Hierdie is die LitNet-argief (2006–2012)
Besoek die aktiewe LitNet-platform by www.litnet.co.za

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


 
Nuwe skryfwerk | New writing > Poësie | Poetry > English > Published poets

Published poets


<< 1 2 3 4 8 >>

Mumbai
Sarah Frost - 2008-12-18


Bearing
Sarah Frost - 2008-12-18
Bearing The woman, your friend, the one who has a name like yours,her body shapeless after labour, breastfeedingmeets you in the street, not quite by accident.It is an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, late.Dogs sound off at each other,like neighbours, testing limits.Her older son pushes the pramin which the baby sits, a small Buddha,arms waving in disconnect.Your dog strains at its leash,disregarding your commands for him to heel, slow down.As she tells you of the pap smear results she takes him by the...

Musings of a civil servant
Deena Padayachee - 2008-12-11
Musings of a civil servant When one looks at our fellow citizens and their daily travails, One can't help asking, How can it make me happy if I am rude or rough with you?How can it make me happy if I make your life difficult?Would it help my digestion or my self-imageIf I shout at you, if I am curt? Would it make me feel superior or better than you?Would it make my daughter, Seshnie, smile, or make my son, Sagren, proud?Would it make hair sprout on my scalp? If I am arrogant, horrible, cold and...

Or so we thought
Diana Ferrus - 2008-12-10
Or so we thoughtthey were just drinking could not stop themselveson the sidewalk, in the streetin the bedroom, on the kitchen sinkthey drank what they could getfor a dime, for free, foreverthey were last in the queuethe others before themdied with lips wet and moistand eyes yellow, the whitesnot visible, they were bornblind, forcibly led downthe wayward path was laidthey were last in the queueor so they thoughtbut the others followed soonthey too were just drinkingcould not stop themselveson the...

If I hated the ...
Deena Padayachee - 2008-12-10
If I hated the ... If I hated the Germans I would make the invasion of Russiaseem like a crusade for them,make them feel good about sending their sons to be frozen in Stalingrad. If I hated the Russians,I would entice their sons into the desolate mountains of Afghanistan. If I hated the FrenchI would make them feel that they had to own Algeria,make them see the flower of their nation perish in the heat and dust of the Sahara. If I hated the Italians I would send their sons to die in Ethiopia. If...

A prayer
Deena Padayachee - 2008-12-09
A prayer If I could transform the Sahara to sugar caneand give some of it to the Jewsand some to the Palestinians ...so they might not kill. If I could take the ice of Siberiaand make it hum with lifeand give some of it to every landless personin this sad worldso that no absent owner might steal a roof ... If I could take some of the Kalahari and make it greenso that despots would be less free with my enterprises ... If I could make a little of the Atlantic landand give some of it to Irish Catholicsand...

Abuse is my first name: For Elaine
Rosemund J Handler - 2008-12-08
Abuse is my first name: For ElaineNobody's had a life like minea battlefield of abuse incest crimemy parents drank the caravan stankof brandy beer cheap winemy father was the firstvirginity sweetie is the worst you'll be ready when you wedyou'll thank me one day he saidthen his friends all sixgot up to a bunch of tricksall six on the unmade beduntil the sheets ran red red redpregnant at thirteenmy father turned meantook me unawarespushed me down the stairsas rain fell like bloodthe child...

Dentist: For Deon
Rosemund J Handler - 2008-12-08
Dentist: For DeonA lover's eyeswere never so intent gazing into my mouthas into a jewel-studdedhideaway fed byspring water surely only a thingof great valuecould inspire such devotion?yet as he drills for goldhe discovers only stony ground from which he must sculpta monument worthy of a more gracioussetting than the cratered cavernof a gaping mouthhe injects prods drills drills and prods some moresaliva floods my jaw stiffensbegging to clamp down on his deft fingers but I refrainfor that monumenthe...

Doppelganger
Sarah Frost - 2008-12-08
You are my terrible twin.We were knotted together even as I slipped, womb-blinded, from the darkness into light, the cord severed.We will always be as Janus was, selves torn between the ancient face that looks forward from the doorwayand the young one that looks back, into the shadows.different sides of the same shiftless coin.No closeness has ever felt further.No mirror glitters so cruellywith false promise as the one you hold up for me, alter ego.It is because you left me,that I cannot relinquish...

