There was a chap from South Africa
who drank way too much liquor
when asked by his wife -
to end his strife-
he merely sighed and promptly switched to vodka.
limerick by Otido Omukuba
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The Pride To Be An African
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of which everybody imitates
My Africa of which culture exceed the Greek
My Africa of which everyone is jealous of
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of enormous natural endowment
My Africa of Non-Violence
My Africa of Amorous populates
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of patriot men and women
My Africa of shelter and vintage hospitality
My Africa of great ancestral mythology
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa that bore fruits of black diamonds
My Africa which is a gift to the whole world
My Africa of great leadership
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of learned youths
My Africa of a bright generation
My Africa true tradition
My Africa My Africa My Africa
My Africa of black pageant women
My Africa of strong men
My Africa from who we all hail from
For every African deserves a Nobel Prize in
Existence.
poem by Fasan paul
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Don’t Cry For Me Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because I will never let you out of my mind
I hear your voices people of Africa
I hear your cries people of Africa
I see pain in your eyes people of Africa
It is hard to describe what you people of Africa are going through
Poverty strikes you all people of Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because I will keep you in my prayers people of Africa
Power to the people of Africa
People of Africa lift your spirit higher
Lord is the light and truth people of Africa
The Lord sends you a message from his heart to you people of Africa
He said because I love you
I will answer your prayers
I hear your prayers
Don’t cry for me Africa
Because you have a friend that is the Lord
People of Africa continue doing the Lords work
Make a wish people of Africa
The people of Africa are looking at the Lord face to face
Lord here is no paradise
We dream a little dream said the people of Africa to the Lord
The People of Africa Pray that the Lord will give each other strength every day
Don’t cry for me Africa
Save the people of Africa
Strengthened the people of Africa each day
Because I’ll be there in your dreams people of Africa
The people of Africa tells The Lord how much they love him
Don’t cry for me Africa
Lord comes when you are ready people of Africa
Feelings you have for your Lord People of Africa
And I know you will never let it die
Nothing but flowers the people of Africa will plant in the sea shore for the Lord
Don’t cry for me Africa
The people of Africa needs hope to heal there land
The Lord rose up on you people of Africa
Don’t cry for me Africa
My heart will go on
Once I close this door of the ship I will sail across the Atlantic Sea
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Jackop Zuma, South Africa, The World's Greatest News Ladies And Gentlemen Stop Anything Hear Is Your Invitation
JACKOP ZUMA JACOP ZUMA
South Africa is about to become a tolerable nation
South Africa is about to be born anew
Can you imagine a tolerable state?
The Deputy President of South Africa
They said you are the rapist
But the man kept silent
The man nodded silent
The court proved you to be not guilty.
They first started by saying you fraud the state money.
Now and then you brought the weapons illegal from abroad
But the man kept silent
The case was closed and it is then again open.
The court will then again close it
It will close it again because there is no fossil evidence that you were any fraudster.
Yes we as the Proudly South African agree
We agree that you are innocent
Today I am making the History
This is the History that will remain to be red by the millions of future generations
In Africa there once lived a man
A man that was proud of his party and his party
People were confused so that they donnot see him in the eyes of the presidency
But sothat they see him in the eyes of fraudsters and rapist and we donnot know what still to come
The state president excluded you but you did not quit the party
The people loved you even more than before
It was Mshiniwami Mshiniwami almost every where
Ladies and Gentlemen: that is the song which was sung by South African leaders as oppose to oppression anti-free trade barriers
You can make your own party which can make you stand as the South African president
But you have never thought of that nonsense
This is because you know what is like to be a South African
Unlike other weakest South African leaders you have not yet forget where we come from
You have not yet forget how has South Africans fought for this freedom of our country
You understand the effort of his presidency Steve Biko whom his life was lost through the struggle for our liberation struggle
Yes you do understand the effort of his PRESIDENCY DOCTOR NELSON MANDELA
I wonder how joyful Cris Hhani might have been
If he can see your tolerance and diplomacy in this Nation Spear
Perhaps there is only one man in the millionth whose leadership is more or less as yours
That was Elijah
A man who was singing and clapping the hands in the fire wagon
The fire is the parliament
And the world is the fire wagon
This is our three wheeled wagon
It name is Rainbow Nation
The Front wheel is ANC which is the ruling party in South Africa
The two hind wheels is ANC youth league and the COSADTU
Ladies and Gentlemen: there are two drivers operating this car
But the fire will decide which one is to be burned off
Because the forward moving countries like a forward moving country cannot be driven by the two drivers
But I see the glory burning inside Jackop Zuma
This is a glory that was planted millions feet underground
[...] Read more
poem by Mthokozisi Ntokozo Maphumulo
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IV. Tertium Quid
True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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II. Half-Rome
What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)
Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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V. Count Guido Franceschini
Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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III. The Other Half-Rome
Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!
