Once, We Were Still Black by Tswarelo Mothobe

Image - 2morecents.wordpress.com

Once,

Somewhere in the loss of true memory

Our black was beautiful

You must remember US,

When being black was the most vivid of dreams

Raindrops wetting to life those landscapes within

An idea brightest in the blackest of times

Because it was then, that point of creation

And then light

Now being black is a nightmare

A lonesome memory trapped in third world politics

Education systems that blind our ability to dream

Arrested development as we slave in modern day plantations

Structured to seem to mind as our salvation

A nightmare from which if we sleep

We may never awake

Black was a feeling once

A mood dressed in the most moving of music

When drums would sound the pulse pace of warriors

Mbiras the guidance of those alive within us

When the most eloquent of tongues exhaled words to life

A young man’s guitar

Would sound to the Heartbeat of the most virtuous sister

As they moved within the rhythm of love

A most sensual dance

A most intimate of refrains

Skins glistening with wetness

Black was passion being born

With Primrose's Permission by Clemence Chinyani

I will as I promised,
Attach your poetry to a kite,
And let it out of the window,
... ... So it soars, high above our heads.

I shall,
As I promised, you my little cousin,
Paint it bright, your poetry,
So that we will gaze at it,
Floating in the sky,
And we will also be seeing,
Beyond it,
The blue sky,
Where the heavens are,
Where eagles play,
And swallows fly.

I shall,
Dear young Primrose,
Fly it on a bright and sunny day,
When everyone can breathe,
The crystal clear morning air,
And see the sun shine,
As brilliant as it could.

I will fly your poetry,
On Christmas day,
Maybe it will snow,
Or it may rain,
Whatever the weather's mood,
I shall fly it out,
Bright and happy lines,
Smiling onto our faces,
Celebrating the birth of a baby king,
And you my cousin shall smile,
Together with a million other smiles,
Oh what a happy day?
To see the works of your hand,
Floating in the works of the Creator's hand,
And then we shall sing,
A happy good old song,
And sit by the sun,
Or by the fire grate,
Depending on the outside,
And tell happy old happy stories.

I promised Primrose,
I will do it,
This be, my second promise,
God willing your heart will be soon soaring,
With your lovely rhymes and verses,
And that lazy attempt at Haiku,
But you sure tried and I'm proud of you,
Wishing you blessings,
And the best of everything,

I love you Primrose,
And your poetry I shall tie to a kite,
And let it rise freely to the sky,
To the hills yonder, and maybe across that river,
It will fly on and on
And till it touches the horizon,
And maybe, as I wish,
The heavens.

Beautiful Venting... by Zibusiso Mpofu

Photo by Mgcini Nyoni

As the dollar rises
Each day
I count the rays of the sun
Piercing my grouchy skin
To blackness it has never before seen
As the dollar rises
Each day so do my hopes and dreams
Dreams of a proper meal
A day
A slice of bread, with the
Morning rain
And morning tea
In a fragile cup of porcelain frivolity
Yes, a proper dream
Of a hope for my children’s children...
As the dollar rises
Each day
I do dream of a cool day
Of morning dew touching my clear skin
As the morning rain
Pit-Patters on the little horizon
A proper dream
A slice a day
A hope for my children 's children
Just a proper dream.

Nust Days/ (for Marie 26 June 2007) by Mthabisi Phili

Image - quintessentialfeline.wordpress.com

I missed you-

the very moment you turned to go into that Harare

train,

I saw the cold night already –

the racked night red and empty

I shivered

put my hood-on

my hands in my pockets

and walked away from warmth

…with a broken heart!

Song of Solomon 7

Image - mota.ru

¹ How beautiful your sandaled feet,
   O prince’s daughter!
Your graceful legs are like jewels,
   the work of an artist’s hands.
² Your navel is a rounded goblet
   that never lacks blended wine.
Your waist is a mound of wheat
   encircled by lilies.
³ Your breasts are like two fawns,
   like twin fawns of a gazelle.
⁴ Your neck is like an ivory tower.
Your eyes are the pools of Heshbon
   by the gate of Bath Rabbim.
Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon
   looking toward Damascus.
⁵ Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel.
   Your hair is like royal tapestry;
   the king is held captive by its tresses.
⁶ How beautiful you are and how pleasing,
   my love, with your delights!
⁷ Your stature is like that of the palm,
   and your breasts like clusters of fruit.
⁸ I said, “I will climb the palm tree;
   I will take hold of its fruit.”
May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine,
   the fragrance of your breath like apples,
 ⁹ and your mouth like the best wine.

   She

   May the wine go straight to my beloved,
   flowing gently over lips and teeth.
¹⁰ I belong to my beloved,
   and his desire is for me.
¹¹ Come, my beloved, let us go to the countryside,
   let us spend the night in the villages.
¹² Let us go early to the vineyards
   to see if the vines have budded,
if their blossoms have opened,
   and if the pomegranates are in bloom—
   there I will give you my love.
¹³ The mandrakes send out their fragrance,
   and at our door is every delicacy,
both new and old,
   that I have stored up for you, my beloved.

I Love...by Clem Southpaw Chinyani

I love peach halves,
I do,
You know what else I love?
Marshmallows,
I love green pepper too,
Yellow pepper but not red,
I love people with smiling eyes,
And extreme hair,
What does that mean?
Well look at my preferences,
I love the air,
Because it's there but I can't see it,
That thrills me a lot,
I love to be fair,
Every time I share,
I take the smaller piece,
Yeah I started as a kid,
I also love the stars,
To stare at them out at night,
And wonder what might,
Happen if the shooting star hits the earth,
I like to discover,
New places and new people,
To hear different languages,
Different chimes at different times,

I love New York Taxi Cabs,
And the Zebra's stripes,
I like to feel good,
And to surround myself with love,
And to give out as much love as I could,
I love the fact that there is God,
And to live in the reality of that day after day,
I love a rainy day,
In a street side restaurant,
Sipping my tea while staring outside,
Seeing trench-coats and drenched feet,
I love thin wisps of smoke spiraling into the sky,
From a round thatch kitchen deep in the country,
I love to live and I love to love.

Le Musique! by Matilda Moyo

Image - taintedcanvas.com

 The musician
Tugs the strings of my heart
As he strums the guitar
And caresses my ears
With the saxophone
While stirring my being
With the drum
And soothing my soul
With his voice

Such joyous sounds
Creating beautiful medleys
That awaken
Countless memories
Tinged with regrets
Endless hopes
For better things to come
Diverse sentiments
About people, places and things

What more can a woman ask?

Such Is Life by Abel Phiri

Photo by Mgcini Nyoni

The melody of rain

pounding on the roof

amplified by the ceiling

watching cold through the window

in a warm home

Glistening tarmac

a stretch of colours

a kaleidoscope

along a bend to eternity

seem to stretch ,

fantasy of a bitter dreamer,

in  a scotched Kalahari

of excoriated longings

scorpions

spiders

lizards

wanderlust

and lust.

If fate waste life

and life was fate

she would say such is

fate

but fate are feaces

fate is a torn skirt

fate is a perforated trouser

fate is fighting  for a dollar

no

fate is a fat man

at the state house

but such, is African life.