Poetry Bulawayo

Image - http://www.sou.edu My mother spent the summer locked away in a strange place. Root wrapped and holding But we could not be certain for how long. She wasn't so unique in her occasional ineptitude. She used to walk barefoot from town to town searching, Until she had turned every corner and run into herself. Just like a dog can smell fear, She could sense the indifference, Confusion of memory and imagination. She remembered humble beginnings among dirt and stone but We are never the same person twice. She was buried in loss, Leaving only quiet desperation. Staring in dumb silence, We expected that past predicted the future. So many elusive and subtle masters that enslave us. Preserve your illusion because only the dead speak truth in this place. We are all beggars, Each in our own way, Always an incompleteness somewhere. Remember that nature is well suited for weakness, And our skeletons aren't to be distinguished from our ...

Image -    Pan-African News Wire File Photos The tree falls and winter comes The giant saviour that became the saint Is on the last journey back to his origins Time worn, like an aspiration compromised They wait on the sidelines The whole world waits For the covenant made with him is too strong a bind To snap before the tree falls Though bursting at the seams The giant sleeps….their neediness keeps the saint alive Incapacitated by the smiles of hope Spread in the hearts of little children It is easy to forget That the dream is for all Qhawe lamaqhawe Ntsika yesizwe Umhle umsebenzi wakho Uyancomeka kwaye usithwele Konke kwenzekile Uyidlalile indima yakho Ntsika yesizwe The giant sleeps Our fears keep the saint alive To save us another day http://simphiwedana.wordpress.com/

Out on the lake  the  white caps  leap, old lions shot in  mid-air . Not far from the water I sit on a knoll  and open your letter. You're in Sacramento now singing for money. Here in Chicago, on hot August nights, I lick in my dreams at the scoops  in your shoulders. I prefer them to ice cream. In a week I'll fly out  and salute your nipples. Long may your buttocks waggle and jounce.

Image - biyokulule.com Break the ice cold silence Not a woman's heart Bruise not, oh shameless one The tenderest of her feelings She's seen all kinds of weather Yet she stands tall and dignified Battered and disgraced, Tried by the world, the unjust judge She still stands, unwithered She crumbles inside But they still gather in her shadow Deep into her soul, The pain has burrowed And sorrow fills the hollow In the nurturing soil of her soul You sowed seeds of bitterness Exchanged her dreams for emptiness Yet she lingers on For they gather in her shadow The little ones look up to her When the heat of your temper terrifies them Know ye not oh shameless one? Should she wither in the heat Like the tender flower that she is... A nation withers away with her???

In your eye I think I see On your lips when you speak What is this I think I feel? In the nearness of you Is it your body radiation! Is it in the scent of your skin? My eyes glaze like a drunkard What is this I think I feel? In your eye I think I see Although your lips refuse to say There is certain calmness in you It humbles me down to the ground And I'm at a loss for words to say Will it be asking for too much If I asked you to love me And still allow me the space to be me And to be with myself sometime?

And what shall become of you When Time’s hands have done their art? Crayons of hue re-coloured you in shades of dusk, Graffiti etched upon your brow, Flawless grace reduced to caricature, Once impeccable beauty redrawn abstract And the stains of his oils mock your portraits? His fingerprints plastered across the wall of your soul: Your essence withered to the stench of pending death And your confidence shaken to infirmity, Shall these suitors, princes in Chevrolets -if not to dust returned- Still whistle their impotence through toothless smiles? Bite deep into the flesh of youth but wary the stone, Cast by those who perceive themselves sinless Should three words turn to three letters. I do not wish disease, pestilence or plague upon you, Only true fruits of old age, regrets grown To appreciation of possibilities Chastised by the rod of Time for the road not taken, Insolence blossomed to wisdom; Blind valour to meditation. Subtle pencil st...

Tell me that life Is not about waiting For the storm to pass But about learning to dance In the rain Tell me about love That the most painful thing In life is seeing the one you love Love somebody else Tell me that it is okay To lose your pride Over someone you love That it is okay Losing someone you love Over pride Somewhere between all Our laughs Long talks Stupid little fights I fell in love.