There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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02-04-2012 Brother I give you my answer for Black People African Sahara it mesmerizes the wise largest desert it is asked of we What is Africa is to me 3.3 million miles of grea
Brother I give you my answer
for Black People
African Sahara
it mesmerizes the wise
largest desert
it is asked of we
What is Africa is to me
3.3 million miles
of great desert
once a forest
once a great sea
once an empty hole
in space just waiting
to be that it can
birth the blackness
of who my mothers be
3.3 millions
you can not see it all
Trans Saharan trade
is but a child
weather selling slaves
or selling salt
and always
brought and sold
the black man's art, gold
the paintings
was still for the walls
to surround us
a representation of the thing
that be, the God that
rose Africa from the sea
man got his
walking feet
on Africa's soil
Africa Moors
salt caravans
Africa the salt
of the land
what more did Africa
give to man
gold first mimed
found its glow
in the hands of
a black child
oldest gold jewelry
in Queen Zer's tomb
being as old as this
there is nothing
that we can not do
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poem by David E. Patton
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A Cry For My Mama Land
It is 1.50 a.m.
And sleep evades me….because I weep for my motherland!
Sons of Africa,
Daughters of Africa,
Awaken: you have slumbered so long.
Look at the cloudless skies that cover your motherland,
Look at the leafless trees….the barrenness that fills the atmosphere
Look at the evolving deserts, that swallow up your birthright
Listen to the cry of your sons and daughters,
Empty stomachs, jiggered feet, tatters for clothes…..barely enough education if any
Feel the desperation of this land,
Feel the emptiness that engulfs our cradle
See the vanishing green,
See the greed that exists,
oh daughters and sons of Africa!
For how long shall we sit and watch?
While Africa destroys herself?
For how long shall we be divided on the basis of our ethnicity?
Instead of using out diversity as our strength?
For how long shall we be misguided: by our very own kinsmen?
Instead of standing for our own convictions?
For how long shall micro-nationalism take the place of nationhood?
For how long shall we be brainwashed? manipulated? Brainwashed?
For how long will our collective hard-worn freedom and independence be a luxury of only few?
Tell me daughters and sons of Africa, for how long, shall we wallow in the miasma of poverty?
Not anymore, sons and daughters of Africa, nay not anymore!
Because all I need is several more hearts sold to the cause of this continent.
A few souls who will dare dream, of a land that mama Africa could be!
A few who will raise their voices in the streets and condemn: evil, greed, selfishness,
At the expense of their comfort, and even their lives!
Just dream with me,
Mmmh…aaaah….Economic stability, oneness, food security,
Sound leadership, quality and affordable education, employment opportunities,
Good affordable healthcare, good governance policies, …….clean air!
Look at our land, beautiful, divine!
