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This is the LitNet archive (2006–2012)
Visit the active LitNet platform at www.litnet.co.za


 
Nuwe skryfwerk | New writing > Poësie | Poetry > English

English


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Just Like Janice Dickinson
Werner Botes - 2009-06-09
For ZS This big fish in a little pond is all aflutter – a hot tamale wrapped in silicone leans in for a perfect pose, her mind as sharp as a bone. She’s a cardboard cut-out one molecule away from plastic. Margarine – just like Janice Dickinson. This La-la-Lola this leonine huntress of hot boys stiletto pierces Crystal floor (camera whore). She’s a cardboard cut-out one molecule away from plastic. Margarine – just like Janice...

Thundercat
Werner Botes - 2009-06-09


Y Tu Mamá También
Werner Botes - 2009-06-09
I stole a title from a movie once to relay my mother’s love, how she nurtures to the point of martyrdom if only to entitle her to her own space on my spilling page: This is catharsis – confessing the façade that I present to the bountiful earth that bore this fruity tree. She is a godly woman and at inopportune times smites this little girly man for not liking girls, like the brothers that never grew from her fertile soil. Yet she...

Love’s Funeral
Magmoed Martin - 2009-06-03
Today I went to love’s funeral What a sombre atmosphere it was So much heartache and pain The blue beautiful skies gone forever The wind rustling a chilly sound Thunder and lightning threatening To kill everything beyond and yonder There I stood wondering and totally lost Not a single smile to be seen Faces filled with hatred Angrily pointing towards me Motionless I stood, unable to move I tried to pray, but all in vain Because all anger and hatred Was simply...

Jana
Magmoed Martin - 2009-06-03
It all started off so unintentional, me browsing around Searching for someone, because no friend was to be found And there you was with such an alluring name So sweet and gentle were you, I demanded your pic Which sent my pulses and heart on a very fast beat Love for me came with an instant, and I wanted to meet And instead of going home to South Africa my motherland I rushed off to the Philippines just to meet you. That first encounter was so memorable Because there I stood with a complete...

Plights
Zolani Kupe - 2009-06-03
Squabbling for power Our eternal plights Walk with us In the meadows of sorrow They amble with us We fight though we know we might lose We detest cringing For we shall be judged as cowards The brain is covered by the skull and hair But who is covering a criminal? Perhaps who made him a criminal? He was once a gentleman among gentlemen But things turned sour when his wife pried for other men He had to leave her for she was a bitch In court he lost He lost a house...

Thick glossy cookery books entice me
Mandy Mitchells - 2009-06-03
Thick glossy cookery books entice me the heavier the better Layered with tangible ingredients and places Like apricot and prickly pear, kudu and Karoo With recipes that read like poetry under my fingertips I gorge my senses in bookshops absorbing pictures of loaded tables and exquisite gardens heavy with the luxury of time I don’t quite know what they give to me except maybe ...

After leaving you
Mandy Mitchells - 2009-06-03


The morning burning fires
Zolani Kupe - 2009-06-03
Remembering the morning burning fires Water boiling over the scarlet embers Women frequently treading towards the hearth To make the fire alive Till the tea or coffee has been served Those days cows' udders were always bloated From the harvest of fresh milk Boys would wake up at dawn To pull on the tits of the bulged udders And to fill up the empty sour milk gourds Remembering, remembering those days When the stick girding was a game Not a fight to shed blood...

Walking alone
Zolani Kupe - 2009-05-27
An overnight mistCovers the whole villageA thick smog hovers over itThe young manAn emissary to pass on news about deathWalks alone in the villageHis heart bleeds and pangs The dead one was his cousinThey grew up togetherPlayed stick girding together Charmed girls together Now he is no moreHe is dead. The young man must pass on the sorrowful newsHe crimps the edges of his trousers So they don't absorb dust Then he goes onwardBut the pain burdens him too muchHe constantly halts Convoys of crawling...

