The Poetry Pulpit Journal
CHAP T E R ONE - JAN TO MAR 2021 THE B L A CK EDITION
FOR THE WORDS OF LIFE! THE POETRY PULPIT PODCAST
I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may
K now Hi m Bet ter! Ephesians 1:17
CONTENTS 04 06 11 13 19 21 26 27 30 31
Founder's Message Featured Artist Let love speak 5 Books to Read in 2021 We Refuse to Die Storytime with Didi Orji Umbuzo Brilliant Black Beauty Black Girl: Swart Meisie Murdered Sons
06 the black edition
Our actions and decisions today will shape the way we will be living in the future. issuu.com/PoetryPulpit
“BEAUTY PERISHES IN LIFE, BUT IS IMMORTAL IN ART” Leonardo da Vinci.
Founder's Message It gives me great pleasure to launch The Poetry Pulpit Journal during a quarter that celebrates the new year, Black History Month and International Women's Month. This causes one to think more intentionally about the new chapter that we've just begun. It is no secret that 2020 was a difficult and different year. Yet, the plagues of femicide and the abuse of women, as well as brutality towards black bodies and the murder of innocent black people, grew in spite of the collective grief the world faced at the hand of the pandemic. As we begin this new year, I dare say that we need to start looking at these societal issues collaboratively and not in silos. It is important that we come together as a society, as a world, to seek God's face and have a collective conversation on how we are to move forward as a people. It's a new beginning, but it's not a clean slate. We carry with us the strength and triumph from 2020 as well as the losses and pains. It is up to us to choose to live and let live. I pray that this be a graceful year for you and your family. And that the contents of this first issue of The Poetry Pulpit Journal will encourage and strengthen you. For more poetry, listen to The Poetry Pulpit podcast.
- Kay-Dee Mashile Founding and Managing Director @ Perfect Love Publications
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Source: You Version Bible App
Featured Artust Instagram @Lethabo_Kgalalelo
Facebook Lethabo Kgalalelo
Kgosatsana Lethabo THE POETRY PULPIT | P6
GLINT OF TEARS The swift glint of tears As her fears are articulated through her laughter Rebukes and corrections breaths out realities For she is carried to burdens she was unprepared to bear Worst fears are revealed to be truthful Insomnia greets her as she enters her room How will she close her eyes When her bed offers grief When her pillowcases are harsh There is no kindness in these sheets Until she lays these skeletons to rest She will remain the wood that warms These shadows Time please grant her mercy before she becomes ashes
- Kgosatsana Lethabo
Artist Profile Name: Lethabo Huhu Stage Name: Kgosatsana Lethabo Age: 23 Current City: Bloemfontein. Home town: Bloemfontein Favourite Artist: JahRose Favourite Poem: Murdered Sons by Kay-Dee Mashile Favourite Song: MmaTlhaho by JahRose Favourite Book: My Muse: In the Healing Seasons by Nthabiseng JahRose Jafta
In this first edition, we feature none other than @lethabo_kgosatsana. An amazing poet, mentor, artist and overall dynamic human being! Lethabo's art forces you to get up and listen. Her expression of emotions gives way to those who are listening to find words to tell their own stories. Where unfiltered and uncensored meet respect and maturity, there you find Lethabo's art. We are excited to share hers and other artists' work with you. Why Kgosatsana Lethabo? Other than the fact that she has been supporting Perfect Love for a love time and the undeniable fact that deserves to be our inaugural featured artist because of the calibre of her skills in art and storytelling, we are also excited to announce that Lethabo is the official face of the upcoming The Poetry Pulpit live sessions. These will invite various guests to discuss different topics on gave ook live. Stay tuned for more details.
#GetToKnowMe When did you start writing? I started writing at the age of 12 in the comfort of my GrandFather’s house. What inspires you? Life! Dream collab? Collaborating with JahRose would be a dream come true. Which do you prefer? Music or Poetry? - Poetry! Spoken word or written poetry? - Spoken Word Books or eBooks? - Books Texting or phone calls? - Calls! 3 Key Lessons for Poets: 1. It is important to know your voice 2. Art manifests when imitation stops 3. Respect your purpose and it will honour you What do you look forward to in 2021? United voice against all violence, strength and courage from young men and women carrying each other until we finish our assignment for this year. Poetry is: ...the Art of Freedom
- Kgosatsana Lethabo
LEFATSHE LE KGOPO
Thupa ya lona ke bohale lerato la lona Ke le robang masapo, ke bone ka ba I kgethetseng Hoba lekgoba la lona. Basia Batswadi baya manong a
Ketlile ke hata kwekwe ntle lekgefutso,
kere ho no ntshiwa seinong
Leleme laka ke lesiba la mongodi ya masene,
Ba nahana hore shano la bona le tla
Ho taka pelong ya hao mohauhelwa.
baisa menonong.
