When We Meet Again... by Philani Amadéus Nyoni

Things we regret most are the chances we never took,

Those we love most are those that we forsook.

I don’t believe in living in regret,

So since I am not dead yet

When we meet again

There will be rain…

I will gaze deep into your bewildering eyes,

Then to relinquish my heart’s silent cries

I will tell you how I truly feel.

As an oath that the words are real

I will kiss your soft sweet lips

Where sacred water sleeps...

Country Cafeteria by Donal Mahoney

The two weeks

I spent in that small town

on assignment, I saw no blacks

except for two older women

regal in every way,

hair coifed in silver gray,

working in the Country Cafeteria.

They walked like pastors’ wives

as they worked their 20 tables.

White badges on their uniforms

announced in red their names,

their years of service.

They never said a word,

not even to each other.

They just took the cups and plates away

and wiped oil tablecloths pristine.

I took three meals a day in silence there,

the only place in town to eat.

I was the stranger in a suit and tie,

a city weed among stout farmers in old coveralls

who came to town each day to note 

“no rain yet” and “the corn is dyin’.”

Before each meal instead of saying Grace,

I wanted to stand and ask these ladies

as they bowed before the clutter on their tables:

If you have worked here all these years,

and lived in this town also,

where in the Name of God,

other than at home or church,

are you free to talk or laugh or sing

or clap your hands in emancipation?

Deathbed Confessions by Mandla Nkomo

As I lie here paralyzed by this disease that's claiming my life.
Clasping on to the hand of the woman who for the last forty years I've called my wife.
Poker faced I look into her eyes
Tears well up as I think of all the lies.
Through each one we stood by each other
This is not the love I was told of by my mother.
Yet I met this woman when I was a boy
My childhood sweetheart who brought me such joy.
The love of my life who said I'm her one and only
Death would rob us of this bliss And leave her lonely...

When she was twenty-four I was twenty-five
That’s when we wed the bliss we shared made me know I was alive
When she was thirty-three I was thirty-four
Five children she had bore
Could any man ask for more?

Our lives revolved around our family
Our last child whose name is Emily
Has graduated from university
And now faces the prospect of life in the city
We gave them all the best money could buy
And taught them the all values and virtues to live by:
Honesty, integrity, transparency, truth and courage.

How can I look them each in the eye when I've been so dishonest
The double life I've lived as I built this love-nest
The smokescreens and facade that have filled our home
The lies and deceit are more than the plot to kill Caesar in Rome.
How can I tell them when I know this will destroy us
Maybe I should take it to my grave and not kick up a fuss

The six souls I love with all my heart
Are about to discover a truth that will tear us apart
I cannot believe I find myself in this predicament
My confession will leave such disenchantment
You see I've known all along
In this happy septet I'm the one who doesn't belong
I could have said
I should have said
I would have said
But I may have lost her if did
So I was forced to put it under a lid
How could I open Pandora’s box
And break the heart of one with such lovely locks
You see when it comes to reproduction I am like an ox
A debilitating disease in my youth left me unable produce an heir
This truth leaves a foul stench in the air
Who then is the father of these five?

Limpopo by Abel Phiri

Photo by Mgcini Nyoni

The winding rivers 

have thrust me on callous banks

of merciless nature 

of no familiar  men

nor land

no colour

Just bleak

and dark

and silent

and archaic.

of freeways

penis enlargement ads in public

of skyscrapers

I long for  

home.

Till we meet

again

in a democratic home

the winding rivers

shushed

raging relentless

and calm

she waits.

Into The Deep... by Heather Dube

Into the deep I plunge
in search of a thin streak of light
cutting through this darkness
blinding my sanity.
Into the deep I wander
through empty spaces
and crevices furrowed by misery.
Into the deep deep deep and deeper
I lose myself.
Darker it gets in this abyss
dimming the little faith I have.
Fading is my luminous beam
erased to haunting shadows
blending with this pitch darkness.
In too deep
lies a thick stench of oppression
ready to suffocate each breath I take.
Unforgiving and so demeaning
is this fathomless pit of depression.
A bottomless gulf
were winds of anger whirl
corroding the walls of my mind,
were once sweet memories lay
have been eroded to a delusive debris.
In this realm,
a domain of catastrophe
thunder rumbles with tornadoes spinning in
a hurricane.
An endless storm ever brewing torment
to my chamber of thoughts.
Fire blazing
torching emotions to ashes.
Inferno raging
a wailing yearn to be freed
from this vile vicinity,
as my wretched soul
simmers a sob to bleak slumber
into the deep.

