Monday, 27 April 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 27 : Herbs and Coffee

Hay(na)ku Poem

Icients 
of mind,
Herbs and coffee. 

Innocence
unfolding the
flames sparking greens.

Pull
my roots,
watch me grow.

Toss
aside thoughts . . .
Herbs and coffee

Pause
don't wonder,
Sit and inhale —

Sunday, 26 April 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 26 : Still I Stand, Sarah Baartman



20 years,
I was 20 years old in 1810 when I got onto a ship to Britain with my master.
I was on a quest to find fame and inner coexisting happiness.
It was not to my knowledge that I would be the main act at a carnival in a “freak show

Black Venus,
  They call called me
Venus Noire
  They called me Hottentot
  But I am
         SARAH BAARTMAN

Daughter of a Khoisan man’s son,
Whose derrière from which you desire a son
Whose beauty you have stripped off the face of the sun

As I walked down the street the white men smoking cigars whistled at me to make me affirm how grandiose my rear end is
I stand.
As European women stopped me in order to touch my hair because it looked “peculiar”
I stand.
As they called me a freak of nature but little did they know that if anything I am Mother Nature who gave them the mothers that mothered them
I stand.
As a naked plastered body
I stand
As mere skeletons on display
I stand
As brains and genitals in the Natural Museum
I stand in the UK,
I stand as visual display through the Americas
I stand in Paris

I stand, far away from home.

Ask them, when will they take me back home?
Tell them I demand to go back home

Tell them, I stand, far away from home.

187 years,
I was 26 when I ceased to exist and it took them 187 years to take me back home, in a coffin.
I was not alive to kiss my motherland,
But even though, sorrows no more
Do not forget me, remember me as
SARAH BAARTMAN

Daughter of a Khoisan man’s son
Whose derrière from which you wish you had a son

Whose beauty you can never strip off the face of the sun.

Saturday, 25 April 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 25 : Clerihew : Hades



Dear Sir Hades
You have recently gone off your wits end on a quest to find Free Carelessness
talking of not being "A tree, for you do not give shade"
be it that it had never ought to have occurred. Find you. Do You. 



Friday, 24 April 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 24 : Uhuru Africa

My favourite Poem:

Mutabaruka –Dis Poem


Dis poem shall speak of the wretched sea that washed ships to these shores of mothers crying for their young swallowed up by the sea.

Dis poem shall say nothing new
Dis poem shall speak of time
Time unlimited
Time undefined

Dis poem shall call names like Lumumba, Kenyatta. Nkrumah, Hannibal
Akhenaton, Malcolm
Garvey, Haile Selassie

Dis poem is vexed about apartheid, racism, fascism
The klu Klux Klan, riots in Brixton, Atlanta, Jim jones.
Dis poem is revolting against 1st world, 2nd world, 3rd world division man made decision

Dis poem is like all the rest
Dis poem will not be amongst great literary works,
Will not be recited by poetry enthusiasts,
Will not be quoted by politicians nor men of religion

Dis poem is knives, bombs, guns, blood, fire blazing for freedom
Yes dis poem is a drum
Ashanti, mau mau, ibo, Yoruba, nyahbingi warriors
Uhuru uhuru
Uhuru Namibia
Uhuru Soweto
Uhuru Africa
Dis poem will not change things
Dis poem need to be changed
Dis poem is a rebirth of a people
Arising, awaking, understanding
Dis poem speak, is speaking, have spoken
Dis poem shall continue even when poets have stopped writing
Dis poem shall survive you, me, it shall linger in history in your mind, in time forever
Dis poem is time only time will tell
Dis poem is still not written
Dis poem has no poet
Dis poem is just a part of the story
His-story, her-story, our-story, the story still untold
Dis poem is now ringing, talking, irritating, making you want to stop it, but dis poem will not stop
Dis poem is long cannot be short
Dis poem cannot be tamed cannot be blamed
The story is still not told about dis poem
Dis poem is old, new
Dis poem was copied from the bible your prayer book
Playboy magazine the N.Y. times readers digest
The C.I.A. files, the K.G.B. files
Dis poem is no secret
Dis poem shall be called boring stupid senseless
Dis poem is watching u trying to make sense from dis poem
Dis poem is messing up your brains
Making u want to stop listening to dis poem but u shall not stop listening to dis poem
U need to know what will be said next in dis poem
Dis poem shall disappoint u, because
Dis poem is to be continued in your mind in your mind
in your mind your mind.


Melodia Dreyer –This Poem

This poem awakens laying souls and tired thoughts.

This poem will not sell you back your own African brother’s blood for employment.
This poem is not time conscious so do not wait for this poem

This poem calls upon
Mutabaruka, Madiba, Gandhi,
Luther, Baartman, Lennon, Angelou, Achebe,

This poem is mad about African Xenophobia, Black on black violence, white on black violence, white on white violence, Boko Haram terrorism, Passion killing, Police shootings.

This poem has a writer with a grandiose story, 
Hers&Hers story, His&His story.

This poem is a medium of our creator
Liberdade Angola
Nnwereonwe Nigeria
Xorriyadda Somalia
Freedom Zimbabwe
Amandla South Africa
Vryheid Namibia
Uhuru Africa

NO TO XENOPHOBIA


Thursday, 23 April 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 23 : Pandora's Tarot



Dirt is found within blood and pain
And pain found within tarot cards.