Jwale mphutullele sefuba ntle le pelaelo ;
Bohloko ba timelo ya bona.
Hoba ke mohlanka morena moreneng,
Modumo wa lefatshe ha ke tsheha le ba tadimile
Ke ya tsebang ya boneng hore lefatshe le kgopo.
Tlase botebong .
Bokgopo ba lona bo ka fetisa tau ha e puruma,
Le ha ba ka hweletsa ! batsholla kgapa tsa bona
E batla yeo e ka mo harolang.
Jwalo ka metsi ha ho yo ya ka ba utlwang
Ha le ka o harola le ka o hlafuna la o tshwela,
Ha ke ne ke le wena , nenka boha mehato yaka ;
Katlasa mobu o batang Thabo a fetoha mahlomola Kenna ya boneng , ba rateneng le lona Ba metaneng le lona; ba kena di kamanong le lona. La kena ka ho bona le lona ka ho bona. Hela! Kere lefatshe le kgopo; Bo kgopo ba lona bo ka bapiswa ,
Ka thibolla tsebe tsaka hoba lefatshe ke lerabe Le beetsweng baikgethetrseng ho se utlwi! Taba ena ha ke qoqelwa, ke ya tseba ke bone , Hore lefatshe le kgopo ebile bokgopo ba lona bo bapiswa Le tau ha e poroma e batla yeo e ka mo harolang; Haleka o harola le tla o hlafuna leo
Le tau hae puruma e batla yeo e ka mo harolang
tshwele ka tlasa mobu
Ha leka o harola le tla o hlafuna la o tshwela
O batang Thabo ya fetoha mahlomola
Ka tlasa mobu o batang Thabo ya fetoha mahlomola.
- Kgosatsana Lethabo
Let Love Speak by Liz Listen to Liz's poems on The Poetry Pulpit podcast now at anchor.fm/PoetryPulpit or click on the Spotify icon below.
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Enter this new year with gratitude for this new chance to create your dreams.
5 BOOKS TO READ IN 2021
01 Reflections Through My Glasses: What the Heart Sees By Sebabatso Naledi Thulo
02 Ndinethemba: My Hope. My Strength. My Progress. By Eyethu Mfazwe
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Featured book of the term This is the book that best fits the theme of the edition. It embodies the themes of Gender-Based Violence, blackness, healing, new beginnings and women empowerment.
03 Beautifully Broken: Divinely Repaired By Xabiso Tshabalala Maqala
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new new
CLINK HERE TO LISTEN
04 My Poetic Collage By Thuthukani Ndlovu
05 Diary of a Churchboy By Ace Moloi
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listen
now
Poem: We refuse to die Xabiso Tshabalala Maqala
Xabiso Tshabalala Maqala is a Registered Nurse, an artist, a mother, daughter, friend and partner. Xabiso embodies what it means to be broken and to heal from that. She tells her story in her poetic memoir, Beautifully Broken: Divinely Repaired. IG: @TshabalalaXabiso FB: The_expressionist_in_me READ!
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We refuse to die They will lie They will cheat They will label They will blame And They will beat us All to make sure that we die But we will refuse to die And so they will Brutally murder us But still We will refuse to die, We refuse
to die.
- Xabiso Tshabalala Maqala
STORY TIME WITH
DIDI ORJI
The Forgotten Locket Adiel woke up at the sudden roar of thunder. She heard the rain pelt unto the roof. She listened. The sound of the rain was soothing, but every once in a while the thunder interrupted the rain’s peaceful melody. She checked her clock on her bedside table. 11:50pm. She wasn’t surprised. Her sleep hadn't been great these days. She was about to snuggle back into the covers when she heard a growl. Realizing it was her stomach, she clambered out of her bed, on a quest to get something to eat. As she exited her room, she heard her aunt’s gentle snoring from next door. The sound gave her comfort as she strolled through the eerie hallway of her home - her new home. The thunder bellowed again, making her jump. She shook her head, knowing that it was silly for her to be scared. As the lightning struck, she caught someone staring at her. She looked closer and realized it was only the portrait that was painted on her mother's birthday. She was there; the brown-skinned, curly-haired girl with two puffs sticking on each side of her head. She was in the arms of her father and standing next to them was her mother giving a soft smile. Beside her was Aunt Mabelle and Uncle Nigel. Looking at the portrait, Adiel felt a bit of longing. For a moment, she just stood there; focusing on the bits of details of her parent's faces that the portrait had captured.