I Dislike Spiders
Gail Dendy - 2008-12-04
I dislike the spidersthat make their tentsin my creeper.They've no right at allto be so comfortableand warm.Each tent hangsits unlit lanternamong the leavesof the creeper.Each tentis a magnificent workof architectureand a perfectrefuge in time of war.I considermy war on the spidersto be a work of art.The siege begins.My heart dancesa quadrille.Soon I'llevict the spidersfrom their gauzy tents and then certainly I'll be at peace.Why does it seemas if there are no spiders?Why have all the...

In Appreciation of Du Fu
Gail Dendy - 2008-12-04


Linda
Gail Dendy - 2008-12-04
The church bells bring down shadowsall over town. Somewhere, the grassremains rumpled in the field by the lake.Somewhere, the shapes of my school friendsreappear, their clothes billowing outas they run through the wind.But Linda was something else,Linda like quicksilver, Linda like fish,Linda who swam and skippedand was top of the class. A shiny red applebought the teacher's heart. Gold starsdribbled into all her books.At break, we ate our sandwichesand swapped the bad wordswe daren't speak....

Random visit
Zolani Kupe - 2008-11-17


Winter night*
Zolani Kupe - 2008-11-17
Of the night when there was no moonlightI can say nothingOf the morning, the dawn when the cockerelsDid not wake peopleI can say nothingOf the mist in the mountainsAnd the fog that moved and touched the groundI can say nothingOf the oxen with painful yoke on their necksI can say nothingBut of me freezing in bed during the winter nightI can say somethingThere is a fireplaceThere is woodThere are red embersThere are matches, a candle and a paraffin lampThere are all these devices in my houseBut my...

I forget
Zolani Kupe - 2008-11-17
I forget how my skin was made tenderI forget how my care-giversCuddled me and loved meI forget how I was treatedWhen I went to the mountainHow unbearable the pains of manhood wereI forget how we used to play in the gardenHow we used to kick the warm newly-ploughed soilHow we used to trap the birdsAnd what the cattle-tilled land felt likeIt was warm as a freshly cooked vetkoekI forget how as village boys we used to go astray hunting animalsRabbits and buckI forget how we used to be disappointedBy...

The Nymph That Came To Life
Charl J.F. Cilliers - 2008-10-20


Deceit
Charl J.F. Cilliers - 2008-10-20
He watched the angergrow behind her eyes:caught out again, it seemed,in one of oh so many, many lies.But he had alwaysmeant to tell the truth,but had not managed itso well, not since his youth.Ease it was that drove the first lies home, in spite of fears and threatsof being damned to Kingdom Come.And later, a sneakingpride, born of increased successes,carried him on to evermore extravagant excesses. And even later, the intricateedifices of justification and intentthat had to prop up his everyaction,...

Silences
Charl J.F. Cilliers - 2008-10-20


The New Science
Charl J.F. Cilliers - 2008-10-20


Ingrid Jonker
Charl J.F. Cilliers - 2008-10-20


When you grow old
Helena Reid - 2008-10-20
When you grow olddoes the heart implode on itself,sucking shining starsinto black holes?Do you scatter dreamslike stardust along murky ways,waiting for strange black birdsto peck them up, one by one?Does your face become contortedin a forever-desperate scream,and do you wear the loneliness of the universearound your shoulders like a dark, stinky coat?Or is growing older, like growing-going forever wanting to know more than you know now?Is it like a pregnant mommy-tummy expanding, about-to-burst in...

For Tonight
Len Verwey - 2008-10-13
Joachim Berendt wrote of Charlie Parkerthat he rode the subways all night,stood further, in pictures, from the other musiciansthan they did from him. How he played a beat-up alto sax in a pawn shopso wild and singular, he without one then,the owner tripled the price right there,thinking it was the horn that made that sound. Like a foolish monk I listened less to musicthan I read of it, of that kept nothing save the odds and ends I thought I needed,odds and ends that mattered much back then, and matter...

