Honest Living by Jabulani Mzinyathi

Photo by Jabulani Mzinyathi

They even doubt my sanity

Lying on this contraption

That puts bread on my table

That earns me lots of admiration

The many mouths I feed

My life is like Russian roulette

There in the city hustle and bustle

Weaving through fast moving traffic

Risking a gruesome death on the roads

Playing cat and mouse games with cops

The fatigue then takes its toll

Platform by Mgcini Nyoni

Give me a platform

To laugh

To dance

To create

To sing

Give me a platform

To love

To be loved

Give me a platform

To be happy

To dream

To fantasise

To achieve

Give me a platform

To get to the top

and when I fall

badly bruised

pick me up

and give me

another PLATFORM

Send Your Sweat By Western Union!!! by Nomakhosazana Khanyile Ncube

They have raped my mind,
those white collared bastards!
What calluses bear a hardness deeper than the skin?
calluses of the mind....
decision upon intricate decision,
pounding the grains of societies expectation.
From nursery school to primary school to high school to law school to the empty bar stool,
decision upon intricate decision,
pounding...
The cigarettes of life's endless events have no butts,
we stand smoking,burning our fingers
with destiny's grip.
pounding.
yielding
pounding
sending out life's endless R.S.V.P's,
attending our own births,
attending our own deaths
attending our own toilet visits
attending our own graduations n divorces
even the occasional date with the common cold.
pounding,
decision upon intricate decision,
We've come full circle,only to learn that the world is round.
education is the curse of the simple class-the simple life.
dy-dx the worlds mathematics has failed us again,
Peugeot,PHD and Panasonic
It is a simple equation
the formulae of complications
It is a complex recipe
to simplify the complicated
Pounding,
from decision to intricate decision,
Let us reverse the curse on Azania's offspring,
the Zimbabwe ruins have come to life.
Beckoning,
pulling her daughters closer,
with Marange's magnet.
what sweet sound shall erase the bitter memories of the exodus of her own?
Let her pound in her home..
far from the concrete jungle and the bittersweet melons of exile,
Let her pound in her home,
a stones throw from the bed of her ancestors and the ancestors before those,
the ones who stood firm and rooted as the Mopani,with their ears in the wind and their eyes in the heavens,
whose territory new no boundary but water.
pounding,
Let her pound in her home,
underneath the beautiful African Sky,
Let her pound in her home ,
where the dark brown soil will resonate the rhythms of her thudding,
making music with the work of her hands.
Let her pound in the Motherland,with her brothers and sisters,
singing songs of freedom and bountiful rains,
and Never the hymns of a refugee....

Hookers on Archer Avenue By Michael Lee Johnson

Photo by Michael Lee Johnson

Late evening, early morning,

I search the night for whores,

young, bloody with desire.

Night streets are silent streets

except for hookers and their Johns.

One wants the dart of groins

the other green eyes in dollar

sacred treasures-

snatch the wallet, a consecrated craft.

Both hit the streets quickly

satisfy needs quickly.

I’m an old buck now rich with memories

more than movement, still talk, take porn shots,

with a peeking eye, snoop around

department store corners,

and dumpy old alleyways.

My hair is gray, my teeth eroding,

thoughts toward prayer

A.M. Catholic Mass,

then off in early morning

to the mailbox, a lethargic walk,

I pick up my social security check-

comforts my needs.

Evening settles into bed time

with a western romance novel,

ambushes, excitement,

old transgressions stretch

and relax.

No desires, homage

to the day, to the night.

A Gentle Love by Bonang Moyo

 
   Things aren't going right,
    Because I'm never there
    A bad end's in sight,
    If I don't start to care.

   I've got to organize my life,
   Get my act together,
   Get my priorities right,
   Set my life to measure.

   Gotta get my head outta the clouds,
   And stop fantasizing,
   Set my feet on the ground,
   See stuff I wasn't realizing.

  I'm not gonna force it but I'll just,
  Give it a little shove,
  And along the course I'll thrust,
  With a gentle love.