Her father's eyes were brown, just like hers, and she had her mom's short bushy brown hair. She slowly reached for her messy hair, remembering the days her mother had packed them into puffs or braided them into ponytails. The warmth of the memory only flickered for a few seconds, before Adiel was brought back to the present. She wiped a tear from her cheek, shivering as an idle cool breeze crept over her bare feet. She knew she'd better hurry up. She started moving, quickly strutting down the hallway, keeping her mind focused on the task at hand. She knew the way to the kitchen by now, even though the house was huge and she had only been here for a week. It was because of her great memory or at least that was what Aunt Mabelle had told her. Aunt Mabelle was a very kind woman who had taken her in. She had done everything to make her feel at home and Adiel was thankful for her. She finally reached the door at the end of the hallway. Opening the door, she stepped into the kitchen. The kitchen was huge, but then again, so was every other room she had seen. She walked over to the counter in the middle of the kitchen and searched for her snack. Maryland cookies, Toblerone, Flake. She wrinkled her nose. She wasn't really a fan of trying something new. She was familiar with Oreo, 5-star chocolate and Iced Zoo cookies, but she didn't know any of these treats
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Adiel chose to chew on the Graham Crackers she had spotted, deciding it was the most normal. She took round about 13 for the road and left the kitchen. The rain had now slowed to a drizzle, but Adiel had a feeling it would get heavier again. She never realized how much it rained here in London. She was so used to Africa's hot weather and sure it rained sometimes, but never as much. Thinking about Africa's hot climate made her miss all the other things she left behind, like her friends Tebello and Zintle. They had always been inseparable and played lots of games. The only thing she wouldn't miss was Mrs Jones, her Science teacher. Mrs Jones was too strict and never allowed them to have fun. Adiel was also convinced that Mrs Jones was colourblind since she always told them they were black even though it was obvious their skin was brown. She also remembered one time, when Tebello was very mad. Adiel found out from her that she couldn't play on the swings, because Mrs Jones had told her it wasn't for people her colour. Adiel still couldn't understand what she meant by that. She simply concluded that Mrs Jones was an old meanie that didn't like anybody and left it at that. She munched on a Graham Cracker, as she thought back to when she came here. She had taken an aeroplane from Africa to London, alone - all by herself, to stay with her Aunt and Uncle in London. Her parents' old friend Mrs Louis Smith had taken her to the airport which Adiel thought was very kind of her. During the ride she found herself worrying about her new guardians, her Uncle and Aunt. "Don't worry dear. I'm sure they will look after you, properly." Mrs Louis Smith had tried to comfort her when Adiel had voiced her concerns.
"I'm sure they'll try to make you feel at home." she continued. Adiel hadn't been so sure about that. Thinking back to the experience only made her feel miserable. She missed her house. She missed her school. She missed her friends. And most of all she missed her parents, but she would never see them again. Ever. She vigorously blinked her tears away, not wanting her mind to dwell on her painful past. She looked up and noticed that she had walked into a part of the house she wasn't familiar with. She felt a bit panicked and tried to find her way back. Wandering in the dark silence made her feel alone. And she already felt lonely. Aunt Mabelle was nice most times, but she couldn't really relate or talk to her like her mother. There was also Uncle Nigel, Aunt Mabelle's husband, but she preferred to stay away from him. His mysterious silence made her feel uneasy. In the rare times they were both in one room, she'd find him staring at her. It made her squirm just thinking about it. She also noticed that he'd hide away in his study for most of the day. She reached for another Graham Cracker, before realizing that it was her last one. As she munched on it, she let her mind wonder on the endless possibilities of what he could be up to. Then something sparkly caught her attention. She saw it was coming from a room with an open door. A silent war between reason and curiosity raged in her head and after a short moment, curiosity won. She slowly crept inside the room. It was dark, but it looked like a type of office or studying area. In the middle of the
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room was a large table and a wing back chair. There was a tall bookshelf on either side of it. There was also a small fireplace behind the chair. Adiel snuck over to the fireplace, trying to find where she had seen the glimmer come from. She crouched by the fireplace and reached up into the chimney. She felt the edges of the wall, not really sure what she was looking for. She felt something that was out of place and clawed at it. Feeling it come loose, she silently prayed it wasn't just a loose brick or something even worse and pulled it out. She studied the oddly placed object. A locket. Her now soot-covered hand carefully brushed it off. It wasn't as sparkly or shiny as other lockets she had seen. It had a willow tree engraved on it. She wondered how it got there. Someone interrupted her thoughts with a cough. "What are you doing in my office?" the voice demanded She jumped in surprised, startled. Slowly turning to face the voice, she pleaded with all her heart that the person would disappear. But no matter how much she wished the person was still there and obviously wasn't happy to see her. It was Uncle Nigel.