Letter From The Other Side By Chris Chakwana

I am that seed that was denied the chance to grow.
That cock early morning did not crow,
the fifth wheel terminated without my will.
I am the child you aborted
that child you denied the warmth of your
womb, tenderness of your breast
that child you relegated to the tomb.
But No! I refuse to rest,
because am that child whose loss u didn't grieve.
That child u denied the right to live.

Am the child you obliterated, mercilessly
annihilated, callously incinerated
am the soul whose life you separated
that child whose death you celebrated.
A product of your reckless behaviour
Juvenile delinquency, miss know it all.
I am that sad soul u destroyed
the abortion pill you employed.
I am that being you erased, that life that can never
be replaced.

Dear mother am that child on your conscience.
Your secret yes!, but your daily torment.
Like a stain, my memory will ever be your daily pain.
I am your mental anguish, disposed of me like
rubbish you selfish being.
I am the life that could have been.

Quickly erased deprived of the right to see the
light.
I am that child who hopelessly lost his life without a
fight

I pour out my heart as I write that which you don't
want to hear.
I refuse to rest, No! I shan't rest till you receive
your
punishment.
I write this letter to you without fear
Yes to you, mama,
this my letter from the other side.

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...

Salute to the Forest by: Colleen Colkitt

Apply

lipstick and heels

and tease more than hair, watch

as she saunters into the dense

night woods

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
............damn!
I wish last night I had met God!

...this is 19 April 2011..by 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?

Because,

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

 Prostitute

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

Inception

She... By Chris Chakwana

Image - all-hd-wallpapers.com

Her clothes scantily placed
cleavage out, short miniskirt; lasciviously dressed 
womanhood exposed
loose man's feelings aroused.

She moves about in search of her prey
lurking the dark city night in notes and coins
they must pay.
To quench their sexual appetite that hunger the ache of their loins.

Her face laden with too much mascara, hides her age, her past her history
her love's in a cage her past just but a mystery.

The noise she makes as she paces the quiet night with her stiletto
This darkness hides her deeds
her fear of being caught in this flagrante delicto
all her clients, loose adulterous men she has tamed
fear of the disease thrown through the window,

that wife soon to become a widow,

all in search of Her eternal pleasure.

Tuesday by Holly Day

The woman at the store is so nice to me
I almost start crying. She says, "That's a nice sweater."
She says, "Can I help you with your bags?" She says,
"I'll bet you've got something nice planned for this beautiful day."
I cling to her pleasantries; I want
To stay here with her in the cool of the department store
I want to tell her how miserable my life is
I want her to fix me. But I know

These things aren't allowed. I crack my face into a smile
Nod politely, force myself to make eye contact
Tell her, "Have a nice day!" shuffle off to the parking lot
Where my husband sits behind the wheel
Trying to read the paper over the noise of the kids
Shouting at each other in the back seat, where
I throw the groceries into the truck, strap myself into my own seat

Where my husband snaps, "What took you so long?
I thought you were just going to buy some tampons."

Seasons Change by Zibusiso Mpofu

If every day were a winter storm

I would die all day without a smile on my countenance

Wet cheeks and purple hair

Heavy jackets and cold fingers

Timeless seasons of heavy rain

Crying children and sad countenances

But summer’s rays appear at the end of each green day

Causing the flowers, air and the moon to rise

High above the cistern skies

Smiles and countenances embrace

The growth of new life,

Regrowth and possible escapement

From dragons, sea lions and their hosts

For such seasons we wait

For a brighter sun

Shorter skirts and short shorts

And the embrace of the ocean sky

Which lies to wipe our tears away

No turmoil is infinite

Because seasons change

Nutmeat by Donal Mahoney

Image - trespassmag.com

My dear, tell me again so I know

how it would have been

had you married the man

you dream of all day, tell me again

as I lie next to you now,

your nutmeat sweet in my mouth.

Tell me again so I know

how to feel for fathering five

on you fast, five in six years,

five who will never be quiet  again

in our lives, five who will leave

in the night when they are of age

while up in our room I nibble

on nutmeat, proud to have traded

an oak for these acorns.

