Page 1



Š all rights reserved. no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievable system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, photocopying or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright owners, the poets and zamantungwa media cc all poets retain the rights to their own. any copying or sharing of this work for financial gain is infringement of copyright

poetry XorPoodleKong:

Memory No longer you Free from pain Alexander Kane: The Eternal Earth Esther van der Vyver: My paper man Jaco Jacobs: Alleen/Alone You are not fear Yoric Watterott: Nothing Ingraved Era of violence Abigail George: To a very special person Baby sister The body farm A translation of the fragments of human bodies Morula Wa Kutukgolo: Out of a nation free at last Art piece Raymond Mupatapanja: She is the woman I call Faith Liya Bona: Broken Men Reitumetse Sefolo: I want to make this work


sometimes words wonĂ­t flow...





There shall be no minority, there shall be no majority, there shall just be people! Steven Bantu Biko

Each generation must, out of relative obscurity, discover its own mission, fulfill it, or betray it. - The Wretched of the Earth Frantz Fanon

In a country well governed, poverty is something to be ashamed of. In a country badly governed, wealth is something to be ashamed of. Confucious



Afrikans, let us find ourselves happening to events, instead of always responding to events happening to us. - 1990 Eskia Mphahlele

ĂŹI think it's a little bit politically dangerous to have such educated people going around doing nothing, and I think it's the duty of all South Africans - the private sector and government - to ensure that these young people get the right jobs.ĂŽ Zola Skweyiya, SA Minister of Social Development

...people who report corruption, underdevelopment, poverty, HIV/AIDS and war in Africa must do so in a context that shows that Africa's rescuers remain her exploiters. Mmatshilo Motsei The Kanga and the Kangaroo Court



Š Yoric Watterott nothing Nothing is perfect Except for nothing Nothing matters Except for nothing Origin and destination The only constant fluctuation Nothing is forever But nothingÖ is forever

ingraved These posts Like tombstones A testament To the anti-reticent Those brave few Choked and spewed Half chewed Reclused poems now reviewed and perused All dust and bone Just words in stone...


era of violence Nothing to say Nothing to add Ideas decay Bland, no-name brands No more torrents of rage No more comments or praise I can't taste the flood of emotion I used to bleed I can't trace the river of inspiration I used to feed The desert valley thirsts its rain Dig up the dusty pen again... Shrapnel sprays from my dreams into the page Break the age of silence!! Here begins my Era of Violence!


© Jaco Jacobs alleen Twee uur En alles in my brand Die nag koud maar ek voel jou hart So sÍ die een se wyser van uur Die rook blou in die leegheid van jou hart Die rook in my oÎ brand Soos vuur Alleen Met die tyd bellas, dit is ons seÎn Vat my hand, my woorde leeg Ons praat lang gespreke sonder n word In die donker van die een Met die skaduís wat alles weeg Maar steeds weÎn

(english translation) alone Two oíclock And everything inside me burns The night is cold but I fell your heart So say the one who shows the hour The smoke blue in the emptiness of your heart This smoke that burns my eyes Like fire Alone Cursed with time, that is our blessing Take my hand, my words empty We talked too much, but not one word was said In the darkness of this one With the shadows that weigh everything But still wine


you are not near As I sit here my soul cries it cries whilst I try to keep a straight face, a brave face so that those who are around me don't see what I'm really feeling But what they don't realise is that I'm dying inside. My sorrow devouring my soul my heart aching slowly losing beat All because you are not near. I no longer feel the warmth of your touch or the passion of your kiss I long for your embrace. to feel the strength of your arms around me keeping me safe


Š Esther van der Vyver my paper man My paper man I have written you so many times it is a miracle that anyone can read a word of what Iím saying I think the days have rained on you you have become bulky smudged with time in truth unwieldy, heavy and ultimately formless. Oh my paper man lets fly away fold me in your crease and line lay me in a white echo in a blue interval bend towards me so that that corner touches this corner and the great expanse of the middle is no more.


