Poem To Africa's Greatest Son by Lesedi Evans Shumba

Gone too soon

Always will be remembered

I will cherish your loyalty to Africa

until the day I also see you sited somewhere beside

Peter, Mahatma, Martin and Teresa

I could have sworn I felt the ground shake

When your soul escaped form the body it was kept

I could hear the sounds and celebrations of the jubilations in hell

last night when the world wept -

the angel has gone where he belongs.

Hope they tell me where they bury you

so I come and lie down near you and listen to all your stories

Stories of how you and your comrades marched down the streets towards the enemy

Ran Soweto carrying nothing but banners

the only bullets you had was the shouts of 'freedom'.

How did you really feel when you drank coffee

with the same men who put you in cages?

I bet they almost died of your brutal, unconditional forgiveness.

Dear Nelson

Take thy place as God's greatest grandson

Bring thy head forward to receive your crowning as Africa's greatest son

Twinkle, Twinkle little African star

How I wonder why so soon.

Wish I could put your spineless spirit in a bottle

Then drink it until my heart burst.

One last time

fold your fist hard, bang in the air

Just like how you used to stand in the crowd saying:

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling but in rising every time we fail"

Your enemies and even your dearest comrades

have tied to destroy you but failed each time

You are a lion with nine lives and a thousand hearts.

Wish I could write 10000 words

each for each day you spent in prison

I know you will shred your soul into a thousand pieces

then drop it into the hearts of all the

Leaders of the world, then maybe they would know

how to really treat their people.

Nineteen years ago you made a nation

out of a notion you strongly held.

Nineteen years ago I was born free,

Your hustle was not, just meant for Africa to see

Your courage was like a virus

which I tested positive.

Looked into your eyes and saw a thousand pictures

I Take your soul and make a thousand copies

One great leader is worth a thousand dictators

The giant has closed its eyes

for the world to open its minds and souls

I am a present of the past

Because you made your present not resentment over the past

but the refurbishment of the future,

My future.

Christmastime in America

You see the oddest things 

at Christmastime in America.

The bigger the city, 

the stranger the sights.

I was driving downtown 

to buy gifts for the family 

and enjoying bouquets

of beautiful people

bundled in big coats

and colorful scarves

clustered on corners,

shopping in good cheer

amid petals of snow 

dancing in the sun. 

One of them, however,

a beautiful young lady,

had stopped to take issue 

with an old woman in a shawl

picketing Planned Parenthood.

The old woman was riding

on a motor scooter 

designed for the elderly.

She held a sign bigger

than she was and kept

motoring back and forth

as resolute as my aunt

who had been renowned 

for protesting any injustice.

Saving seals in the Antarctic 

had been very important to her.

On this day, however, 

the beautiful young lady

who had taken issue

with the old woman  

was livid and screaming.

She marched behind 

the motor scooter and 

yelled at the old woman 

who appeared oblivious

to all the commotion.

Maybe she was deaf,

I thought, like my aunt.

That can be an advantage

at a time like this.

The letters on the sign were huge

but I couldn't read them

so I drove around the block

and found a spot at the curb.

It turned out the sign said,

"What might have happened

if Mary of Nazareth 

had been pro-choice?"

Now I understood 

why the young lady

was ranting and raving

and why the old woman

kept motoring to and fro.

At Christmastime in America

people get excited,

more so than usual.

When I got home 

I hid my packages 

and told my wife at supper

what I had seen.

I also told her that if Mary 

had chosen otherwise,

I wouldn't have had 

to go shopping today.

That's obvious, she said. 

By the Corner On Rivonia by Zibusiso Mpofu

We there by
the corner on Rivonia
Cheering on our hero
Departed,
Singing our proud hearts out
''Mandela,Mandela''
We sang
He did us proud
did that old boy
Loving him poeticaly was like heaven itself
''Freedom''
We were there
Right where he was
Made us proud
Did that old boy!
Loving him poeticaly was like heaven itself,
We were there
Indeed we were
''Nkosi sikelel'Africa'' we sang
By the corner for Rivonia!

The Concept Weaveology by Zibusiso Mpofu

Image - www.buzzle.com

Unbraid our hair into long strands

Of kaffir tufts

Never forget to oil and unbraid and oil again

Before you bind it straight

Into curls of slavery

Circling our ebony foreheads

We must be likened to Sarah and them

Must_bind_tighter

Never forget to adorn our heads

With waves of lyrical hair

It_must_scale down our shoulders

And hide the kink of our own hair

The pride of the women that came before us

We must be likened to Sally and them

Without hair that grows towards the sun

Must_Cover_our pride

That we may be reckoned upon

With a lighter eye

Must_Bind_Tighter

Never forget to adorn our heads

With the hair of other women

Ours, we can never protect

Gentleman's Club by Donal Mahoney

With feline grace

and feral eyes 

a ponytail 

of raven hair 

bouncing, bouncing 

waitress tall  

wisp of skirt

spaceship heels 

weaves among 

tiny tables

tray held high

in a disco sky

ice cubes tinkling

a lioness amused 

by eyes of prey

never brushes 

a single shoulder 

as the men drink up,

reach for money.