The empire of the sun
Abigail George - 2009-05-26
I have never been in love Until this moment - With light on my fingertips. Art hung on walls in galleries, The spoken word and your kindness. Your infinite kindness. Here time knows no beginning Or end - it stands still Is that what Einstein meant by the Theory of relativity? Or when we debate and define The edge of reason, madness, desire and Infinity – it is always our desire that beckons Progress and is resistant to change. I feel the warmth of the sun Against my cheek,...

The politician (poem for Rwanda)
Abigail George - 2009-05-26
There are no laws against people who discriminate You preach fine words, sir, but words do not speak They do not speak louder than actions, than controversy, Than a nation at war, than searching futile communication What a permissive society we serve to protect Who still don’t believe that men who build empires die Bravo! Sir, your argument on the deconstruction Of human technology, on intelligence as desirable and Enlightening as it may be, lacks both incandescence and elegance. ...

Trapped
Abigail George - 2009-05-26
Presently night time Is when they go to sleep; When they eat - When they are on the street beat. I can see them eating fish and chips "Slap chips" with fish dipped in a batter, Fried until golden brown We can so easily distinguish Nationality and race A posh accent from the working man’s But not when it comes to the pain And loneliness of our own children Of their own eternal suffering. Why? If your lips feel hungry and thirsty How do you cool your lips when you...

Rwanda
Abigail George - 2009-05-26
Little one, I am divided between human kindness Helping the needy and showing them the way, Regardless of what came before. This is the truth: there is much to be gained From the genocide, hopelessness, crimes against humanity There is much to learn from rehabilitation: Rehabilitating child soldiers, women, the orphaning of young children, Atrocities of the mother tongue signalling indecent crimes I lost my heart because of the genocide I lost my head to ward off the horrific anticipation...

Tara
Abigail George - 2009-05-26
Since you ask, most days I cannot remember. Why can’t I remember most days? My name is English, the town that I’ve lived in For all of my childhood and my date of birth, that I know. Trivia, current affairs, vacant rooms, wards are rendered obsolete Wherein we are all governed like some drowning thing by fate But you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Not even if I say, "My life so far has been surreal." I am shut in, shut out, like the sound of silence calling...

Theory
Werner Botes - 2009-05-26
In the hall of respite he finds the time to ponder things he’d like to forget. Satan sets his heart a-sail (flaming crumbling regret) now informing him of this isosceles triangle – a perfect theoretical balance proving indisputable equality between the two faces of Chagall: He sees a whore in the mirror and a princess on the floor, his flaccid penis is at hand: a convenient excuse to bid a fond adieu to the clergyman, who refuses to ponder...

Little Visions
Werner Botes - 2009-05-26
Is he playing with fire this 30-something man: This silver tongue with a suntan? Is he being charming – the same old wiles kill too easily. The chickens are in to the hilt not realising There’s a fox in the hen-house reeling them in by quoting canonised poets and recognising paintings on trattoria walls (Tom of Finland). Churning out little visions of sweet honey-combed cum that runs down his sweet young chin. I Ching I Ching I think I need to...

Hot Spot
Werner Botes - 2009-05-26


Bruised Fruit
Werner Botes - 2009-05-26


Ambivalence
Werner Botes - 2009-05-26


I choose you
Nina Blanche Christians - 2009-05-26


Circles
Gail Dendy - 2009-05-20


Lightning
Gail Dendy - 2009-05-20


Café Neo
Sarah Frost - 2009-05-20
So there we sat on the deck of the Café Neo, two red-winged starlings showing up, and the mist rolling in from the rocks across the way. I pushed my bag, ready to spill its fullness, under my spindly chrome chair so that it could give nothing away. You showed me your website, brimming with complexities, awkwardly brushing dust from the laptop screen. I held the Windhoek lager coolly erect in my hand. Your green eyes sized me up. The combative clink of bottle necks. ...