© XorPoodleKong memory One year today, My memory is still as bright as ever. I canít relate, You burn a hole into my mind. Bright summers day, Yet it was my darkest winter. What can you say, I thought you had changed my life forever. Youíll be the last thing on my mind, The ghost I did not know...yet I wish to find... Bury me alive... Youíll be the last thing on my mind. Forsaken thoughts, And dreams burned to the ground. I canít relate, It isnít like thereís something wrong! You are so fake... A cracked reflection in my life, you mirror. Yet you are there...Yet you make my life so fucking fake! Youíll be the last thing on my mind, The ghost I did not know...yet I wish to find... Bury me alive... Youíll be the last thing on my mind. Everything Iíve known... Is so clouded by you... I have no hope.... My life lies dying before me... Help that I canít find... Itís over now...


no longer you In my vacant heart, lies shattered dreams, of the nothingness, that I call me. In my broken mind, torn apart at the seam, lies useless nothing, that I call me. You ripped me open, took away all my dreams, these fucked up emotions, is how my life seems, Iím not who I am, donít even know me! you took away all the motion, lost in the oceanÖ In my pale eyes, lies a broken soul, back to dust I went, to nothing at all. In my broken heart, your smile rips away! The little thing that I amÖ What am I to sayÖ


free from pain, and now with you Like the early sun disappears the mist, you disappeared my misery into bliss. You altered my dreamsÖ.very thought of reality, gave my dreams purpose instead of insanity. Like the sun absorbs the early doe, you took the heartache, the pain, the foe. You took the big splinter out of my heart, and replaced it with a red glowing shard. A shard that could only represent your love, your beauty, your trust, my faith in God. Colored with pencil between the lines, you filled up the spaces that I couldnít find. I hope that tonight Iíll lie forever in your eyes, those eyes that could burn away all pain, make it fade away, make it go awayÖ. My name was always no oneÖ now my name is someone! My name is YOU! You are love and that which is trueÖ Melinda I love you.


© Abigail George to a very special person He sounded more like himself this evening on the telephone I smiled, laughed and teased him about his posh accent and education. Missed him like crazy and spoke about books, what he was reading And wasting his precious airtime. His sadness and depression seeped into my own.

a translation of the fragments of human bodies In summer I see the world through brand new eyes Colours are bright and effulgent, Seductive, exquisite, pale then vermillion In the dappled sunlight of an afternoon in summer I am homesick for the sea, fish and salty chips in Port Elizabeth. Those choppy sighing waves and the puce sunset Reminding me of those ladies at church who wore lilac and lavender. Brand new eyes, brand new life, brand new successful poses I am a reader, student of life, a female poet and writer While life goes on around me with a disapproving murmur. They want me to be a concerned, obedient wife and nursing mother, Making beds and dusting furniture, having a lie in the afternoon, Making mash, mince, mountains of green peas and having babies, Holding a cigarette in my hand, wearing a housecoat and slippers. This is what is relevant in my life I miss my books of poetry and of poets lives Sylvia Plathís ëDaddyí, her admonitions, Anne Sextonís world of machine madness. In which I was finally set free to do my own thing. I make lists, forget, blame, iron rumpled looking clothes, run errands, Stick stamps on important looking blue airmail envelopes. I promised myself I would do my very best to be happy today When this world was fresh and new


Before it became a mordant morass of vice And Hercules and Homer was born I was born to new realities too Before I knew it I had grown into a new identity In front of my very own eyes I morphed into a silhouette with a smile. While the soda pop mixes and fizz While the drippy ice-cream with a flake melts on my lap, In the fixed mirror I study my pores While the car jerks back to life. Under the pressure of my fingertips At a fancy restaurant I have close encounter With the rich The lemony, fragrant, bewitching juices Of the lamb and the couscous Dribbles down her chin The blonde catches it deftly with a napkin. There is a musical, frenetic energy around everyone The waiters, the clientele, the cooks and the manager Yet IĂ­m still reminded of the poverty-stricken, I donĂ­t quite belong here. There is no explanation as to why life is so unfair. The world is filled with people who want to be loved But how quickly love turns to hate as a precaution And the heart grows bitter, unaccommodating and cold People feel alone in different ways People who think about committing suicide, Case histories, missing persons, people on television screens They all make up relevant and unique pieces of history Fragments that have to be sewn together, swept together In a variety, in an array of human bodies stirring Disengaged, isolated, emboldened sweet nothings of memories These fragments make me remember that when you are a child Colours are brighter and when you grow up noises are louder Words and poetry steal beauty in adolescence and puberty They are in a way in a minority, like glowing gems, diamonds in the rough.


