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Social Memory Poems | Social Poems About Memory

These Social Memory poems are examples of Social poems about Memory. These are the best examples of Social Memory poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | I do not know? | |

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)



Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:



Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.


He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.


After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.


In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.


Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.


He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.


Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.


On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.


Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.


His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.


In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.


On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:


‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.

Tell my people that I love them.

They must continue the fight.’



Mahlangu died for a cause!



Salute!



The Struggle Continues…




(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)


Details | I do not know? | |

RIP Virginity

Dear Sir,my innocence is gone now, no more fear ,
Do you love to **** me again, I am always here.
I wonder when you taught me how to use a pen,
I was so into you but my ****** was in pain !
I was crying, i was too immature to understand
I was turning only 13, I couldn't feel what happened.
but I promise I never forget what you taught me at the end.
I begged you to stop and I looked into your eyes,
there was a reflection of a cruel world,that what I deserved!
Don't be afraid, mommy never knows what you did,
Nobody knows that you made me bleed.
Dear sir,my innocence is gone with all my tears,
as I had no safe place to hide myself from fears.
Nobody saw anything as your world was blind!
having hidden hatred inside,a virgin died.
Dear sir, time cannot erase your memories,
time doesn't heal all wounds,that you marked,
yes,you took my innocence that will be always on my mind.


Details | I do not know? | |

South African Freedom Day

freedom day 
(april the 27th 1994)


far too many brave compatriots died

and

flooding rivers of tears were cried

far too many families ripped apart

with

daggers cutting into their heart

the pain is felt still deep today
on this glorious sun-splashed South African Freedom Day

as we pause and remember those who do not remain with us anymore

as we appreciate the fruits that their sacrifice and struggle bore

far too many to count and to name

but we honour them all while we keep burning that eternal flame

...Oliver Reginald Tambo
...Chris Hani
...Solomon Mahlangu
...Prakash Napier
...Yusuf Akhalwaya
...Matthew Goniwe
...Neil Aggett
,,,Ahmed Timol
...Vuyisile Mini
...Hector Peterson
...Babla Saloojee
...Bram Fischer
...Dulcie September
...Sparrow Mkonto

just a few, but so many still nameless

who were brutally cut down
by a racist system that was merciless, and cruelly shameless

we honour you, today
but we remember you each and every day

when we breathe in the air of the freedom that you craved

as we walk the roads of a wounded but healing country that you saved

from itself, for the hate and racism and hushed prejudice of race and gender and religion and sexual persuasion and caste and creed

that you so valiantly fought against, is still with us, as it on fear and ignorance does feed

the odour of racism and hate
of white and black and jew and muslim and hindu and catholic and yellow and brown

is a living parasite that lives and thrives all across this beautiful world, from cities and villages and hamlets, to the smallest rural town

it may become a mark of shame upon us all 

so we have to, today, struggle against and boldly fight

for the sacrifices of the many can never be cheapened, by the polite dinner-table murmurs of hate, try as hard as they might

for if we as a nation, 
a country 
a world 
a people 

one people

are to truly step out of the lashing cold painful rain

we have to continue your struggle

so that your supreme sacrifices may not have been in vain...

and so we say 

'hamba kahle, comrades'

to you who laid your young lives down and slipped away

so that we who remain may in the sunlight and out of the rain live and breathe and stay

in a country, and in a world
where religion and gender and sexual-persuasion and all colourful hues

may mingle and love and laugh and cry together on the sun-filled avenues

so thank you, comrades, for showing us a better path that we must embark on as we shuffle onwards into a brighter tomorrow

away from the hurt of the past, and away from the tears and away from all the sorrow

for the true freedom that we seek now, is the freedom from our own racism, our own prejudices, our own sexism, our own petty hates and bottled-up anger

for therein, lies the fight ahead

for therein, lies the real and growing danger.
Aluta Continua!
Amandla Ngawethu!

The Struggle Continues...


