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

Published poets


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Neighbourhood Watch
Sarah Frost - 2008-04-15
The small girlStanding at the doorWatching through the bars of the closed gateSees her image, give or take thirty years,Pass along the street.The womanLooking upCatches the tail end of the glanceFeels it rather than sees it –The clarity of a recognitionShe can barely fathom.The green of the treesBetween themwould swallow her whole.She clings on to the sticky nearnessOf a stamen danglingFrom its red-belled flowerAs if it were a lifeline.The hard creaminess of the lily curveHolds the vast space...

Moths
Sarah Frost - 2008-04-15
The mothsHave migrated into the houseThey crowd the wallsSmall ciphers dark against the whiteness.As if witnessing a wake,Or perhaps waiting for a dream to float inFrom the garden they have left behind.They flutter upWhen disturbedSettle back Notes on page of music,Tuning a waiting song.Yet to be sung.Her voiceQuaversAs she reads her poem to herself.She thinks of death -The low cemetery wallThat does not hideThe plain white crosses marking the graves within.She wants to see with the eyes of a childReach...

Conduit
Sarah Frost - 2008-04-15
For long nowIt has been blockedThe tunnel filled with ragged plastic bags, dead branchesWashed down from the townships.The water tainted with faeces.Stagnant as oil sludgeIt pools,Dirty,Like unresolved pain.The concrete hollow sticks out over the beachInto the shallows of the seaA barrel of a gunFacing down the wavesthat lap at its mouthYears agoThe girl walked there with her motherSpeaking of who she might become.Now she walks there aloneWondering, in the shadowsHow she will ever know, let alone...

Running in the game farm
De Waal Venter - 2008-03-11
Running in the game farmPacing feetcrunch on the dirt road,a narrow naked stripin the lowveld shrub.Sighing softly, acacias release the day's heat.The kudu bullstares stillness at meas I pass,warned away by game farm fence.Two specks up highswerving on curling currents of airin the turtledove-coloured sky;they are keenly aware of the living –more so of the dead and dying.If my heart fails nowI'll be the sameas the kudu cow's dying calf.The veld will eat uswithout the slightest change in mood,we...

Looking for yesterday
De Waal Venter - 2008-03-11


Criticism
De Waal Venter - 2008-03-11


The difficulty of becoming an angel
De Waal Venter - 2008-03-11
The difficulty of becoming an angelBecoming an angelmight be quite a lively process.I'd probably feel the urgeto buzz the church steeple,scattering the pigeons.I might charge after the swallows,open-mouthed, shouting "yeaaaah!",swallowing insects all the way.I wouldn't be surprisedIf I cruised above the trafficand attached balls of chewed gumto the aerials of those naughty driverswho keep gobbling other people's safety spaces.That night I might flap almost noiselesslyaround white flowers,watching...

The welcoming weaverbirds
Frieda Groffy - 2008-03-10
The first to welcome me home toAfrica the Motherland though in a Different garden and a different houseIs the little weaverbird manWith his feathers shining likePure gold in the bright sunlightBusy as always doing his mfitsy-mfitsyThing, flying back and fro to thePerfect nest where the little wife is waitingI feel the warmth taking hold of meThe sun caressing the chill out of my bonesWhen the day slowly turns into night aRefreshing shower starts to fall while a gentleWind rattles the leaves of the...

It still didn’t rain in Jozi today
Frieda Groffy - 2008-03-10
It didn’t rain in Jozi todayThe sun burning like hellfireWas playing hide and seek with the cloudsThe gods of thunder beating their drumsIn a dark distant rumbleIt still didn’t rain in Jozi todayThe streets lay desertedThe birds singing in a restless chatA sudden wind shaking the treesEven the lizards were hidingIt still didn’t rain in Jozi todayThe rich taking dives in the poolsSipping ice cold Martini’s on the rocks The poor happy with a cool drink of waterTrying to keep...

Finally the rain fell ...
Frieda Groffy - 2008-03-10
Finally tonight the gods of thunder and lightningWere having a wild partyBold and daring like the Amabutho ChiefsOf the old Zulu KingdomThey were challenging each otherCutting the air with flashes of lightFrightening the children with theirThunderous colliding rumbleIn a generous mood they opened theGates of Heaven sending refreshingShowers of rain to the thirsting earthThe poorest amongst the poorThe homeless and the ones livingIn the shacks tried to find shelterPutting pots and buckets under the...

Forced removal
Robert Edward Bolton - 2008-03-03


Song of a non-working man (from "Red Quartet")
Robert Edward Bolton - 2008-03-03
... Not I. Not I but while the goose’s wingbears north, the cock who keeps no honest hoursstands always to the west. Let salesmen singthe steam which drives the wheel which mills the flourwhich constitutes consuming millers. Letthe milling class moreover – for its sins – inherit millstones, own its yeasty sweat,itself deliver ... When the crosswise windsbegin again their whistling through a scoundrel’sbones, what company or commune thenwill profit from the sullen trade he...