The Forgotten Locket By Ifechidelu Didi Orji The Poetry Pulpit Resident Storyteller Didi Orji is the 13-year-old child author of her debut fantasy novel, The Adventures in the Magical Forest. Find out more about her and her work at: http://didiorjibooks.wixsite.com/magic Or visit the Didi Orji Books Facebook page
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Umbuzo by Anathi Nkitha Listen to this poem now on The Poetry Pulpit podcast at anchor.fm/PoetryPulpit or click on the Spotify icon below.
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Poem: Swart Meisie
Sebabatso Naledi Thulo Ms Seba, as Sebabatso is dearly known, is an author, educator, artist and the founder and host of the carrrrnversations podcast IG Handles: @carrrrnversationspodcastMessage @msthulo READ! |
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Black girl ~ Swart Meisie I am walking back from a late class Behind me I hear them talking, and in between my thoughts and their conversation I hear the words "swart meisie..." There is quick pause in both my step and thoughts. My eyes become flooded with burning tears, and at the same time I am trying to figure out why it hurts, Why am I uncomfortable, what is it that was so bad... I get to my room and I weep. Not for myself but for them whose personality, character, beauty, magic and power disappeared to only be received as a "swart meisie" I weep until there is a rhythm to my breathing because somewhere there is a mop and bucket that swart meisie is using to clean a house that is not hers. Somewhere swart meisie is fighting to be seen as an equal. Somewhere swart meisie is being told that she can't be because the brown that drapes her body has always led her to be insignificant So I weep because ours is story that is never told by the original authors
- Sebabatso Naledi Thulo
Poem: Brilliant Black Beauty
Gracia Nicholls Gracia Nicholls is a performing artist in the art forms of music, poetry and storytelling. She has travelled to various parts of the world with her ministry group, South Roots International, to spread the gospel though creative arts. she has also recorded various spoken word singles which can be found on all streaming platforms.
@BlyStaan @GazaNicholls
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@BlyStaan Click on icon to visit social media page.
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Poem: Murdered Sons
Kay-Dee Mashile
Kay-Dee Mashile is the Founder and Managing Director at Perfect Love Publications and the Perfect Love Inc. companies. IG: @KayDee_Mashile Twitter: @KayDee_Mashile FB Page: The Kay-Dee Blog READ!
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Murdered Sons I hope that God relates to black women with murdered sons because there could never be enough absent fathers to shadow the excuse of colour-coated murders that go unpunished when the perpetrators know exactly what they do... I sure do hope that God empathises with black women with murdered sons, because their fathers probably did not have any choice but to forsake them to an early grave that 2 centuries haven't freed them or their sons from the curse thereof... Maybe the third will bring the great Resurrection of the saints if they ain't too tainted by anger and hurt so as not to weigh down their bodies into an even deeper grave, one darker than the depression their sons were never permitted to admit to until they too were murdered... And framed for their own deaths. Maybe they too will rise again, with scars to prove that black men can hurt... and heal. Maybe a morning will dawn when these women can also behold an empty tomb and stop mourning... Maybe justice will come, someday. Like a cup of sweet wine to cover the bitter taste that death has left on their tied tongues that dare not cry for justice. Maybe one day The only begotten Son will remember the forgotten sons of the black women who are still haunted by the images and video footage of their murdered sons whose deaths were nothing more than a hash tag and a ton of t-shirt and posters.
But today? Today I hope that God weeps for the nameless like He did Lasarus and that He will come to the aid of every black woman whose son is likely to kill or be killed for no reason other than the skin colour their fathers managed to give them before they were murdered. Most of all... I really hope that God cares that these murdered sons are all black. I sure hope that God isn't colourblind. It's ironically convenient that the only disability that Christians have no problem permitting the all powerful God to have is in itself one that promotes the oppression of black people. If it were true, God being unable to see the pain of these women solely because they're skin is too dark to let His light shine through their wounds, it would finally make sense of the thousands of years of the oppression and murder of black people across the world with neither mercy nor justice, sometimes even in the Name of God... But today? Well... Today I hope that God sees the colour of the cheeks that drowning in streams of tears, mourning for the cold black bodies of murdered sons and absent fathers. I hope God remembers the pain of having a murdered Son, and that justice will come for the black women suffering the same. If for no other reason, at least so that their sons and daughters have a different reality to inherit.
- Kay-Dee Mashile
T A K E A B R E A K , I T ' S O K A Y !
A beautiful thing is never perfect!
- KATSUMOTO