Details | Rhyme | |

The Family That God Gave to Me

The Family That God Gave to Me I think about the family, that God gave to me... And think about where they'll spend eternity! I think about the good times, that we've had. And the trials we've faced... Both good and bad! God helped us to overcome adversity together! And proved his faithfulness... Today and forever! He showed us the Godly path, that we should follow... And promised to be with us! Today and tomorrow! He's proven how much he loves us! And how much that he cares for us! Thank you my lord, for all you do! Where would we be? If not for you? You've proven yourself over and over again! Thank you so much, for being our friend! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Personification | |

Not Really

How it must hurt you so on days like this,
  Walking around with a frown clutching your fist.
Hearing the words that are meant to anger you,
   Confused  you cry because there is nothing you can do.
Your mind is playing tricks on you driving you to say,
    I hate you all and the games you play please just go away.
Trusting nobody you are not sure which way you sould go,
    It's not real and  all in your head  is what you do not know.
Waiting to see just what tomorrow will possibly bring,
    All will be perfect and you wont rememver a thing.
Your thoughts they torement you  almost every day,
   Each night asking our Lord why your life is this way.
Feeling so alone thinking there is nobody who cares,
   But actually there is so many but you are not aware .
If only you would hear me so you might begin to see,
   You must believe in yourself if you want to be free.
You must have some faith if you are to understand ,
    What God has in store for you and what he has planned.
All the hurt and anger will soon begin to disappear ,
    You'll stand up tall again facing life with no fear.
Please remember always that you are never alone,
    By listening with your heart your path will be shown.
TAC


Details | Sonnet | |

SUNDAY DINNER A hillbilly sonnet

        SUNDAY DINNER  (Hillbilly sonnet)
Ma's cookin now, so come and set a spell
and you can bet we'll have her Sunday best
before the settin sun, and who can tell
what's on her stove--but it will meet the test.

Can't you just smell that fryin chicken now?
And you must know the gravie's fresh and hot
for pourin on them taters--I allow
a little more than I should have--so what?!?

The butter it just melts on bread so light
to compliment the vegetables we grow,
now if you know a life that's half as right
as this, you'd better make it yours to know.

   And I will say the grace, to thank God for
   what He has give--so He will give us more.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet


Details | Light Poetry | |

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU

I was just trying to remember the past
 trying to remember the good people
 and the bad people,
 that i came across on my way,

i want you to know
that you are among the good people
 that left a good trace in my life,

once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.


Details | Verse | |

That Girl

Everyone thinks they know that girl. At 
least they think they do. 
You know that girl that makes everyone 
laugh, and is a class clown. Who used 
to be a star athlete. And had everything 
going for her.
Yeah that girl that everyone thinks they 
know
She became homeless at the age of 16 
due to a house fire.
Yeah that girl everyone thinks they 
know
Yet that girl is still laughing away and 
making everyone laugh, but isn't the 
same inside, No, Something inside of 
her changed they way she felt.
Yeah that girl everyone thinks they 
know
She became mentally ill, she was 
diagnosed with major depression and 
bipolar disorder. She was always under 
medication, so you never knew what 
side of her you where going to get.
Yeah that girl everyone thinks they 
know
No one knew how much she hated 
hearing sirens go off, or how she 
couldn't stand seeing fire trucks. She 
struggled living her life daily.
Yeah that girl everyone thinks they 
know
She lost her closes friends cause she 
shut them out and nearly lost them all.
Yeah that girl everyone thinks they 
know
From what I hear it's been 3 years 
since the fire and that girl is barely 
getting her sight of her future back.
Yeah that girl everyone thinks they 
know
She is talking to her lost friends again, 
but just isn't the same for her, so she 
has to make new ones. Which means 
she has no one.
Yeah that girl everyone thinks they 
know
She is happier now and is looking 
forward to graduating and moving on 
from this chapter of her life and letting 
go.
How do I know so much of her?, well 
"that girl" is me.Yeah that girl that 
everyone thought they knew. 
But im fine now. Sure I have my 
downfalls, but I still get up and smile. 
THAT GIRL IS ME, I AM THAT GIRL.


Details | Free verse | |

If Old Men Fought

An old man looking out his door,
gaze fixed on a distant shore,
reminiscing to a time, not of happiness,
or, the prospect of a bright future,
to when he was sick to his very core,
to when as a youth, he went to war

A time before infallibility had meaning,
patriotism and bravado the craze,
the future was still unknown,
vigor for life at its all time high,
a time for romance, partying, buying,
no thought of pain, deformity, dying

Too young to understand or question,
ship to foreign shore, medals abound,
will impress the girls next time in town,
sacrifice not temporary,
forever more,
a legacy etched into a wall, few will remember,
flesh shredded, burned, torn,
families mourn

A time, when he willingly went to war,
will happen no more,
all lost in youth, now unrelenting,
no blind obedience,
minimal risk,
long life, his number one ambition

As he turns back from the door,
he thinks of the youth,
here now, soon no more,
lessons never learned,
the call to war,
to common the roar,
complacency the mood,
another generation removed

