His Smile: A Murder Weapon by Thembelihle Terry-Lynne Zulu

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 sign that I could no longer
hold onto what wasn't mine
My baby...no...Our baby had to go
Better yet, I'll go
Congrats for marrying the man of our dreams
I never could reach the knife
But some lucky girl did.
And now he is dead
His smile doesn’t reach his ears anymore
His eyes sparkle no more
Do not accuse me of his murder
AIDS murdered him in cold blood
and his smile was the murder weapon.

Innocent Prayer by Artwell Masuku

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?

Two Hands by William Wright Harris

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 Tribes Of Blood by Russell Streur

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.

Goodbye FOR NOW by Thandeka Gonde

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

Foolish Talk by Sifiso Mabena

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...

Ode To Suleja by D.M Aderibigbe

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 siblings' understanding,
and shared it with

the scruffy nippers,
the dishevelled youths,
the moth-eaten aged,
and unforgettable peers.

As tiny as you are.
you stole six years
of my experience,
and shared it with

my sweet past,
my sweeter present,
and a sweetest future.

As tiny as you are,
you clothed my teenage years’
secrets.

Just Fine by Clemence Chinyani

A lady,

A rarity these days,Like a dodo,

Asked me one day,
Which turned out to be fine,
If I was ok
Then she began to leave.

In response to her request,
I said hold on,
Then I began to lay out the basis,
For my saying that I was fine.

Said I,
Holding all things constant,
Freezing everything in time,
Bridling even the wildest gale,
I was fine.
Then she did one thing,
She beamed and said excitedly,
Ceteris Paribus!

We locked arms,
And danced round and round,
In the middle of the street,
Sounds strange now that I am writing about it,
But we did a happy little jig,
And the sun was almost dropping,
Into the pocket of the earth where it was carried,
To the next day.

So,
We did this little happy jig,
That never existed anywhere else,
Till that moment we met,
In other words,
We invented it in our happy moment,
And forgot about it after,
Now it only exists,
In this piece of poetry.

Then we stopped dancing abruptly,
Just as we had started,
Laughed awkwardly and agreed that,
That was a very odd moment,
And we decided that we go our separate ways,
Then she began to leave.

I called out after her trailing her,
STOP!
She did,
And I said that I could not,
Just let her go away,
Before my madness went away,
So I decided to remind her,
That holding all things constant,
Taming even the wildest cat,
I was just but fine.

Ceteris Paribus!

And the cycle repeated itself again,
The happy jig with arms locked,
And I said to her,
‘Your Latin is good’,
And she said,
‘Give the dead language a chance’,
I agreed and she also said,
‘If all people ceased being so gloomy,
And devoted their time and effort to find good art,
Then they would be healed of their mental ailment’,
I agreed and she went on,
To God belongs worship.

‘Ceteris Paribus’!
I yelled, 
Not knowing exactly why the switch of roles,
So again we locked arms and danced,
This time backwards,
Backwards as in rewinding the whole experience,
Then I let her go,
In fact she slid out of my lock,
And I did out of hers,
And the wind carried us away,
I watched her polka dots walk away,
Suddenly she was gone,
And I was left holding jumbled words,
That I knitted together on paper with a pen.

The Struggle To Express by Trevour Bantu Poet Mtimkulu

Caged in society
with false patriots
I learnt to speak of black conditions in abstract,

Created ghetto heavens in shebeens
where later sell-outs found their haven and with jazzy beats still playing in their minds those that spoke the truth found incarceration instead of freedom,

I rose with a pen in my hand and resurrected guerrilla warfare against a system of corrupt politicians for me and my poetic comrades filled the terrain of media pages write on the spot trying to bring to a full stop the commas of my peoples plight,

Intimidate the souls that writes still the ink flows shaping the word of truth, we run from political goons daily to find political asylum inside a book where words reign so get up ,stand up, don’t give up the fight....

Honeymoon in the Garden Apartment by Donal Mahoney

Lacking in the expertise of those

accustomed to the practice

my wife and I completed

for the first time

what we later would perfect.

Afterwards, my wife arose,

excused herself, and padded

through three rooms.

Through three rooms,

as I lay back,

I could hear the porcelain

singing to her urine.

Come Go With Me by Artwell Masuku

Come along with me

To see the blue

Drought less world

Of happiness

Come

Let’s stroll along

The sandy shore

And pick up

The lovely pebbles

Come

Along with me

To see the seagulls

Fluttering and singing

Across the blue waters of life

Come let’s run

Hand in hand

Along the winding path

Of the lovers’ park

Come along with me

To build those sand castles

Along the sea shore

Come

Along with me

Let’s swim

Bath

And leave

Our sorrows

In the deep blue sea.

The Second Day of Class by Donal Mahoney

This sylph came forward

from the second row

the second day of class

and asked if

I would edit her poem

so it would read

the way it should.

I told her straightaway

that even though

this was writing class

and I was the instructor,

I couldn’t edit her poem

and still have the poem be hers.

Editing her poem, I said,

would be a little like rape,

just painful in a different way

whether she understood that

yet or not. 

Conflicted by Tsitsi Gumbo

'forever,' he said
'I’m scared, oh so scared,' she said
he said, 'sweat blood I will for you'
'eternity then,' she said
so boat set sail

founded with tears
'longing' holding 'fright'
crashing at infancy as it were
he said, 'you shine no more! I 'eurika-ed' new light'
...................she said
as a calm storm raged inside her
battering her,
cutting off her anchor
sinking her ship
so she bobs on aimlessly
hoping.....hoping.....
'eternity then?' she asks
...............he says

Awakening by Elizabeth Vavashe

One more breath drawn from the wintry air

Yet another day, douse in stupor

lost in tangling nightmares dark

never to wake from deep slumber

Sleep, sleep poor dead corpse

Sorrows heap and cloud your face

though you draw the breath of life

slumber in your lungs draw empty air

Swing to life a sprout of spring

vibrancy and resonance like the cry of a newborn

awake the slumber of your sleep

Past dawn, this a new day

Groan with the discovery of day

the dreams of yesterday haunt today

casting shadows as though she lived

awake as from the death of history

One more breath from summer’s heat

spring is here, let down your hair

Deep, deep, let loose a sigh

Today is today, let out a scream.