the body farm What is this that is surfacing? Hitler, Rwanda, genocide, mysterious gases, sulphur, Explosive devices, atomic bombs, evil scientists, White masks, innocent civilians abandoned or murdered? Young children, girls, boys, mothers, fathers, child soldiers, Godís children? Battlefields, a nightmarish wonderland, Child soldiers, prizewinning journalists and guns Mass graves stick out like sore thumbs, Blisters, sticky fingers caught in the jam tin. This is heartbreak, this is warfare. This is flotsam and jetsam. It makes no sense at all. This rape, this maiming and this killing all in the name of war. How soon we forget the hopeless and the pathetic helpless In newspapers and news bulletins at night, in the morning We stare deaf, dumb and blind, sometimes furious, Sometimes passive, angry, crazy-mad, morose, feeling bereft, Sometimes we look away, canít look anymore we are tired and sad, What do we say to the crippled and the disabled? We canít wait to blame government diplomacy Those insensitive brutes ñ men and women - we voted for In the name of beauty, freedom, integrity, liberty, fairness and decency. They lied to us through rotting, stained yellow or white or gold teeth, Through dentures, gummy, fake grins, fake identities, Wished they could take up some sought of other personality, Rich American or Middle Eastern sheikh, They sate their thirst with fine wines and their appetites With heavenly meats served with congealed gravies or orange-pink fish I wish I was gone, gone, gone, that my desperation was no longer Clasping on me like a daring demon, at my invisible voice, at my throat Clawing desperately on my sanity in dappling sunlight, at my honesty


War is an insatiable, terrifying and corrupt monster and contributes Nothing to the closed state of mind to the dapper and dashing boy soldiers it feeds solemnly Truly what a disgusting and unpleasant waste of the beauty, purity and innocence of youth It leaves a bitter, unclean and sour taste in my mouth Who cleans up the filth in the minds and the mess the bombs leave behind? Who continues to say their prayers at night and who doesnĂ­t? Who gets left behind, gunned down, called a killer, blown to smithereens? Who puts these small fragments, these pieces back together again and keep them safe? What stance do good parents take to cover their childrenĂ­s eyes and protect them? Who marches, protests, holds up placards, risks limbs? Who covets life if no oneĂ­s left?

baby sister I wish I could binge on a birthday cake Light incense, meditate and forget, push past, Fast forward my response to all my hurt and regret Remember you floating on air, so elegant and beautiful. A winter guest in a world, a universe, on a planet, In a Johannesburg all white almost overnight, You are exceptional, bliss and a chocolate delight.


Š Alexander Kane the eternal earth Spears are flying People are dying The gentle stream runs calm, The breeze whispers to the leaves Swords are clashing Arrows crashing Delicate clouds hang in the air, Mountains penetrate the heavens Guns are firing Flames are rising The grass shivers at The coming storm Giant warlords afloat Itís just a boat Rocked by the waves Of the mother waters Winged creatures arise Another one downed, such a great prize The gods exhale, To blow you all away Mammoths Rolling Their trunks not made for eating The desert ever changing, Remnants are devoured The detonation occurs The human cloud rises A scare on the earth To be washed away with time


Š Morula Wa Kutukgolo art piece You are an art piece, Perfected patiently by the Potter's hands, And dipped in deep colours of the earth. Like an antique, You are rare and unique, Blessed with knowledge, Beyond your years. When you speak, You recite the spoken word; Your touch like gentle strokes of a paint brush, Held firmly by an artist's hand; Turn ordinary nights into magic nights, Full of performance art, Unleashing the artist in you and in me. I am a fragile art piece, Perfected patiently by the potter's hands; I love you because you know just how to handle me, I love you because you know my value and my worth.


out of a nation free at last by Out of a nation free at last, A new struggle arises, A pandemic spreading faster than fame, Is out signing autographs on our graves, Is out claiming popularity, Through our precious lives, But hush for there is hope, I hear a chanting of worriers, True lovers and protectors, Armed with three weapons, Against the mass destruction, Abstain-Be faithful-Condomise, They stand strong and fearless, Firm in their commitment, To love, honor and protect, I call them wise, For I have seen educated fools, With diplomas and degrees, With big belts under their bellies, Yet fail to understand, The simple message of A-B-C, Woman with luring eyes full of lust, Woman with beauty that targets and tames beasts, In the bush, the hunter is also hunted, Once is enough, For you to sleep with an infected man, To become infected, So while you sink your claws in men, Sickness will also sink its claws in you, And feast on you slowly, Like a lion feasting on a springbok,