The proud white peaked mountains,
The meandering bold rivers,
The ever peaceful lakes,
The diverse wild life,
The rich culture and heritage,
The diversity of her people,
The dynamism and creativity,
The artstic value that equals none other
[...] Read more
poem by Mukami Mbaabu
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The South African Rain
The South African Bank
Mushroom which bare as if it has never bare from the soil
They were stupid giggling because you have take over Drankensberg Mountains
They called you a rebel for you silent footstep
You flew Higher above the sky like a hawk flying towards chicken babies
Your truly sound cause us to tremble but with no way to hide
You cause us to tremble when you darkening the South Africa up and down
The thunder rumbling
It shakes all directions
It shakes Durban and causes us to mumble as it is a new thing
Grow up Bank of the Banks
Grow up until you touch the sky
Grow up even if they cast obstacles on you
Turn the obstacles into you catalyst to accelerate your activities.
The Africa that is hungry will be saved by the by African Bank.
You are like a cow that produces an everlasting cream of milk
We trust you in our Africa Unity
All nations will Bow down to African Rain.
All nations will be judge by you
You are the queen of South African Rain
When it is dry the woman top up the mountains and they ask you for rain
You give the rain as it is instructed
They talk about globalization and global warming
But we shall never experience weather draught in South Africa
That is because we have our King NOMKHUBULWANE who will always listen to our rain songs and brings us rain for food
South African King of Rain: we don’t see you but witness your presence
Hear and there they challenge the Zulu Kingdom
But there is no one who will ever challenge the kingdom of the Queen of Rain
I feel the tears of sorrow
These are the tears of sorrow over African Child who has come to accept all forms of western religions
Africa you have forget that you have supernatural power of the spirits that was inherited from your past heroes
The power is always there if you need them.
I believe in Africa
I believe in Shaka and Dindane
I believe in Nomkhubulwane
I believe in Africa Venomas
Africa HA HA HA Earthquakes and Tornadoes no more in South Africa
Demons no more in South Africa
We are the chiefs of security spirits
Even human evaluated hear and spread elsewhere
So we are more than human but fore ancestors
Do you think the spirit of human origin must have disappeared within a period of few million years
NO if so no anyone could have continue to live
For if the cornerstone or foundations of the house fall the whole building fall down.
Thank you Africa thank
I am thanking you that I was born in your Island
For I have already inherited the spirits of human making characters
I was not there when you made the man character
But I believe you had your own supernatural undiscovered characteristics
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poem by Mthokozisi Ntokozo Maphumulo
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African Identity Is Lost
Thank you South Africa Thank you
Today I don’t know why should I cal myself an African
South Africa I am afraid
I don’t know why you have killed people of Zimbabwe
You have exposed this mother land
It is like what Hitler was doing to the Jews
Why, Why, Why? ? ?
Yesterday we were depending on Zimbabwe for liberation struggle.
We had no fighting machines, no residences and no identity
Robert Mugabe Sacrificed all of his power, just because he wanted to see South Africa out of its previous crisis
With the lapse of 15 years?
Why don’t you look at United State of America?
United State has truly become a Model Liberal Country
Its President is a black person
It is a mixture of different people – none of which we have ever had such South African Tragic Killings
Today I am telling te whole world that I am so embarrassed
Ladies and Gentlemen: South Africa is a Xenophobic Country
If you think to pay a visit for study there: please take another option
I had never think that a person can be boiled with fire for no reason but Xenophobia
I wish you a very bad lucky
Perhaps God can give you a Tsunami over your bad reputation
South Africa does not only needs to apologize to Zimbabweans
It needs to apologies to the whole world
It needs to apologies to the whole Africa country
It need to apologies to God himself
It need to apologies to itself for having lost consciousness
I want to warn South Africa with one thing
Fire is not the end of the world
It is not to terminate the Zimbabweans by burning them alive
God has always been there before the fire
I remember when the King ordered fire to kill three men in the bible
God came out to be a shield
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poem by Mthokozisi Ntokozo Maphumulo
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator
Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!
It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!
Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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The Book of Urizen
PRELUDIUM TO THE [FIRST] BOOK OF URIZEN
Of the primeval Priests assum'd power,
When Eternals spurn'd back his religion;
And gave him a place in the north,
Obscure, shadowy, void, solitary.