Neo Soul...Monday Nights by Zibusiso Mpofu

It's Monday Night again
Can't chase the blues away
Hard working days
And my thoughts, a million miles away
The DJ is on again
Lifting my spirits sway
Into the sound clouds of reverberation
Conversation and monotone accumulation
Appreciation of  catalysed reactions
Forming sounds booms
And beats abounding at beat of my
Boomingly beautiful mind
These neo soul sounds
Soothe my saturated soul
Swaying it back and forth
To  soundless times in my mind's eye
So I'll dream, dream songs
And dream worlds
Drown baseless thoughts
And just...escape...
It's Monday night again
Can't chase the blues away
The DJ is on again
These neo soul songs
Soothe my spirits say...

The Letter by Paidamoyo Muzulu

I can’t remember when I last received a letter
The envelope was sky-blue and had a foreign stamp

The address was scrawled in tight and flowing long hand
My mind went racing.

Slowly and composed after a thorough scrutiny of the date stamp
I gathered the willpower to prise it open.
Yes, inside was the sweet scented long feather-weight ivory writing pad.
The handwriting was controlled, tight and flowing.

Each sentence was carefully constructed,
The diction was near perfect as the syntax.
It was written in an enthralling and captivating descriptive language,
But still simple enough to convey her emotions.

I envisioned the writer serene on her desk,
Her slender and lovely hands scrawling away.
The letter carried the tenderness of her feelings.
It was simple yet powerful.

Reading the emotional signing off,
My mind wandered to new forms of communication.
No email, text or chat message had moved me like this before.
The letter had a mystic gripping aura.

I gazed at the ceiling and shook my head to clear it.
I searched my drawers for the long forgotten pad and pen.
Emotionally, I scribbled in a daze blotting the plain pad.
I crumbled the blotted pad and started again, more composed.

Wrote slowly, concisely and legibly,
I let my hand translate my emotions into words and images.
I infused tenderness and seriousness of thought on paper.
I signed off at long last with satisfaction at my handiwork.

Carefully I addressed the envelope,
Tenderly took it with a merry heart to the post box.
I sighed as I dropped it,
Praying silently it would be received with eagerness.
Hoped it would be delivered in good time still carrying my frozen emotions for her thawing.

Womb Of Eve by Mercy Dhliwayo

Bound by the curse of Eve

I am woman

Beautiful, black, sun tanned

The one whose skin would not respond to no skin lightening cream

Beyond these black spots and patches on my face

Is a representation of Africa’s forgotten race

My heart beats at an African drum pace

As I embrace

The earth; the seed of my birth

My heart beats with an African bongo rhythm

Echoing sounds of ancient mysticism

That lies hidden deep within the belly of the garden of Eden

My blackness deeply rooted within this soil

The very existence of my womanhood

The soil upon which Nehanda stood

As her sacrificial blood streamed deep into the veins of

Earth’s life giving artery

Nehanda forever shall stay part of me

Hell; I am Nehanda Nyakasikana in disguise

Within my blackness and femininity is where my strength lies

Black and feminine I am woman

Not just a woman, I am Africa; the womb of Eve

I am the womb

I am Eve

Mother of life; mother of all that live

Within my womb I came to conceive

The son; the man; the seed; the world

My sons come forth and discover the tunnels and voyages

of my femininity

Rediscover my ever bleeding wounds and let them nourish earth fertility 

Let my menstrual flow flood your rivers and oceans

Take a sip of this potion

Rejuvenate your spirit of black consciousness

That lies on the verge of erosion

Navigate my seas and discover the roots of your true origin

that only can be traced back into the womb of a woman

my daughters and sons come forth and receive the poetic baptism

of  my immortal mysticism

suckle from the breast of my infinite wisdom

For I am the word

She, the ‘WO’ who came before the birth of the ‘MAN’

A woman is what I am and Africa is who I am

I Was There by Rudorwashe Kanukamwe

I was there

while he breathed heavily

on top of me.

I saw the cruelty in his eyes

when he was on top of me.

I struggled under his arms

as his mind pushed for one thing.

I felt the pain and betrayal as he tore my legs apart,

and thrust into me

I heard the words he said,

which I won’t repeat for the dignity of my writing,

and for the dignity of your reading.

But I was there

and now I am here,

hopeless, helpless

wondering how to tell my fiancé

about this disillusionment of myself

and that I was there

saw him and felt him.

Tears of My Sentiments by Rudorwashe Kanukamwe

Even some repeated the Lord’s prayer,

as if they could not see my anger,

while l struggled to hold an emotion.

I heard them in a new light,

a kind of divine administrator for my vengeance.

My tongue is full of fire,

while my teeth are full of stone.

This vengeance has turned me into a stone woman.

this naked vengeance,

where the bible that blessed today ‘s birth,

is used to curse another life.

Yet some kept repeating the Lord ‘s prayer,

as if they did not see,

they clearly said, ‘Amen,’

‘Amen,’ while my daughter cries,

and her tears drop on the pastor’s conscience.

Who clearly repeats the Lord’s prayer,

as if he can’t see or hear,

the tears of my sentiments.

Conscious Victim by Tsitsi Gumbo

I falter on this path I chose
your bitch; confirmed
you piss I drink

still my tail wags
as you advance
deposit...
reject...