Sweet Memories by Susan Chikomba

Image - hellobeautiful.com

Promises of heaven on earth
Whatever I asked for
Pleasant surprises the order of the day
My worries were his too
Suspicions brushed away
Replaced by profound happiness
At sun set we would set our journey to still places
Where still waters flow, washing away our differences
Where birds lend us their melody
Silence heralded the night out for two
Indeed nature rallied behind this youthful relationship
How could I be an exception?
I too, was compelled to work out to enrich this “us”
He also seemed, sounded and felt itching to have the “us” last forever
Together we were more than just love conquerers
We were each other’s true destiny
Separation never skipped my mind
I believed in “us”
I had faith in us lasting for eternity
Yet these are now mere sweet memories
The “us” is no more!

I am An African Too by Sukoluhle Joy Chilongo

When the world sees me,

 When the world hears me

When the world thinks me- 

It is the bulging stomach, 

It is the hopelessness in big brown eyes –

 And long thin arms 

Holding up a large begging bowl.

 I am an African too 

So please PLEASE! 

Leave me in this muck of degradation, shame

 For I have reason – 

Good reason to be in this mud!

Globalisation, Colonisation, Mcdonaldisation, Apartheid, Humiliation,

Good reason – see! (...besides, it is too familiar a friend to leave now... and kinda warm)

I am an African too – 

So I dance 

And dance 

While the world, ululates, claps gaps – 

Because the jingle to which I dance

 Is of the chains around my wrists

 So I cannot take back what

 The world owes me. ..

it is the jingle of the chains

 Around around my ankles

 So I cannot go to where my mind has been

 – So I dance –

 and I teach

 My daughters And My sons too –

THE DANCE!!

For we all have the chains,

 After all, we are 

ALL AFRICANS!!

When Love Must by Tracy Sibanda

When love must, it ends.
Where my naked feet trod the same dusty lane
Of fragments already tattered and torn,
Left by one Charmaine,
Silent echoes are thrown in my mind
Men are all the same,
Simply not worth the dreams and longing 
Of women.
No need to mention him in my next poem,
He plays no part in my life story.
Instead

The attention he dignifies with the words love,

Provokes several displays of the rhetoric-
He had to hurt one, 
Why did it have to be me?
He had to love one,
Why couldn’t it be me?
When love must, not even the best of lies or sacrifice can keep us together... 
When it must, 
It ends...
And it has.

If Ever by Frank Malaba

If ever there was anything more beautiful than life

It would never exist.

If ever there was anyone more beautiful than you

They would be a liar.

If ever there was a dream that was more real than us

It would be insane.

You make my wings grow out of my back

And you make me soar above the skies

To places unknown that I never thought existed.

If ever there was a poem truer than this

It would never be.

The only truth I know to be,

That pumps oxygen into my being

Is that you and I are born from love.

That no one can ever strip away from our very souls.

Thief And Chief by Kufre Udeme

The thief ambled round the palace garden.
He had a lion face, and cobra eyes;
You couldn't fear him anywhere.
He appeared as a Chief; he put on a crown and robe
And sat on the throne as a Chief
And the elders said:
'What a lamb face he has, what dove eyes!
How clever he looks!
You could fear him anywhere!'

The thief was sitting on the throne as the chief
He had a lamb face and dove eyes;
You could fear him anywhere.
He appeared as a thief; he put on thief's clothes - full of pockets
And ambled round the palace garden.
And the elders said:
'What a lion face he has, what cobra eyes!
How foolish he looks!
You couldn't fear him anywhere!'

Ugly Beauty - by Jerá

Image - hosny.deviantart.com

Mother Africa...

Her face is pockmarked with craters
Craters flooded with blood spilled by haters
Haters that fan the flames of meaningless wars
Wars that drown Mother Africa in black man's gore
Her bosom sags from feeding hungry babies
Babies left to fend for themselves by deceased diseased mums and daddies
Her abdomen is scarred with surgical knives
The points of natal exit for millions of lives
Her hind is dimpled with pits and holes
Where war lords stand over Africans digging for gems like burrowing moles
Her knees are parted as tyrants perpetually violate
Her in turns and ruthlessly annihilate
Whoever raises a placard in feeble protest
Such a beauty, is Mother Africa, yet she's so grotesque