Eternals I hear your call gladly,
Dictate swift winged words, & fear not
To unfold your dark visions of torment.
Chap: I
1. Lo, a shadow of horror is risen
In Eternity! Unknown, unprolific!
Self-closd, all-repelling: what Demon
Hath form'd this abominable void
This soul-shudd'ring vacuum? — Some said
"It is Urizen", But unknown, abstracted
Brooding secret, the dark power hid.
2. Times on times he divided, & measur'd
Space by space in his ninefold darkness
Unseen, unknown! changes appeard
In his desolate mountains rifted furious
By the black winds of perturbation
3. For he strove in battles dire
In unseen conflictions with shapes
Bred from his forsaken wilderness,
Of beast, bird, fish, serpent & element
Combustion, blast, vapour and cloud.
4. Dark revolving in silent activity:
Unseen in tormenting passions;
An activity unknown and horrible;
A self-contemplating shadow,
In enormous labours occupied
5. But Eternals beheld his vast forests
Age on ages he lay, clos'd, unknown
Brooding shut in the deep; all avoid
The petrific abominable chaos
6. His cold horrors silent, dark Urizen
Prepar'd: his ten thousands of thunders
Rang'd in gloom'd array stretch out across
The dread world, & the rolling of wheels
As of swelling seas, sound in his clouds
In his hills of stor'd snows, in his mountains
[...] Read more
poem by William Blake (1794)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mama Africa's Identity
Mama Africa's identity,
And of the Fulanis and the Fulbes;
But the Savannah and the Sahara are here to stay in Africa.
Mama Africa's identity,
And of the Dogons and the Shilluks;
And of the cowries usedas money in those days,
But the identities of the African are in many faces.
It is like a durbar in Africa and,
At the market plac to meet others;
But a visit to the tomatoes market in Ghana will tell you much.
Mama African's identity,
And like 'the Golden Stool' of the Ashanti Kingsdom!
But wait for the dried-fish on the coasts of Africa.
Visit St. Louis in the delta of Senegal and learn about the ways of the African,
For my home i in El Molo;
And like Mama Africa's identity praising my muse.
Mama African's identity,
And of the pygmies in Central Africa!
But i have my mind on the Rift Valley,
And like the mirror of the rivers, lakes and the seas of Africa! !
The Massai and the Dinka do play their roles,
And like the Nubaians in South Sudan;
But with the temperature above 40 degrees in most parts of Africa.
Mama Africa's identity,
And like a message to my lover in Lalibala;
For early in the morning came the leopards to drink some water,
But a visit to Mount Meru will entice you.
Mama Africa's identity,
And of the Zulus and the Rendilles;
But the Afars are here to blend with the dry land.
Mama Africa's identity,
With the rhythms and rituals of the Africans!
And like the tribes of Ovambo, Herero, Xhosa, Shona and Matabele.
And like the Bemba, the Tonga and the Ovaimbundu!
But the red land of Africa care for you all.
Mama Africa's identity,
And of River Limpopo in the mist of love;
But try to visit the Victoria Falls to satisfy your curiosity.
Mama Africa's identity,
And of the Himbas with their traditional dance;
But the Kikuyu, the Hutu, the Tutsi and the Hambukushu are also there,
For Africa is a very big continent for all of us.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Song of Wink Star
The Song of Wink Star
a happy story for children of all ages
story and text © Raj Arumugam, June 2008
☼ ☼
☼ Preamble
Come…children all, children of all ages…sit close and listen…
Come and listen to this happy story of the stars and of life…
Come children of the universe, children of all nations and of all races, and of all climates and of all kinds of space and dimensions and universes…
Come, dearest children of all beings of the living universe, come and listen to The Song of Wink Star…
Come and listen to this story, this happy story…listen, as the story itself sings to you…
Sit close then, and listen to the story that was not made by any, or written by a poet, or fashioned by grandfathers and grandmothers warming themselves at the fire of burning stars…
O dearest children all, come and listen to the story that lives
of itself, and that glows bright and happy….