Shuffle.

The fool, he makes not the king to smile
He finds himself between Vikings and vagabonds
Old man with an infant mentality
A wanderer of lady bugs in between rocks.
 
Shuffle.

Eight of cups, I pour volatile wine
Reasons why the Hierophant’s sorrows linger.
Chasing fortnights back to tomorrow
Never to yesterday.

Shuffle.

The hermit, unruly old hag
In love with the thought of being in love.
Comfortable with the thought of being alone
Walks on the path of individuality
Aloneness is not lonely.

Aloneness found within tarot cards.

 

Wednesday, 22 April 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 22 : Deer & The Wolf


She runs around barefoot with her bougainvillea as clothing.
The birds chirp down to her
Though
The grey Mackenzie wolf patronizes
The deer fraternizes
The albino free spirit bear within me groans
Who dares to call Mother Nature a whore?

Ivy buds.
The wolf and the deer frown upon the sight of amber studs.
 
Dandelion, I see fleeting clouds
Foaming waves.

Who dares to call Mother Nature a whore?
The deer and the wolf sing the voices unheard within the earth.




Tuesday, 21 April 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 21 : In Te Na'ring

Erasure Poem from The Turn Of the Screw : Henry James 1843-1916
of course, somebody
    sees        before the fire, to which
  up to present
with    hands in   pockets. Nobody      till now, has
ever heard.    quite    horrible. This, naturally,
declared several voices
         and      with quiet art,

turning  eyes over the rest of us              It’s
beyond everything

      I remember asking.
how to qualify it.
eyes, made a    wincing grimace.     dreadful—
dreadfulness!
Oh,
     no notice of            me, but
instead of me, he saw
uncanny ugliness and horror and pain.”

Monday, 20 April 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 20 : Facts about Thoughts

Thoughts are dead on one’s feet
Thoughts do not make theirs beds, in hopes that they never have to lie in them
Thoughts are lazy on Sundays
Thoughts are uneasy being happy for too long with the fear that something negative might happen

They grow at the back of the mind as a demanding Conscious and a feisty Subconscious toggle war over it.
Think of the distance between it and matter, pushing the past, past closed eyes.

Thoughts are daydreamers but do not inherit the glow of daydreamer smiles.
Art by :
Kelley McMorris
Thoughts keep secrets about secrets

Thoughts always have something and never nothing  

Sunday, 19 April 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 19 : Poet Tree


Every emotion within my surrounding triggers my poetry
 It is an unknown story how my poetry and I became friends but let me tell you a little about us,
 I like music, my poetry? Yeah it doesn't It has no rhythm 
within the jukebox of its soul.

I go to school and my poetry sits around within my mind and for some reason it always wants a drink and leaves me with a sober man’s thoughts.

I am OCD about hygiene, 
My poetry on the other hand leaves an avalanche of verbs and imagery laying around and makes me trip on its sentences and as though that isn't enough it tries to wrap my hair up in Haiku and Sonnets.

I have fear of narrow spaces and my poetry has a fear of humans. Humans are the worst things to ever happen my poetry because they just know how to tamper with its similes, to metaphor its panties to its knees and semaphore them to its feet.

Whenever we argued my poetry always discolour my face while it stares at me with its poker face.
And then it would walk out on me and leave me with writer’s block but when it arrived at 2 am it would awaken me and whatever it took it reminded me that I am enough and that my words are beautiful.

Though my poetry is a lazy alcoholic it has always been my shoulder to cry. And it has experienced plenty of heartbreaks within its days it always sat beside me on my bed and allowed my heart to sing the night away as it turns it into a Romeo & Juliet story because its writing brought me solace

My Poetry taught me that I don’t need lemons to make lemonade because there will always be vodka
It taught me to never say “You only live once” because there is a life after this one

And it taught me never to cry because my tears will be wasted ink of a poem unwritten.

Saturday, 18 April 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 18 : The Revolution Is Now


Remember that we are the roots
And as humans we aim to live for now, head forward and never ever backwards.
Find a place that eases hurt and forms a laboratory of self reliance
Because people, the revolution is now.

The Revolution is now and it will not wait for you as you write endless poems about how haters be hating,
How you are going to pull out your tongue and spit on them
Boats you do not sail or kites you do not fly.
The truth is an offence and will never be a sin and for that you always have a reason to cry
Trapped in a crowd full of people who think not yet utter tom-foolery.
Because Honey, The Revolution is now

The Revolution will rarely be found In a place the eye does not see.
Or an echo the ear does not hear
It does not give a wits end if you are straight or gay because the difference is narrow.


It does not tolerate the response of a slave and commands of a slave master because its the 21 century and shit like that just don't work no more.
It sits on the side lines and watches you and laughs at you as you metamorphosis into a being you were never meant to be
Because you keep playing it in your mind, time after time on how DREAMS are ILLEGAL in the GHETTO
And how times are just too damn hard for a "NEGRO"

The Revolution is Jr Gong Marley who preaches on how 
Vexation of spirit is a waste of time
Negative thinking, a waste of thoughts
Verbal conflict, a waste of words 


Physical violence, a waste of flesh

The Revolution that was not televised was then,
The Revolution  that had no re-runs was there,
The Revolution that will be live is here,
The Revolution is now.