I have the stone now
Len Verwey - 2008-10-13
I have the stone now, the one for skippingor window-breaking, a paperweight,for sharpening knives, to line a garden path, that fits into a cattie on a summer morning in a veld, a necklace stone if framed by other shiny stones.The stone you paint at a children's party,that might keep the time if shadows fell across it, a talking stone in marriage therapy, that could be used for moneyif it weren't so common, that insects hide beneath, a doorstop if no south-easter blows. Not a heavy stone,...

In a language that you know
Len Verwey - 2008-10-13


Flying machine, unsuccessful
Len Verwey - 2008-10-13
You should've seen me in the previous century,the wing on the wire and the wire in the bone,that flutter and coil, tinkering with nuts and boltsand shadow-shifting on suburban lawns.You should've seen me half in love with lying,hardly able to tell a pigeon from a dove.But I could change the light bulbs now, polish the brass, look after your sun.You should've seen me in the previous century.The wing comes off the wire all too readily, on your hands a mess of feather and metal and ages...

Solemnisation
Caroline Esterhuizen - 2008-09-25
I take thee to be my wedded husband: life partner in all we undertake To have and to hold from this day forward: hold, hold me tight and don't let go For better for worse: betters hang as love hammocks for our Worsts For richer for poorer: mostly richer although money is always an issue ... the concise haiku of all our disputes: you won't get rich making "poetry and hums" but not many rich men can...

née Morris
Caroline Esterhuizen - 2008-09-25
at the exhibition, a heartbeat echo Shirley Meersman née Morris signed her work “Sorrim”: in all her pen-and-inks never a name-skin for herself ... Her maiden name disloyal. Her married name a borrowed dust cover: and it's been troublesome to find one that fits me ... Birth name: Raine Adopted name: Morris Married name: Esterhuizen My personal crucible. As wife and mother I might have worn Esterhuizen comfortably in my little family, of my very own finding....

Seasonal nostalgia
Caroline Esterhuizen - 2008-09-25


Cannibal
Caroline Esterhuizen - 2008-09-25
"Boy, 4, disappears – Mitchells Plain" Stop stealing our children, you insidious slavering mouth! Stop feeding on our babies you white-larvaed thing that consumes us all - not least the porcelain-precious babes you defile. wasteland sands dread fear of the wind-torn dunes and beach scrub: the leaning-clawing emaciated brush. You're the great beast that waits - stalks the supermarkets, gardens, streets mothers'...

Safe
Caroline Esterhuizen - 2008-09-25
Varsity years came with so many insecurities while I was trying to fashion a definite Me in all my hedgehog-young adulthood. How I wished I was one of those fly-away girls who wore T-shirts without bras and languidly lolled, draped over boyfriends' denimed laps. How I envied saying “fuck” naturally as if it was a casual exclamation mark or a sigh of disbelief: “Fuck, that's amazing!” With an "ing" sometimes for special emphasis without...

Holiday let, Muizenberg
Rosemund J Handler - 2008-09-22


Some are dancing
Rosemund J Handler - 2008-09-22
The gutters glint in oily pastelsa sour-scented stew of rain and urinedrenches his cardboard walls as we emerge carefully from cars with the sheen of nighton our dancing shoeshe shuffles beneath cardboard our shoes painted on the concretehis chances fifty-fiftyto be rousted in the small hours by an officious boot that might dancehim to a paltry smudgeagainst the shop windowunder shifting panels of dark and lightthe palm of one hand cups his headrolls him into a winding sheet of sodden cardboard while...

Reconstruction
Rosemund J Handler - 2008-09-22


Not free to go
Rosemund J Handler - 2008-09-22
Your exhausted organs wheeze nothing but betrayalat the door a cheerful voicedoesn't cheerprops shards of bonethat dent the pillowspoke through flaps of skin like used envelopes that won't stick there is no listeningin the courthouse of the brain though you plead for release from the prosecutorial flickerthat jams you in impassedaily you compose your obituaryeach word a butterfly sipping the nectarof old dreamseven as your bones capitulateand toss you where you liewatching yourself inhalethe...