Image -  imgfave.com Solitary Musings From the Dual Chambered organ encased in the prison of my ribs A Sonnet misbrewed underdone overdone only “THE GREATS” can say from the two boiling chambers a volcano awakened spewing unbridled emotion with galloping intensity Writhing with each laborious Heave of breath - Breath Hot on hearing Each pouring Each outdoing Each outviing in rage with bulging phlegm of half proverbs Spilled out split out still spilling out to barren wildernesses of humanity bereft emotion, feeling only sometimes, sometimes @ odd intervals Lava – this spewed out lava can should MUST melt these, these taciturn hearts , into LOVE.

so it goes on ecstatic climax my end your pleasure deeper I sink for your priceless smile ...your smile my death warrant anything, anything just to see it... so on it goes.. sweet torture... I love it more than I do you ...so on it goes

Chicago, the South Side, long before Barack Obama those I'd love see live anywhere they like are those so black they up long planks in the heat of summer wheelbarrow coal so bright it pours in a silver seiche down chutes through windows of bungalow basements crashing in coal bins  of new masters

Image - https://www.fulfillmentwarehouse.biz/witness/default.asp?cat=327&pid=5201 They beat me with branches wrapped up in barb-wire, they beat me with branches wrapped up in barb-wire; my baby she crying, her face is on fire. They say you are sell-out, you vote Tsvangirai, they say you are sell-out, you vote Tsvangirai; my baby, she dying, please God, tell me why? They beat first my head then my back then my bums, they beat first my head then my back then my bums; they laugh and they say is like playing the drums. I beg them for water, they say go ask Blair, I beg them for water, they say go ask Blair. Please, put out the fire in Mucheche’s hair? My bottom is broken, can not sit or stand, my bottom is broken, can not sit or stand; Mucheche can’t breathe with her mouth in the sand. They burned all our mealies, our chickens, our dog, they burned all our mealies, our chickens, our dog; my uncle, they hit him to death with a log. ...

His smile was a murder weapon Pain was the poet Hurt was the Editor and I the paper This is not just another poem but actually a dedication to a fellow addict Who realises his smile is only a temporary fix Take this for just what it is For whom it may concern Upon meeting, his smile was a key He broke down all four walls And barricaded all doors He reached new frontiers He unleashed my inner Eve He had game but his smile sealed the deal From then he wouldn't leave Charged with infidelity His smile shredded the evidence Everyday I'd see him at school Walking around like a total fool Making it clear he wasn't mine Flirting with every swine The people's hero Had groupies like a movie star who with every blush had me beaten, bruised, used and abused played like a fiddle. I fell to pieces His smile like the potter, remoulded me I had to look in the mirror to learn That the signs of a struggle were there, The sun bright, the sky dark A sig...

Dear lord Perhaps I am being sinful But I have one question To ask One that makes papa* Lower his eyes And talk of the weather And O Dear lord Mama* told me that Only bad kids Ask such silly questions And I got a jolly Good spanking My Sunday school teacher Miss Ncube speaks greatly of you That you are Gentle and loving But now O Lord I cannot wait any longer And I don’t care If I am disobeying Papa, mama and Miss Ncube For their lips are always Tight and hard Dear Lord Jesus Christ Why does the man Down the road Have only one leg?

Image -  http://thefirstdrop.deviantart.com knuckles gnarled & calluses carved from a life of toil one hand bent as if attempting a fist the other open & stretched upwards van gogh begging salvation from a god deaf or apathetic

The orthodox ones From northern sand Are killing off the animists In southern town The Taliban Are slitting throats of Christians on TV The Sufis in the hills are shooting down Shabab below The Sunnis in the dunes are killing all the Hindus on the train The Shiites are killing Jews The Jews are killing Turks The Turks are killing Kurds The Kurds are killing Persians The Persians want the bomb The blues are killing greens The Greeks are killing druses The Sikhs die bleeding in the oaks And whites on shooting sprees Are killing everyone: Blood is thicker than water— Cheaper too.

If this chapter never ends The next will never begin If you stay here forever There's no room to cherish the memories made There surely would be no tomorrow If today lingered on and on While I see you with my eyes I can't dream beyond today If ,then, I cannot dream Life will forever be the same My heart knows not how to grow fonder in your presence. In that I find solace When it hurts to say goodbye

Scratchings of conversations past Love stories I believed would last Hands clasping mine you promised the start of a gift of love where I'd have your heart I never received the gift you proposed When I reciprocated my love you froze In terror fled, abandoned the dream I was living it already... I'm foolish it seems...

Photo (c) Juju Films As tiny as you are, you swallowed six years of my life, and digested it, and shared it , with your rocky children. Among them is the Leviathan Zuma Rock, Always keeps his Eyes opened to cloister you from evil, Yet, he could do nothing when his younger ones cry from the punches of volcanoes, that has left my grandmother's well-founded house black-eyed. As tiny as you are, you sipped the blood of my teenage years, and shared it with; the dry and flowing rivers, the water-less and water-filled wells, the brut and watered streams, the harsh and gentle sun, the violent and unflappable rainfall, the grey and green grasses, that make up your teeter-totter personality. As tiny as you are, you stole six years of my mother's familiarity, and shared it with your peopled market, the fence-less schools, the hut-governed villages, and the mud-clothed footpath. As tiny as you are, You stole six years of my s...