The old man agonizes
over what was originally not known,
war is preventable,
life too precious to waste,
the solution simple,
his vision, maybe too late

Send old men to the front to fight,
arthritis, heart disease, poor eyesight,
let the youth enjoy their life,
his near over, its only right

Send old men, to the front, to fight
ask them to give up their life,
patriotism and bravado, still alive,
will and desire would not last the night,
old men do not rush to death in their twilight,
failure inevitable, the old man smiles,
knows he's right

Wars not possible,
if old men, are sent to fight


Details | I do not know? | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...

hope...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)


Details | Couplet | |

Daily Life

Living day in
Living day out
Working as hard as I can
To get money to pay the bills
Searching for food for the family
Trying to get through the day
As best as I can

All it matters
Is to get some money
To be able to not to think
How am I supposed to support?
My kids, my husband, and I
It all hits me like rain pounding the roof
Is this how life is supposed to be?

Going down hills
Going up hills
Having great times
And some bad times
You think your life should be easy
It is not supposed to be
Life is difficult for a reason

*MAKE LIFE WHAT YOU WANT IT TO BE. LIVE EACH DAY, THE BEST WAY YOU CAN, LIFE GOES ON UNTIL YOUDIE. BE HAPPY BECAUSE YOU CAN DIE ANY MINUTE NOW. SO LIVE IT UP!!!


Details | I do not know? | |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | Acrostic | |

T H E S E C R E T

Though I did not want anyone to know

Helping people is what I try to do so I can grow

Even when it is tough I realize I help people not for show


Self involvement is a must a way to make things make sense

Eager to do things I become sometimes dense

Caring about the things I love is what really can help my choice

Revealing my secret to you I will keep my poise

Even when the time comes I will not be spoiled because of my heart

The secret to doing things is make it a great memory so it will not part


Details | I do not know? | |

The Nameless - for South Africans of all colours who fought for freedom


The Nameless


Slipping through the sieve of history,

the nameless rest.

Not for the nameless are roads renamed, nor monuments built.

Not for the nameless are songs sung, nor ink spilled.

The nameless rest.

Their silent sacrifice,

quiet ordeal,

muted trauma,

remain interred,

amongst their remains.

The nameless rest.

Not for the nameless are doctorates conferred, nor eulogies recited.

Not for the nameless are honours bestowed, nor homages directed.

The nameless rest.

They rest within us,

they walk with us,

in every step that we tread.

They rest within us,

they walk with us,

for their spirit is not dead.


“Your name is unknown, your deed is immortal”
- inscription at The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier WWII in Moscow


Special thanks to my dearest elder sister Tasneem Nobandla Moolla, whose conversations with me about life as a non-white person growing up in pre and post-Apartheid South Africa prompted me to write this dedication to the countless, nameless South Africans of every colour, whose sacrifices and dedication in the struggle against Apartheid tyranny must never be forgotten.


My sister’s middle name ‘Nobandla’ which is an isiXhosa name and means “she who is of the people” was given by her godfather, Nelson Mandela, my father’s ‘best-man who could not be, as Nelson Mandela was unable to-make it to my parent’s wedding as he was in jail at the time in the old Johannesburg Fort. This was the 31st December 1961.


Details | Verse | |

Spirituals and Drums

My ancestors walking in the night
using oil lights and moonlight for guides
while being instructed to Wade in the Water
to camouflage their scents like disguise

The Sweet Chariot awaited 
so they could ride away
Harriet was a soldier
and it wasn't an option to be caught during the day
That's the same mentality Nat Turner had when he sang
Steal Away

They would follow the drinking gourd
so all were in accord to go north
The Gospel Train was coming
and at the end of the journey
was a fine reward
Freedom was coming
and it was a long time coming and
they walked until they heard freedom bells ringing
and I still hear their tired footsteps running

Thinking of My Darling Nelly Gray
Stolen from my arms a random September day
and eliminated our chances to run away together
No family ties, no love, no strength says the oppressor

Then I hear the drums beat in the darkness
giving me the hope of finally being free
Maybe I'll follow them this time on faith
on bended knee
There must be a place for me among the light
of this darkness
Among oppression, thieves, evil-doers
no thought on their conscience

Thank goodness for the safe houses that
supported our traveled distances
and for the conductors who bore witnesses
and may God have mercy on the souls who
were against this
and on those who chose to forget this sh@!