Face not worth saving (from "Red Quartet")
Robert Edward Bolton - 2008-03-03
Nothing like the sun, and little inthe way of full-mouthed moons, would penetratethe seven murky nights between his sinand, clicking softly closed, the garden gate ...only these sporadic sparkings, coolphotonic flashes carrying her hot(and yet unbodied) manifestos. Fool!For this, facade and face he ceded: notthe easy throwing-open of the door(no mistress eyes, in these streets, uninvitedguests) nor, then, its closing click, but forwhat lay between, unnamed and unrequited.When property is theft, then...

Untitled (3)
Rosamund Catherine Wagener - 2008-02-11


Untitled (2)
Rosamund Catherine Wagener - 2008-02-11


Untitled (1)
Rosamund Catherine Wagener - 2008-02-11


Malachite Sunbird
Rosamund Catherine Wagener - 2008-02-11


Lily and Gem
Rosamund Catherine Wagener - 2008-02-11


You love me, Tsamma
De Waal Venter - 2008-02-11


Staying behind
Gail Dendy - 2008-01-30
Long after the blood on my doorpost had congealedand a creaking black cloud gone twittering by,I packed two squares of linen (one for meand one for my wife), a strap of worked leather,the congealed fat of a ram, and walked for three daysto the edge of the wilderness. My neighbour’sneighbour had talked of a burning bush. I knewit was all rubbish. The cattle dozed and the fields were full.I was not in a hurry and so I struck out. It seemedthere was somebody waiting. Odd he was, like a cubor mate...

White Daffodils
Gail Dendy - 2008-01-30
The window-box has sprouted pearlsall in a row. They are obedientand quiet. They sit on the edgeof winter like so many bleached crows.They are waiting for something.They will never go backto where they came fromand so I’m lumbered with themas if with somebody’s jewels.I wish they were not there.I wish they had not grown.But there they are, unsmilingschoolgirls in white panama hatswho bend towards each otherand swap dirty secrets.I wish I could hear them.I wish I could deciphertheir strophes...

With her Feet on the Ground
Gail Dendy - 2008-01-30
My sister sat with her feet on the ground.My sister pulled down birds from the sky.She pulled them down with her tiny whistle,with her tiny whistle through the gap in her teeth,through the gap in her teeth she pulled them down,pulled them to nest in her wild, grey hair,in her wild, grey hair and her yellow skin,her skin that was yellow as the desert sand,the sand that was hard as my sister’s feet,her feet that were bare on the desert sand,my sister pulled down birds from the sky,she pulled...

Shaping the Language
Gail Dendy - 2008-01-24
I have a hammerand a sharp chiseland today I shall makethis language jump.I shall flog itand strip itfrom its haft,and nail wooden markersabove and below it.And when its shoulderappears, I might cover itor leave it naked,and when its heelpops outI will grab it tenderlybut nevertheless give ita good shaking. And whenit tries to runpast me, I’ll builda snareor throw a witching lineacross its pathand when it begins to flywith its blue bellyand silver beak, I’ll aimmy trusty shotgun at it.And...

Pater
Eugene Ashton - 2007-11-29


What Remains?
Eugene Ashton - 2007-11-29


Surface Poem
Eugene Ashton - 2007-11-29


Thunder
Eugene Ashton - 2007-11-29


For Buke – "don’t try!"
Eugene Ashton - 2007-11-29


Embryo
Sarah Frost - 2007-10-23


Life-bestower
Sarah Frost - 2007-10-23
All through the yearsShe has carried these jewelsIn the secret spiralled symmetry of her deepest selfEach tiny seed pearlMore priceless than God.MonthlyShe grieves, with tears of blood,Their irrevocable passing.When anger flashes through herLike lightningHer being a fragmented stormOf abandoned days,A sorrow of nights. She holds her fertility close, like a lover -Immanent, Like a talisman,To remind her of who she really is.Primitive, wild,Fierce as the...

It all begins ...
Sarah Frost - 2007-10-23
The house where she sleepssits astride the duneuneasy in the darknessthe trellidoor strains at its water-logged lock.All nightThe sea singing from beyond the forestA melancholy of wavesA secret unseen scuttling of spider-crabs,Beneath a withered moon.Morning time fallen like a soft-petalled frangipani flower, dozing, she hears his voice in the kitchen,Comes downstairs to find him gone already,Leaving by his brief presence an invitation.The bare auburn of garden earth beyond the barred windowsIs already...

The tipping point
Sarah Frost - 2007-10-23
Tipping point - the moment at which damage to the environment is so severe and widespread that it pushes the ecosystem into an irreversible cycle of self-destruction. Hurtling towards the tipping pointFields of ancient treesDisappearing like smoke in a galeA forest a week -A river of tears will not bring back what has been lostWill not wash the toxins from this poisoned lake.When will it be too much … When will it end?The immaculacy of the world torn asunderLike innocence taken from a young...