The elusive piece
Liesl van Dreau - 2008-08-05
I was born Broken.My mother delivered the shardsOf shattered soulThat tore and clawed at herAnd walked away.They never did find all the piecesBut they sealed the file anyway(No need to disclose the messy details)Mopped up and sterilised I was dispatched.A closed adoptionThat opened a longing for integrationFor belongingFor a changeling girl childWith a growing hankeringThat she carried a piece of me Within her.A little glass splinter left on the floorThat wasn’t mopped up or incineratedWith...

Far more
Liesl van Dreau - 2008-08-05


Soul scrap yard
Liesl van Dreau - 2008-08-05


Separation
Liesl van Dreau - 2008-08-05


Paternity test, April 1994
Liesl van Dreau - 2008-08-05
Who fathered you, mntwana? (child)Were you conceived of the seed of the sailors Who landed at her CapeAnd raped her land, language and religion?Or of the sweat of the slaves Or the migrant men who clawed for gold Inside her caverns?Or by the blood on the spears of the warriorsWho warred and fled and forged mighty kingdoms?Or by the white-gnawed human bones Spat from the mouths of the amazimu (cannibals)Who consumed her long ago ago? Long before the people who painted...

There’s a bright patch of green
Lungelo Mpatho Mbatha - 2008-07-29


Let us be like rivers, Love
Lungelo Mpatho Mbatha - 2008-07-29


A Zulu love letter
Lungelo Mpatho Mbatha - 2008-07-29
I wish you could write me a letterA Zulu love letterWith coded colours and shapesA diamond, for love that’s trueWhite, for a heart that’s pureA ring, because endlessBlue, because thinking of meA triangle, because heaven, earthand sea below do knowBrown, because solid, rich, and naturalas the ground under my feetYou can leave out the yellowWhy should you love me jealously?!I wish you could write me a letterThat I could wear around my neckFor all the flowers of the meadowTo watch with envy...

Rumination on the bus, Johannesburg
Gail Dendy - 2008-07-02


On the Death of Kafka
Gail Dendy - 2008-07-02
(Kafka and both his parents are buried in the same grave)We’re all in the same tomb.Mom. Dad. What’s left of meafter I’d coughed up my lungs.Robert and Dora were with me.She said smell these flowers,how sweet and so I raised myselfto please her, then fell back.It wasn’t a day for dyingbut I did it anyway, my most completemoment, I felt, running awayas fast as I could up Karpfengasse Streettowards my boyhood home, and thenone massive leap where I hoveredwith my toes on the...

Constancy
Gail Dendy - 2008-07-02
I ran unhinderedthrough the sanded summerand the shadow of the grovecaught me in its weathered netand down I fellas through the arms of anotherabsent to me throughout the cold and wetof winter – I mean, last summer, those monthswhen the tree stuffed birds into its breastand poked little holes in the side of the skywhich leaked, leaked every dayas if it would wash the last drop of meaway and into the arms of another whomI’d never even met. You see I’m constant,then, as the ever-changing...

Painting a white canvas
De Waal Venter - 2008-05-05


Brutally kicked into life by a line of foreign poetry
De Waal Venter - 2008-05-05
Brutally kicked into life by a line of foreign poetry'n wiegende gedagte nét voelbaar in die kuiltjie van my nekUnannounced it touchesme at the baseof my throat,demanding to be enunciated.It frogmarches my voiceinto daylight."I arm afraid of year," emerges.This is not satisfactory; myvoice is forced again:"The arms of the year are filled with fear."No. The semantics are falling about,potato chips from a torn bag.Now my voice is beaten into submission.Weakly my lips flap...

Camembert as an aid to meditation
De Waal Venter - 2008-05-05


Grahamstown Library
Sarah Frost - 2008-04-15


Poem for a father
Sarah Frost - 2008-04-15
This is lovethen,not the injunctions issued by Marvell:"Let us roll all our strength and allOur sweetness up into one ball",Nor the ferocity of Dickinson:"Wild wild nights would I were with thee."Not the acheThat urges connection, no.Another kind of love that, eros, easily misread. No - this hurts, more than desire ever couldThis is the longing of the child awake, alone in the darkThunder ringing in her earsto hear him tell her the story to take away the fearof how God cleans...


<< 1 2 3 4 8 >>