I still hear crying in quilts of safety 
because I know that the burden was heavy
to be at the mercy of nature and patrol men
catching run-away slaves for money
Some did it bare feet with freedom ahead of this
loved induced journey and they made it
So all that bull about how your life is hard
just stuff it in an envelope and save it



Details | Verse | |

Philosophical Poetry Week: Transient Tuesday

I am a misprint,
Ink blot on love,
I remain a maybe
Longing for fact,
No speck of lint,
A hand in glove.
Thunder; a baby
Will only react

When you etch
Parallel clouds,
Whistling on cue
To a dead town.
Dream a sketch
Of silent crowds
Becoming you,
This boiling crown

Chews thought
Into flagellation.
Holes in the walls
To spy through,
Seeking a sort
Of bricked-up sun.
A heaven of halls,
All leaving you.


Details | I do not know? | |

Tomorrow is Ours



Tomorrow is Ours.


Suffocating beneath the weight of historical fear,
asphyxiated by the legacy of traumatised yesteryear,

the festering wounds of enslavement still remain,
juggling euphemisms in a crisp sound-bitten refrain,

spewing out neo-liberal economic charades,
doling out charity in strips of plastic band-aids,

but,

tomorrow shall be ours,

casting away subservient mind-sets that shackle,
no longer the weakened prey of the insatiable jackal,

tomorrow shall be ours,

we shall reclaim our plundered mindspaces,
we shall shed our chains, leaving behind the traces,

of past injustice, of the hurt and pain of our ancestors' sorrows,

we are here, now, alive with hope,


we shall rightfully claim our own tomorrows.





Details | Rhyme | |

DO YOU REMEMBER

Age nibbles at life 
Getting older makes you think twice
Strolling down memory lane 
You noticed some things never change
Memory, is more complex; of mute agenda and subtext
Sometimes I can’t think what is next?
In my own imagining, I begin to live.
In my own remembering, all my sins please forgive
A primitive mix, of future thoughts and subtle tricks.
I have a headache too much thinking makes me sick
I have many days of happiness that were much too brief.
There is longer nights of pain and grief.
In the deep pits of my mind
My past is not hard to find
Today will be a memory yesterday is a memory drifting away 
When I reminisce of my past I have nothing to say
What would we be without the power to recall? 
Without our gift of memory we'd be little at all 
Memory of our past and of our future, 
Leaves us with endless wounds to nurture

"Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you 
never want to lose.” 
 Kevin Arnold  









Details | Rhyme | |

You Were A Friend

You were a friend,
I couldn’t ask for more,
Now that we’ve reached the end,
You walked out the door.
I know what you don’t,
You have forgotten.
Admit it, (I won’t)
I think about you so often.
I wanted to keep
Memories in a jar,
So when I sleep
Better times wouldn’t be so far.
Our friendship is gone
But the past still lingers,
The Sun’s rise at dawn
Erases times that were better.
You were a friend,
‘That’ I would forget,
Times were different then,
I wish we never met…


Details | I do not know? | |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation



The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.








Details | I do not know? | |

The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries

The Tragedy of the Banished Revolutionaries.

Epochs apart, yet,
bound by conscience,

Buddha, 
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.

Enduring the whispers of time,
through creeds professed,
sermons preached,
and a million sins confessed.

Though,

the essence,
of these banished revolutionaries,
is ceremonially muted by ritual,
and gleefully crushed under,
grandiose edifices,
that serve Religion Inc.

"And the meek shall inherit the earth",
an incendiary thought,
conveniently discarded,
for the pie in the sky that must be sought.

The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
stings.
stabs,
whispers still,
for us to hear,
through the din of the cacophony of prayer.

Buddha,
Jesus,
Moses,
Muhammad,
Ram.

The tragedy of the banished revolutionaries,
persists,
each day that we choose,
to shun the meek,
and mouth conscience-salving prayers,

for yet more silver,
and yet more silk.


Details | I do not know? | |

Ignored Breath

Sweet breath of steaming treats traveled

through the diner, the streets, lingered

and was ignored by all

but one. A lone little girl with dirt

upon her nose. Savory juices ran

down laughing chins, dripping

with the ending rains.

Her trembling fingers flicking

little dots of mold.  Standing beneath

 wondrous sights, dancing stars,

and the full moon's light,

the poor girl ate.  Tricked

by  whispering breath she smiled.

Every swallow savored

she stepped into the night.


Details | Free verse | |

A Hospital Stay - Part VI

                                                                   6.