Come…children all, children of all ages, come and listen to this happy story, the story so natural and smooth as life, as it sings itself to you….
☼ The Song of Wink Star
a happy story for children of all ages
☼ 1
Night Child, always so light and gentle, slept on a flower.
And every night, before he went to sleep, he would look up at the sky.
He would look at the eastern corner, five o’clock.
And there he would see all the stars in near and distant galaxies that were only visible to the People of Star Eyes.
Night Child was one of the People of Star Eyes. And so he could see the stars. And of all the stars he could see, he loved to watch Wink Star.
Wink Star twinkled and winked and laughed.
Every night Wink Star did that. Winked and laughed.
[...] Read more
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Dust Of Africa
The dust of Africa,
Born into the mist of a dusty atmosphere;
What does the future hold for us?
Oh Africa! Oh Africa! ! Oh Africa! ! !
The misty mix of a Black Continent;
From the desert up there to the south,
The wind blows the natural air to all mankind.
On this earth,
We Africans are mixed with a dusty air!
The dust of Africa,
Have you seen it in Libya, Tunisia, Egypt and Morocco?
The dust of Africa,
What about Algeria, Western Sahara and Mauritania?
The dust of Africa,
Do visit Mali, Niger, Chad, Sudan, Eritrea and Ethiopia;
Also, down south to Namibia!
The misty mix of a Black Continent;
Oh Africa! The dust of Africa! !
To the outstretched sandy dust of the desert,
This could be sold for money.
What about the West Coast of Africa?
From Senegal, Gambia, Guinea Bissau, Guinea and Sierra Leone;
From Liberia, Ivory Coast, Burkina Faso, Ghana and Togo;
From Benin to Nigeria with the same problem of the dust,
The dusty wind changes the colour in our rooms too.
Live in Africa to experience this act,
Shop in Africa to know the facts;
From Cameroon, Central African Republic and Congo Brazzaville;
From The Democratic Republic of Congo, Kenya and Uganda;
From Tanzania, Angola, Zambia, Zimbabwe and Mozambique;
From Botswana, Lesotho, Swaziland, Somalia and South Africa;
Our eyes and our clothes do ell it all in Madagascar also.
What about Cape Verde Island, Comoros Island and Mauritius?
What about Seychelles, Equatorial Guinea, Sao Tome and Principe?
Dusty wind, dusty wind, the dusty wind of Africa!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Switched You
I was alone in my big bed those lonely nights I tried to reach you
Your putting me on
Messed with my head but have you heard Im going to teach you
You will find out that you miss my lovin ways
But dont you know I switched you-switched you
I switched you
I switched you
I switched you
I hear that sound
That clickety-clack
That train returning who bewtiched me
Now youre around you want to come right back
Forget about the way you ditched me
Now you found out that you miss my lovin ways
But dont you know I switched you-switched you
Now you found out that you miss my lovin ways
But dont you know I switched you-switched you
Messed my head messed my head
Why you going putting me why you going putting me why you going putting me on?
T-t-t-tell me why
song performed by Frank Black
Added by Lucian Velea
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks
1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,
That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass
Under the old trees with rosy fruit.
In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a
basket,
The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.
Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.
Fayne snatched for it and missed;
Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small
Finely cut features in a dance of delight;
Fayne with one sweep flung at his face
All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Faith In Vodka Tears
'those vodka weeping
Russians
those vodka weeping
Russians
crying vodka tears'
lost loss of faith
loss of faith in communism
lost loss of faith
loss of faith in orthodox religion
lost loss of faith
loss of faith in devastated souls
will Russian soul thaw regenerate?
socialist history of faith
under Lenin Stalin Communism
under suppressed orthodox religion
devastated souls did not regenerate...
vodka soothed Russian soul
crying vodka tears
defensive history of faith
under aggressive invasion bestial Nazism
vodka seemed to fire the Russian soul
crying vodka tears
without faith they cry vodka tears
with faith they cry vodka tears
poem by Terence George Craddock
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