Marriage bed
Kerry Hammerton - 2009-05-07


Identity
Kerry Hammerton - 2009-05-07


Mending me
Kerry Hammerton - 2009-05-07


Allan
Celesté Fritze - 2009-05-07
(Allan Enwiya, Iraqi interpreter, and owner of the music shop Allan Melody , was fatally shot in the abduction of American journalist Jill Carroll on a Baghdad street on 7 January 2006. Allan (32) leaves his parents, his wife, Fairuz, a five-year-old daughter, Mary Ann, and a toddler son, Martin. Allan was one of many journalists and media assistants killed in Iraq since the beginning of the war. The Christian Science Monitor) My darling Mary Ann Jill and I were speeding through the streets...

Shing Gan
Celesté Fritze - 2009-05-07
(At 17, Eugenia Chien, a young Taiwanese American, had to interpret a doctor's bad news to her terminally ill grandfather. California lawmakers are considering banning children from being medical interpreters in non-emergency situations.) I am Shing Gan my grandfather's heart and liver vital organs of his life, of loves endured for the American dream This is a hopeless illness, the Californian specialist explained to the immigrants' daughter: I remember...

Autshumao
Celesté Fritze - 2009-05-07
(Autshumao1, or Harry the Beachwalker, was a Khoi-Khoi leader who became the official interpreter for Jan van Riebeeck. In 1658, Autshumao "lost his tongue" on Robben Island for misinterpreting the Dutchman and stealing from the DEIC2. He was the first political prisoner held on the island, but escaped a year and a half later by stealing a little rowing boat. He is reputed to be the first man ever to escape from Robben Island.) I await your words, Sire, I am here to make sense of...

“... oh, the bushman!”
Kagiso Dubla Senthufhe - 2009-04-23
When you see him Flip-flopping on those heaps of sands That have been his natural habitat For tens of thousands of years You’d be excused for thinking he was a weightless creature Floating upon the sand dunes Of the vast Kalahari Often enough barefooted And increasingly so, nowadays, He’d be running In that familiar zigzag fashion In front of the inevitable 4X4 With the stocky figure of a white guy at the controls A Land Cruiser, Jeep Cherokee, BMW X5 ...

Mbira dza vadzimu ...
Kagiso Dubla Senthufhe - 2009-04-23
Mbira dza vadzimu Is not your everyday Run-of-the-mill Musical instrument. Hence the name: Mbira dza vadzimu. It is the conduit Linking the nether world of the living, The here and now, With the spiritual realm of the ancestors; Through the person and agency of the spirit medium, The shaman, yes; Who, by strumming out those ancient tunes and sounds On his "thumb piano", Instantly invokes and transmits messages Sent through him in his dreams As in his wake...

Language
Marius Crous - 2009-04-16
Language1 1let us pray together in a languagethat has the sins within itof tortured teenagers maimed mothershanged husbands servile security policemena language that never wanted to be humaneon the pulpits in lecture halls in classroomsnewspapersnever wanted to cry out against injusticelet it be purifiedmake it a language of mercystripped bare and sublimethat speaks of wrongs in the time of skullsset it free like a victimtied to a chair against his willsomewhere in some dark office towerso that...

In your absence
Mandy Mitchells - 2009-04-15


The other side of 35
Mandy Mitchells - 2009-04-15


Untitled
Mandy Mitchells - 2009-04-15
The limp body of a butterflyCaught in the car grilleFragile veined paper wingsThat open and close In my daughter's handsI drive on a road known But no longer welcomingAnd though I was nurtured hereI suspect I am foreign nowEyes scan the rear-view mirrorThe car sucks litter Into the vacuum it leaves behind A miniature whirlwindWheels crunch cardboard and cansSwallowing the vastness of the tarI shun the aircon, its wintrinessAnd drive with windows gapingHot air slapping my faceNo destination in...