                                                   Miracles and Miseries

The world resolved itself back into focus
As I lay amid the swarm of monitors
Still gulping the sword that brought me breath.

The worst now past
Many small miseries remained,
Chief among them the continuing mystery
Of my flooded, struggling lungs.

Finally I breathe well enough for the sword to be removed,
But the tests go on and on
The birth of each day bearing forth
Its own fresh indignity.

They give up guessing and haul me down again
To be opened anew and read for signs.

On the day this is done
The invisible agents of death outside
Decide to mock their pursuers
By leaving a tarot card at that day's shooting site.

They chose the Death card, of course
Revealing how little those 
Who choose to play God games really know
About the mystical.

Dreaming of omnipotence through dealing death
The unseen assassins miss their own meaning;
For this card signals change, the ending of present things.
They have unwittingly declared their game will soon be over,
Predicting their own demise.

Meanwhile the doctors make their own spread of me
And come up blank again.

     Once more I return to I.C.U.,
     Held together with staples.

     Once more the little agonies ensue:
     The sitting, the turning, the testing.

By night they come for my blood.
By day they come for  tests.
Always, in the background, the quiet moanings
Of we, the damned, condemned to medical Limbo
Roll on with the blind passage of hours and days.

     The English nurse comes, all brightness and bubble
     To heave my fragile self about;
     She's a welcome break in the monotony
     As my sustainers come and go.

Again the busy bedside conferences
And again the final admission
That all their probings have led down blind alleys.

A last-ditch effort is finally proposed:
Direct drainage of the drowning lungs.
To them this seems as a grasping at straws,
But to me it seems the one sensible solution,
And I look forward to it eagerly.
My inner mantra of "This too shall pass"
Is wearing thin.

Like a Christian martyr of old,
They pierce my back with their lance,
And the sea within that is drowning me
Finds its way out.

As the noxious waters within rush out,
Air surges into my grateful lungs.
From this moment, recovery becomes the new reality.

As I recover,
Indiscretion leads to capture 
Of the unseen terrormakers.

To the astonishment of all, 
They prove to be a dignified looking black man
And his enthralled protege' -
No prior convictions, no history of trouble 
Attached to them at all.

This is how our modern Destroyers come calling.
Well dressed, well spoken models of propriety.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)


Details | I do not know? | |

For Bruce Springsteen

for bruce springsteen...


it was a rain-swept monsoon day

way back then, so many moons away

when i felt the music strumming in my veins

setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins

you sang of simple truths, 

your verse spoke to people just like me

in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night

as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight

'bobby jean' spoke to me

of that girl down the street

glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet

and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart

led me down further roads of thunder

when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on

and never to surrender

to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run

while i danced in the dark 

with memories vivid and stark

even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark

and then a 'human touch' came along

and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song

and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes

as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies

in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned

as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned

and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up

working on a highway of scattered ideals

and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup

well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road

with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad

but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night

just like the ghost of that old tom joad...


Details | Verse | |

I blame me

I blame me for all my mistakes
I blame me for all the rejection and heartache
I blame me for all the times I stayed silent 
and should have started and earthquake
with my words
I should have spoken up when I had the chance
now all those thoughts are wasted
unspoken, unheard

I blame me when my husband touches me 
and I feel the hands of a predators pounce
And I blame me when the pressure it on
because all I had to do was shout out and renounce His name
Lord, help me to get rid of the shame

I blame me for my loneliness
I blame me for my feelings of lust
I blame me when I look at myself and see absolute disgust
I blame me when I shut down - unsure of who to trust
At times not even sure if I really know how to love

I blame me when my kids are crying out sick
because when I brought them here
I knew that this world was unfit
Yet overpowered by my love for them 
I became more and more protective
So I blame myself in advance for their sadness
when they finally see that the world is not objective

I blame me for those nights I can't rest
Wondering if my consciousness has finally realized
that I have done my best
to stay positive and have good intentions
So I blame myself when I give in to temptations and my human inhibitions
and begin to feel ashamed of myself
I begin to feel like I don't have enough strength to love myself
because
good things don't happen for me
So I blame me for my thinking and feelings of worthlessness

It's a big world and my lonely soul has no more confidence
I have nothing
I have given up 
and so I blame me for my incompetence and my soul's rut


Details | ABC | |

Someone Elses Life

I feel like I'm living someone elses life, a life in strife. I've been strong, but when will I belong. I feel so alone, but I'm doing ok on my own. I can't describe the pain, but I keep in mind every storm runs outa rain. I use to think our love was unbeatable, but really its unforgettable. Everyday I walk down memory lane, trying to ignore the pain. He crosses my mind everyday, when will all this go away. There's gotta be something more, my heart is becoming sore. My momma doesn't have to worry, because I'm not sorry. I know he made the mistake, and he's the reason I have this heartache. What we had, was bad. I shouldn't have let it go that far, your just another scar.