Musty Thoughts by Jabulani Mzinyathi

These musty thoughts of hurt

Never again to be retrieved

From the recycle bin of this mind

The dust clogged chest of drawers

There the cobwebs will multiply

In this musty room dump the trash

The smithereens of my broken heart

These musty thoughts of hurt

The hideous ghosts of the past

Severely battering today’s happiness

A millstone around the neck

That event cast into an abyss

Ugly painting by Trevor Mtimkulu

Are we the bright colours painting this global canvas

and our actions a contradiction of this beauty;
The blood spills are a reflection of the fiery anger etched in our
hearts and all weaponry is ingenuity of a bitter soul

 the background is all scary red,
Innocent tears can’t quench this consuming fury,

child like pleas can’t make 'em stop the abuse

 'n' clobberin' of the weaker sex as they seem
unsexed by the cloud of darkness which all black compliments their red
ambers of hate,
They open their eyes to illusion, deafen their ears with lies oozing
from the belly of the beast and like flower with dull petals

 I perceive this world's just an ugly painting

After Burying a Wife by Donal Mahoney

 

Were she here with me now,

by the waist I would raise her,

a chalice of wonder.

 

I’d bellow hosannas

and whirl her around,

tell her again that I love her,

 

press my face moist

in the pleats of her skirt,

ask her to sprinkle

 

phlox on the curls

of our children

if they are with her,

 

ask her to stay a while longer

while I do so much more

were she here with me now.

 

Dai Ndiri Shiri by Mgcini Nyoni

Model - Mary Kapumha

Dai ndiri shiri*

ndaibhururuka**

To a place peaceful

a place of still waters

and peaceful  dreams

Dai ndiri shiri

I would fly

to the place

where maidens

dance in the rain

and there is

always a pot

of gold

at the end

of the rainbow

Dai ndiri shiri

I would fly

to the sky

and grab

all the illusive

dreams

and opportunities

so that I can sing

I can

Ndai ndiri shiri

ndaibururuka

to that place

of still waters

that sooth the soul

from the this

tortuous world

that threaten

to swallow me whole

Dai ndiri shiri...

*Dai ndiri shiri – if I was a  bird

**Ndaibhururuka – I would fly

Eyes by Michael H. Brownstein

She wrote her dialogue in verse,

her emails in near rhyme, her thoughts

as sonnets, haiku and ballads,

but her eyes could not hide her fear

of aversion, her lack of understanding

dissension, expressions of danger and fear,

the rising poem like the hunter's moon,

deep and glowing from the depths 

of the dark waters of night into midnight's

rampage of nightmare, agonies, and terrors

Terrible by Amit Parmessur

All crops are made for fields,

but not all African fields are made for crops.

There’re so many tears of blood, insane murders.

I don’t know where we are!

All words are made for mouths

but not all African mouths are made for words.

How can Man control Man when God made him?

I don’t know where we are!

All feelings are made for hearts,

but not all African hearts know happiness.

There’s so much undeserved hatred,

misery and injustice? I don’t know where we are!

All shoes of freedom are made for feet

But not all African feet are made for such shoes.

Why can’t we feel for broken hearts and twisted bodies?

I don’t know where we are!

All pencils of knowledge are made for hands,

but not all African hands are made for pencils.

Have a long look at your table globe;

only blue tears and blood…

tears

only tears

drying our hearts, minds and souls.

Terrible. Terrible. Terrible. Terrible.

I Dream Of Africa by Mgcini Nyoni

I dream of Africa

The open space

that tell of endless possibilities

the mesmerising beauty

the black beauty

of the women in

lovely head wraps

and colourful bangles

that tell you

You are home

I dream of Africa

where every woman

is a queen

I dream of Africa

where the smiles are

as big and lovely

as the African sunrise

the hearts as big

as the Kilimanjaro

and as vast as the Atlantic

I dream of Africa

where the woman are

full of

tender loving care.

Missing You by Fungai Tichawangana

i am missing you
in agonized moments
that tick by
in painful tock motion
ants that never stop
neon signs
that won't go off
flashing always
keep waiting- soon
keep waiting- soon
as noisy interruptions scream
hang on- forever!
hang on- forever!
a cacophony of mind dances
words that make make sound
of their own accord
in my restless head
if you were here they'd escape
through my lips
in soft breaths of loving you
through my smile
in impromptu stanzas
of telling you
as if for the first time
that that very head
that formed those words
revolved in its madness
around your beauty

i am missing you
in mornings that dawn
before i can dream enough
about your presence
in evenings that set
before i can tire enough
to sleep so deep
that i won't see those pictures
in my slumber
of you, of your smile
of your sienna brown skin
in days that meander
always into paths
that flow to your memory
yearn for your aura
crave for your footsteps
upon their brickness
in afternoons that burn
hot sweat
off my memoried scalp
attempting to drip
the thoughts away
but they remain
in a painful, sweet
twisted
emotion
that translates
to deeply, darkly, delightfully
missing
you

- Love, Fungai