Friday, July 13, 2012

Poetic Justice by Ignatious Chiveso

Word, her words
Fall so strong, like the hummer,
Judge’s stamp of justice
So smooth at times
Whipped cream
Fluffy on my tongue
I hear her rhyme
Poesy, music I hear
When she speak...

I have learnt
Without success to live without
The sound of her laughter
That naughty smile
Childish even,
The many times
Down memory lane
We would travel, releasing
The young us..
Oh, how I gravely miss
That warm giddy feeling
Anticipation, anxiety even
The feeling of meeting
The feeling of reconnecting,
The music she would evoke
The rhythm of feeling...
Sensuous tones
Of words unspoken
The very thought
Of meeting her the morrow

She was, is my poem
She wrote the very words
Defined the stanza of my happiness
Without her, I’m but a prose
Words without music
A drama without rhythm and rhyme
How days could pass
Without the slightest notice
Without her

Am I stuck?
Love struck 
I’m immobile
She gave me motion
The drive to move mountains
Mountains of doubt, loneliness
Shove them in locomotion
Stumbling blocks in my tracks
The road that led me to her
She gave radiance to my world
The glitter to the pure waters of my love
The fragrance to the fields of flowers
The colour to the soft petals
The entice to the bees
Right the very core of me
She made me mad
With a gush of emotions
A rush of feelings
I was alive
I am Alive!

Sentenced to life
By the one who defines my joy,
Inspired into words
Definitions I turned into poetry
Weaved into music
With form, tone, and sound
The book of law
The podium
From which I draw strength
Armed to deliver justice
To loneliness, sadness and hurt
Stability from raging storms
I think I have found
My Poetic Justice...

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Salute to the Forest by: Colleen Colkitt

lipstick and heels
and tease more than hair, watch
as she saunters into the dense
night woods

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Last Night by Vokal DaPoet

Image - photographer unknown

Last night
last night I
last night I met
(how do I say this)
last night I met the devil
I said last night I met the devil
and he had tired of conversations
about convalescing economies and conspiracy theories
satanising religions and sanitising minds
by brandishing threats and excuses
in the defence of corrupt despotic African governments
and imperialistic European and American nations bent on taking over the continent
he had tired of speaking to a lesser pedigree of thinkers
for he was a genius
one who could write and rewrite the history of nations
front to back and back to front
in the movement of a woman he was watching
one with whom he was committing a lonely sin
with in his cranium
his hungry eyes tore her dress
which resembled an oversized t-shirt
accentuating her thighs and giving character to her hips
so his hand slithered into his pocket
to caress the crisp bank notes
he was whetting his appetite
savouring the moment
before he found his way to her side
his approach was methodical
and its execution clinical
as he cornered her with slurred pronouncements
before he took her to a gloomy corner at the back
he took her...
Last night I met the devil
and he was an artisan
in the art of intruding in other people's conversation
an annoying irritant who brought the kombi to silence...
Maybe he should have gone to the shebeen
where he would have been the darling of the shebeen queen
but his depleted paycheque would not allow him to do so
last night I met the devil
he had decided it was unreasonable to be reasonable
so he was trying to bring the door down with his fist
he truncated his wife's humble and sleepy greeting
with sjambok of accusations
allegations of infidelity and disrespect
before he marched into the candle lit gloom of his household
where he upset the furniture
which upset the neighbours
the upset furniture upset his feet
which buckled from under him to upset his stomach
which regurgitated the waters of delirium which threatened to drown him twice in one night
and he decided it  was reasonable to be unreasonable
so he lay in his vomit....
but this morning I met God
as I sat on my bed staring into the wardrobe mirror
he was looking sad and forlorn
embarrassed and shaking his head in shame
I wish last night I had met God!

Monday, July 9, 2012

...this is 19 April Tswarelo Mothobe

Your doors wide open with an embracing breast
Sat me in the discomfort of an unfulfilled reality
A nudging at my peace
Scotching in my emotion
A fruit hanging strangely off the branches of an unsuspecting tree
Dying (or are you just pulling my leg)
Dead, with a clear knowledge of the end
I asked once
Has it started again?
That journey whose end we all know at the beginning of every relationship
Has it started again?
I feel more afraid than free
More text book than me
I am ruin trapped within my ignoring my beckoning emotions
Whirling up into this frustration of unspoken word
I am logic ridiculed by this need
To respond to my heart but then again to my respect of you
I feel like a man grown old constantly looping in first grade
A hopeless romantic
Biting her bottom lip in response to that need to get paid
An old soul in a new reality
Drops of rain in the lifeless limbo of the concrete jungle
A free man that just won’t leave the toiling at the plantation
Hating his each sweat on his brow
Hating even more, the urge to wipe it off
I seem unable to wake from this un-reality
Too real to conceal my fragile mediocrity
My steps are heavy
Walking down a road I have walked before
Reworking a formula that didn’t work previously
The answer being love in case you might question it
The question being you and my promise of the infinite
Did you truly have to touch my token?
Plant this idea in my conscience
To me,
Life is living it
Death is not
Denial is the premises and plots
And Love
 Love is calm in the face of death knowing we lived ours
But then again
“Ours” could just be this word in my mind