Maybe she will. 

Let's order another.

Wait by Success Sibanda

Image -

http://jamalmiller.files.wordpress.com

Clouds of uncertainty

Grey
Darkening
Turning black
Despair points a mocking finger
Through the pockets of the unknown

 The gap widens

The image is now blurry
Sketchy
The voice inaudible
Maybe it’s not even there

It’s not an easy step to take

The crocodiles may be on either side
It has always been a gamble
Waiting is the safest option

It is too much

Too much to bear
Wait
Nearly,   nearly,      near
Wait
Waaaiit

No!

A sigh
The wait continues
The sadness continues
Thoughts racing; thoughts unclear

Reassembling the image
Rebuilding the voice
There must be a way
It may be over
Uncertainty
Despair
Ah! Well!

Shine By Thobekile Mpofu

Image -

www.dance-enthusiast.com

Shine, oh shine lady of sober origins,
Let them wonder who you are,
Down in the midst of a people so diverse,
Like a rare but beautiful jewel
Against the skin of a classy woman.

Walk with pride down life's journey,

Take every stride like a deity is watching,
Marveling at your beauty oh African woman,
You are the finest flower of Ubuntu
Yes you are!

Dance in the cool summer rain with your bare feet,

Sway your generous hips to the left, to the right, back to the left.
Smile at the setting sun with your milky white teeth.
Let your heart leap with joy as you anticipate
The beginning of a new day, a better day.

Shine; oh shine lady of remarkable aspirations,

Let them know who you are:
A lioness in the jungle: a moon among the stars.
Shine, 'till the haters love it
After all, aren't you a bright morning star?

 

The Sacrifice by Heather Dube

I was there watching
he lifted the knife high
and sighed
my chest was heaving
heart pounding
like cattle hooves
as they stampede
into father's kraal
I was terrified
he held the knife high
chanting like a mad man
he got into a trance like frenzy
of a possessed man
with one stab
the cow fell
blood spilt
the ancestors were fed

Sadaka by Nyary-ann Nyenya

Image ©Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine from the one man show Biro

Red lips, dark eyes, highlighted with darkness and dark shadow
Long red nails, tight tiny skirt
Pale white skin; red fiery hair
Gorgeous face and thousands of freckles no makeup can hide

Her body sways to the rhythm of the music.

Petite body swaying left to right like a palm tree in a storm.

Her feet dance to the rhythm
Different men
Different hands
Different lips

Different scents linger around her
Hold her; embrace her
She laughs giggles and smiles

She sways willingly into their arms

She allows herself to be lured into their domain.
As the light filters in the next morning
It reveals her nakedness
She feels unworthy and disgusted
She feels dirty and flirty

She looks around for the arms that held her tight the night before
Only to see a couple of banknotes
Tears well up in her eyes
But she quickly clenches her fist and holds them back
She won’t allow herself to cry
As she gets closer to her shabby house she can’t help but tremble

She opens the door to her mother’s weary eyes
Her mother’s eyes fill with tears, sadness and hopelessness
So do hers.
This time she allows herself to cry as she soothes her mother’s bald head
Tears overflow as she tries to straighten the wrinkled skin 
Washed out like ashes due to the disease.

Overwhelmed with pain she quickly walks to her room
Looks at the mirror
Puts on a brave face
As she prepares to get ready for her evening job
To raise a few more funds for chemotherapy.
For her precious mother

Visions by Ereck Ndewere

The outlet opens a little

Against the copious flood

Stridently, I shout through the closing door

“Please help!”

The water level rises and rises, unabated

 “Help me, please help, I cannot open the door!”

My last lexis before I am swept off my feet

I breathe my last

Darkness!

Impenetrable darkness engulf me

Heart freezes, breathing stops

Eyes roll out as my feet become numb

Lights of the earth fade away

And my spirit bellows!

 “Is it beautiful out there?”

Riotous silence

Exit!

I leap over the Rubicon

Looking back

Pallbearers and mourners

Watch over my lifeless body,

As family, finances, pleasure

All the things I treasured

I have left behind

Reflections of  heaven and the angels

Bright orange lights do allure me.

What about hell,

The place reserved for evil doers?

Impregnable luminosity!

Drawn to it like a magnet

In manifestations of life and death

Miss Carol's Dumplings by Donal Mahoney

Every month or so

on a Sunday afternoon

I skip the football game

and get in my truck

and drive out from the city

into farm country

to visit Miss Carol

and get my hands

on her plump dumplings.

Biggest I've ever seen.

Best I've ever had,

terrific with her

legs and thighs.

When she lays out 

her chicken dinner  

on that white tablecloth

I start drooling before

I even get a hand on it.

A farm girl, she says 

she's never met 

a man like me

so nuts am I

about her dumplings.

Usually, she says,

men like breast meat,

when it's moist,

and I allow how I

like that as well

but not as much 

as her plump dumplings

on a Sunday afternoon

and her pluperfect

legs and thighs