difference between evolution and masacism is a very thin line.
Carl Piek
E-mail: prozak_kid@hotmail.com |
It's only beginning
Chilly fingers splurge forth
on days of icy wonder.
Amazing memories litter
our souls
As we continue
the bold journey of self discovery!
Sensing the impatience of victory
Attaching to my mind
The product of self control
I splash ahead through moments of will
Grabbing happiness with hands of glee!!
Fleeting summer kissed craziness
Skillfully balanced through
Dreams of everlasting creations
Alert your body to occasions
Of intense feeling.
Treasured thoughts escape
With bliss
The probing
Emptiness
Of dying days.
Awaken to now the creation of being
As twilight raises the mists of
Solutions emblazoned
Amongst spirits
Curdling the power of life!!
Michelle Le Roux
082 973 1812
E-mail: michellelr@connection42.co.za |
Dear minister
Last night I dreamt I heard a poet asking:
Isn't it your ego's masturbation
That threatens our nation with anhilation,
Or is it your insufficient education
In the ways of our holy benediction
That sees you in such acts of immoral copulation.
I thought they said there was a great Lion
Prowling on the great holy mount Zion,
Holding a staff crafted of pure Iron.
Who traded that staff for this glitter of Neon?
That you masked politicians wear so crudely.
I hope you hold these words memorized,
As they shout of a nation demoralized
And ask why your resources stand immobilized,
While our people stand paralyzed,
As they stare at their children being devoured
by a virus created by the doctor's ego.
Thabiso Mahooa
E-mail: cutegent@yahoo.com |
The weeping rose
He planted a gentle kiss on my chest
and pleaded I root it in fertile earth
So we could bath in it's sweet scent.
He told me it was my rose to prune
and care for as I may see prudent.
Our rose, the singing rose, grew wilder
and more beautiful as he planted milder
as sweeter kisses so gently and tenderly.
We sat on the patio holding hands, watching
Our rose blossom like a chick hatching
and I was his chick
But now he must leave us, Our rose and I
He will plant another kiss and be on his way.
I don't know if I can resist the edge to beg
and plead that he stays.
I know hw must leave, his destiny beckons
and I know he must with it alone reckon.
But I do not know how to live with
the loneliness he will leave me with.
I don't know if the rose he planted
will stop weeping as it does each time
I try to draw some comfort from it.
His rose weeps so sadly that I can feel
my heart sinking and breaking on rocky
mountains
The weeping rose stands lone by the fountain
Grows paler each day among the mountains
The weeping rose mourns the departure
of it's master.
Will it wilt with the loneliness
Or will it grow more beautiful with remembrance.
Thabiso Mahooa
E-mail: cutegent@yahoo.com |
Lost generation
What's going on with today's youth?
And their ups and downs to escape the truth
By displaying hollow habits, that remain forbidden
And nobody takes the rap, of generation gap left open;
For mothers' to wail continously at the lost generation
That missed opportunities of better education.
Future looks bleak without any prospects -
And is hard to believe the authentic, bare facts.
Isaac N. Khumalo
P.O. Box 715, Hebron, 0193
Cell: 073 313 6320
E-mail: muntu@mailbox.co.za |
Carcass
I lay myself between the disbelief and the horizon,
Where the shadow cast itself upon my concerned mood…
The river that runs from me does no favor,
No comfort to my soul does it bring.
The echo of my aching voice in the night,
Survive as long as the dream I had before.
How I wonder the sands of time too slow,
As they circle above me in hope of closure.
Your words still fresh and crisp upon my heart,
As I swallow another sickening thought.
Lingering the scent of your embrace,
The wince upon my decay and my disgrace…
Would the night not swallow me now?
A defenseless martyr of own design…
My curse of currency,
Not worth the dime in the pond.
Filled with poison flow,
My aftermath, my stanching soul…
Cool the breeze that combs,
The last of my words...
Into the night,
Where I may hopefully find solitude…
…and forgiveness.
Marius van der Walt
Manager: Information & Technology
National Business Initiative
E-mail: marius@nbi.org.za |
FATHER OF THE NATION
---yes ---yes ----yes
Mandela from South to the North,
From east to the west
The world salute you
Even young children when they hear about
Your name they come running and pushing each other
You've conquered the world with your wisdom
Mandela you are the father of the world
You are like the north star
Ben Malope
E-mail: s000354@students.uzulu.ac.za |
The Melted Heart Of Stone
The tranquility of my soul
Reaped the gushing water of hope
For the flickering candle
Dimmed the peaceful walls
And the reflection of my inner-self
Shone it's pure rays of light,
For the stars were swept with knowledge
And the sky with grace,
For the crickets sing
And the birds sleep,
For my stained past was forsaken
And perpetual bliss was final
For God had answered my prays
And the world echoed in harmony.
Life that crowned we with hope
Courage that made me weep
Salvation that made me whole
Eternity is where I shall go.
Kerry Anne Wentzel
E-mail: bellair@netactive.co.za |
I want to be a film star
I want to be glossy
beneath my lashes
and matching underwear
and if I must be smudged,
they'd have to paint it there.
I want to be erotic
with sprayed sweat and siliconed lips
and show my perfect tits
that get you loaded between your hips.
I want to be myself
my new role, all about me
dished up on a plate for you to eat
instead of that glassy image on TV
And then I want the music
and the credits at the end
playing me out...
while you sleep on the couch.
Lesley Emanuel
E-mail: lemanuel@global.co.za |
| Luminosity
Lunate by fearsome fire glow,
in womb of spangled stars,
it breathes to life nocturnal youth,
of Venus and of Mars.
Binnacle of wayward sun,
it once was thought to be,
the guilded orb that looms above,
that cast the tides to sea.
Men may never see it's true,
arcane angelic light,
that humbles our misguided land,
from dusk till end of night.
(AxEmAn)
E-mail: falconhs@mweb.co.za |
At the Breakfast Table
I've got the cornflakes box
and Kellogg's commitment to me,
between your knuckles and your paper
words way too loud this early just after sleep.
Yours: brutal poison murder rape
Mine, a superbowl dream of golden mealie flakes.
I float mine in a tepid white fat-free bath,
load them with sugar and watch them sink.
You roll yours up under armed for the day,
and kiss me with black newsprint on your lips.
Lesley Emanuel
E-mail: lemanuel@global.co.za |
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