Sworded hand
Wayne Shannon - 2009-04-09
i feelthe sworded hand of death inside of me, she lives in me and i fighther, i battle her jostling shoulderbumping pushes, and she fights me back i fearher clutch on me, her whispersin my ears and her teases when she plays with me, softly kisses me andbreathes on meshe winsin me, leaves me exhaustedyet not alone, not yetshe knowsi have no strength in me, no countered ambush nor attack, no war paint nor battle-cry, nor armour-piercing victory, for she defeatsme, she strikes me down and spits on me,...

The Whispering Valley
Fortunate Nkosi - 2009-04-09
I can feel it calling me, summoning meI feel it reaching for me yearning for me longing for meIts presence is beyond presence; its charm is beyond charming Its elegance is beyond elegant Its stillness is beyond stillIts silence is strong it's almost too loud At times I think am healthily insane The beauty of this valley mesmerises most But to me it does something, I can hear it speaking to meI cannot explain it nor understand it, this enchanting valley is hunting meIt speaks to me in sounds I...

Eternal Sky
Rouan Wilsenach - 2009-04-09
I look through an open wood-framed windowAt an energetic green garden scene:On the rough brown bark of a green thorn treeA red-breasted Robin bus'ly abidesBy day's decree of sunray-fuelled activity.As the soft yellow of twilight sets in,My eyes are drawn up to the cyan sky,Peeking through branches at nature's dances.The quiet constant light-blue light shadowsThe scene, with an eternal reminderOf vastness, of patience: forever there.The greying sky's agelessness, timelessnessTells...

Room
Rouan Wilsenach - 2009-04-09


Charles B
Gillian Schutte - 2009-04-09
I am no longer afraid of the me that resides In you Or the you that resides In me You are a fat whore and I am a bum with a way with words We can throw our discontentTogether Against the fetid walls ofOur existenceAnd then get lost in messy sex Finding ourselves Old and still fighting in grimy sheets We'll Fight and fuck into the early hours For however long it lasts Coz nobody really cares Except our cat perhaps And that is only because she needs to be sure Where her next meal is coming from...

L is for ...
Gillian Schutte - 2009-04-09


Just
Gillian Schutte - 2009-04-09
I find it that much Easier To write About the dog poo On the shoe of myLife Than to write aboutyour spontaneousLaughterAnd the way it tickles me Pink When you find me funnyIt is easier to Hate The Paedophiles who have Populated My nightmaresAnd projected into my DreamsThan to write about the warm KissMy little boy planted On my cheekThis morning When he thought I wasAsleepI am more incensed by the Shouting ManNext door and theScreaming of His martyrThan I am by your CuttingOff Of my powerAnd the...

Poem – Boring (from things that bore me)
Gillian Schutte - 2009-04-09
I have no interest in yourMundane Political speechesYour narcissistic social Niceties as Bland as riceYou bore me silly with yourPettiness Tasteless expectations and Immutable argumentsAs stagnant as a month-end bank queueYou spew your thoughts at meIn the longhand of your angstAs if I have any interestIn the incessant Blow by blow account of Your life which isNothing more than a stringOf bad Relationships Tax Returns andImpossible sentimentalitiesAs poorly rendered as The late night show Please...

Untitled
Gillian Schutte - 2009-04-09


I am your high-minded lover
Esther van der Vyver - 2009-04-08


Is this humiliation, I wonder
Esther van der Vyver - 2009-04-08


Leaving
Mandy Mitchells - 2009-03-24
We gather nostalgia as we age, Until it hangs from memory … Like a summer knowing she has reached her prime When afternoon shadows grow longer, And the light is weaker, More translucent, than yesterday. Memory has a way of holding the things we desire … I pass long summer grasses Weighted down by seeds and water, That bow like dancers at gravel roadsides. If I were to leave this place of colour, Where the rain drenches the earth to her core, I would ache for...

Some days
Mandy Mitchells - 2009-03-24


Monkey’s wedding
Mandy Mitchells - 2009-03-24



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