Two vistas
Gail Dendy - 2007-08-07
1.The veld has been torchedfor the winter burnings,its woolly hair cropped closeas a convict’s. The men whip itas though dog-whipping,watching the flames snarland grovel, belly down,at each man’s boots.Afterwards, the fieldis a show of bared teethand its riversare silvery, twisted ribs,and its tongue is black mudin the valley. 2.The silver-eared sunflowersare enormous.The valley is crushed, green silkand the hill is breathlessfrom climbing itself all day.All day the heat swimslike goldfish...

Whoops!
Gail Dendy - 2007-08-07
When a DVD of the seais exactly what you want,when the wind chips awayat the bell of your earand threatens your sensesto supplant:when the rock has stopped just shortof the ten toes of your feetbut your dumb foot’s unforgivingand slides off into space,then, my dear, you’ll take the placeof bungee-jumper without much hopeof a tough but squiggly ropeto tie you down in timeand freeze-frame you above the brine.So there it is, the wing-and-prayeras you swing like a meteor’s fizzing flare...

Loving the Self
Gail Dendy - 2007-08-07
Experiencing a temperaturebelow freezing,my skin burns like hell.I’d not expected this,but to love the selfmeans to take careof the self, bothoutside and in.And so the doctorapplies liquid nitrogento a mark on my face,turns the brown stainabout which I’d complainedinto a blackening cruston the ridge of my cheek.I think gypsy womanwith her glittering balland rows of cardsand hair hidden by a red scarf.It has a fringe of goldcoins. She tells meI shall be rich,that my lover will never wishto...

Optimist
Gail Dendy - 2007-08-07
They tell me the glass is half full.If I look through the full partI see the moon, cold and waxy,slithering about as if wriggling freefrom the fisherman’s stalk.But the glass is also half empty.If I look through its gapI see the sky expandingon tensile silver rings, I seeits cool fish-eyes glaring at mein the dark, I see the placewhere air and waterpart, where the inevitabletask of taking sidesis how to keep on breathing.They tell me the glass is half fulland that I must believe them.But nowI...

End of an Affair
Eugene Ashton - 2007-07-11
The second movement is dramatic,it always is, loud and trumpeted,a carnival of dance; traversingemotive evocations and public confessions –a strident river, a rolling storm –and then the shower. Enter finale.At turns a passive anger, complacentanticipation for the curtain call;internal themes that echo a deaththe end is in this case the end.That is how it is with plays.Tomorrow night new parts,a new cast perhaps. Some bow out.The curtain – in case you missed it –is falling...

End of a Party
Eugene Ashton - 2007-07-11


Freedom
Eugene Ashton - 2007-07-11


Mrs M –
Eugene Ashton - 2007-07-11


Ode
Eugene Ashton - 2007-07-11


a human reject
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane - 2007-06-12
i am a human rejecta thing God created by mistakewhen He was playing with mud not knowing what to do –everywhere I go either people give me a look of disgustlike I am an ugly poisonous snakeor a look of shame as if I am suffering from leprosy –i am a human reject –i chose rats for my friendsand cut-boxes for my blanketsand dustbins are my restaurants –i wander around every day, wonderingabout a man and a woman who were never sure they wanted to have mebut fucked anyway and...

heaven and hell
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane - 2007-06-12


wheelchair bound
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane - 2007-06-12


waiting
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane - 2007-06-12


stella
Kgosietsile Dintlhoane - 2007-06-12
where does one begin to write about uu told me that your heart is in a pretty bad shapethat it is heavy with hatewith lonelinessand vengeance –u said that Plath of “ariel” is your idol and my concern was that she put gas on her face until she was dead –tell me stella where does one begin to write about uwhen your mind carries heavy memories of violenceof fists on your little face and of ripping off your underwearonly to feel your girlishness violated –tell me where...

The Good Tourist
Myesha Jenkins - 2007-04-17


Reflections in solitude
Myesha Jenkins - 2007-04-17
If you are there on my path in the night I would consider sharing a silent moment with you. But do not ask to join my solitude it is mine to walk into there is much to ponder and I am already weary I will not suffer your intrusion My time a meditation on koi and water lilies sorting out confusion, interpreting signs Life unfolds when the sky is rosy from a dying sun and insects change the sound to night My being is subtly changed Light alters time, blood speaks, spirits move a visitation...

Quake!
Myesha Jenkins - 2007-04-17
Living in California you learn to fear the quiet stillness pricks your ears heat hangs on the horizon rippling the air animals are restless and agitated Waiting For days the waiting, the waiting then the earth moves the world falls down, catches flame cracks open, loses balance Eternity You know it’s only the beginning the slow motion quiet of mass trauma Calm descends on fear It starts again Not as strong as the first Again it comes and again Not as long as the last Then...

cars
Anton Krueger - 2007-04-04



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