Timers with wondering eyes, Don't you think the timing, For your adolescence is rather odd? Don't you think is odd to be out With different dates While your wives at home patiently await? And your children, who will father them When you finally bite the dust? For with HIV/AIDS and your pace, Your timer is already ticking, Out of a nation free at last, A new struggle arises, A pandemic spreading faster than fame, Is out looking for fans To support it and spread its popularity, Are you a fan? An educated fool? Or a worrier, a wise man or woman Fighting against the further spread of HIV/AIDS? DecideĂ–


© Reitumetse Sefolo I want to make this work For too long I let my pride Lead me To paths that drove me To chase all the caring Ones away. The ones who will hold your hand very gently so that you lead, then hold on for dear life at the slightest hint of a storm to keep you safe. The ones that will listen To your mind-numbing Stories for hours on end And come running back For more the next day because they know something you donít. The ones who donít care Where you bought your Clothes because they know The real you and itís not what your Wearing. The ones who will rise and fall With you and be the spinal cord To your flimsy body as you Pursue your next fantastical Burst of ambition and dream Dreams that might never materialize,


because they know that they hold the key to your success. the ones who are not intimidated by your roving eye because they know how blessed you are to have them in your life and they know those Jimmy Chooís are just an arms length away. The ones who absorb your pain when your Hurting without you even realizing, Work day and night to make Sure you heal and only ask For your time in return.

The ones who will never ask you To be anything but whom you are, Because they donít need you to impress them, they just asking for your respect. I want to make this work Because you are one of those rare Opportunities to give and receive divine affection on earth. The kind that runs deeper than love could ever imagine. The kind that sex can only offend in an attempt to express. The kind that only you are capable of, The kind that I might never find, The kind thatís only real when I am with you.


:Š Liya Bona broken Men I fear that I will turn to stone Waiting for The Revelation Crypt-keepers and grave-diggers Seek no treasure than bones picked, clean Kings and queens, at the flick of their Effeminate wrists move mountains On the backs of broken men I fear that I will turn to dust Waiting for The Light Siege-makers and plunderers Seek no purpose than the self, gratified Peasants and paupers, at the blink of their Disenchanted eyes lose everything For the sake of broken men I fear that that I will turn to drink Waiting for The One Self-helpers and modern quacks Seek no purpose than pockets deeper, lined Patients and patience, at the wave of plastic Currency devised by illegitimate means For the sake of broken men.


© Raymond Mupatapanja she is the woman I callÖÖ She is the woman I callÖ, endowed with the gifts of the soul .I have failed to fathom the depth of her love, to grasp her infinite wisdom, to understand her power to endure. She is the woman I call Ö.the woman that has the strength that is needed and the courage that is required, the creativity that stands out, and resourceful enough to find ways to store food, she is the woman I call Ö.sensitive enough to distinguish a babyís cry, she has nurtured the children, her legacy still stands for she is the woman I call...

faith I hear men praying everywhere for more faith , but when I listen to the real heart of their prayer , often it is not more faith they are wanting but a change from faith to sight ñFaith says not I see it good so God must have sent it, but rather God have sent ,so it is good, Faith sees the invisible and does the impossible




v has an open-ended call for submissions.


poetry is accepted in any language.


if you submit in any language other than English then pleae provide an english translation of the poem or submit a paragraph that explains what the poem is about.


since the person assessing the poem for publication may not understand the language the poem is submitted in, then reserves the right not to consider work that comes without a translation of an explanation paragraph.

v does not edit poetry - so make sure that you submit your work in itĂ­s final publishable draft. DO NOT SUBMIT FIRST DRAFTS.

v accepts, poet profiles, essays, think/opinion pieces and social commentary on various subjects.

v reserves the right to edit articles for length, clarity and style.


submit your best work.

submission criteria


third edition of poetrypotion in 2010


third edition of poetrypotion in 2010