Details | Free verse | |

Scars of an Inner Child

You are not the man, you want to be
You said you were my Father, till, I discovered different
Enduring, daily beatings
Bashing the living day lights, out of a woman and a child
Repetitive, bad ass attitude, nasty streak
Mean and aggressive!
Fists, knives and guns, your weapons of chose
Out of control, abusive, devious
Relentless, over – bearing!
Breaking me, piece by piece
Confusing a child, with unhealthy love
Hand fed your bullshit, brain washed
Using me as your human, punching bag
This innocent child’s blood, staining your callas hands
My child’s curiosity, asking you one day
“Why do you hurt me and Mum?”
Your retort: “I am not your blood!”
I didn't understand, back then
Now, as an adult, I clearly understand!
Believe me, when I say
There was never a day that went past
That you didn't remind me of that!
My freedom, restrained
My sanity, tested
Caged, like a wild bird in captivity
Behind bars, looking out
 Here, I am today, free from your grip
Nursing, this inner child’s, bleeding love


Details | Free verse | |

Bullets rain tears

Young and innocent they went to school
 Expecting to learn and play
 Never in anyones wildest of dreams
 Did we expect that day
 For a rain of tears to shell them
 From one lost deep to sin
 But heavenly hosts came down for them
 Releasing them from him
 The devil he did have his day
 But God in end dost win
 For noubt will be lost but these young lives
 Will not be gone in vain
 The laws of the land will change in ways
 For it must not happen again
 
Those who reign must stand on this
 Take stance and make a difference
 No one should be able to take a life
 With intent nor mindless innocence
 For even when with madmans mind
 You cannot be left to mingle
 How can you be able to walk in shop
 Purchase guns and not be liable
 Actions speak far louder than words
 And if we let just one slip through
 Without accounting for their sin
 It might well be me or you
 
For on anyone these bullets
 Might be named to fall upon
 So make a difference – make a change
 Add your name – petition
 The whole wide world mourns in shame
 An Amnesty is long past needed
 Write your letters – use your vote
 Act now while it is fresh
 And pray for the souls of all those lost
 That each by the Lord be blessed
 Also for those who’ve lived through this
 That they might find a way
 To find the strength and courage
 To step out further each day


Details | I do not know? | |

For Anene Booysen 1996 - 2013

Hamba Kahle Anene Booysen! (1996 – 2013)


Dead at 17, brutally raped and left to die,
in the dirt,

 

at a construction site in Bredasdorp.

 

‘horrific’, ‘repulsed’,
‘brutally raped’, ‘shocked’,

 

do these words mean anything,
to anyone,

anymore.

 

Not to Anene Booysen,

 

murdered at 17, brutally raped and left to die,

in the dirt,

 

at a construction site in Bredasdorp.

 

Anene was raped,
savagely mutilated,

 

Her 17 year old body tossed aside,

 

by the hands of men.

 

Men, always men,

 

cowardly, beastly, perverted, twisted men.

 

‘Beastly’, ‘perverted’, ‘twisted’,

 

do these words mean anything,
to anyone,

anymore.

 

Not to Anene Booysen,

 

who now lies cold and dead.

 

How many Anene Booysens will it take,

 

for us,
society,
families,
people,

 

human-beings,

 

and,

 

men, especially men,

 

to excise the ghastly menace,

 

of the heinous capacity that resides,

 

within men,

 

always men,

 

to brutalise, rape, mutilate, and murder.

 

‘Brutalise’, ‘murder’, ‘rape’,

 

do these words mean anything,
to anyone,

anymore.

 

Not to Anene Booysen,

 

murdered at 17, brutally raped and left,

 

to die,

 

in the dirt,

 

at a construction site,

 

in Bredasdorp.

 

 

Anene Booysen
(1996 – 2013)

 

* – Hamba Kahle – “Farewell, Travel Well” in Zulu

 

** – Bredasdorp is a small town near Cape Town, South Africa


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Emotional Hole

I did not find myself to be so important
So I ask my friends do I seem distant?
When I ask the question I had received an answer, Yes
So I think that made it clear that I had been not the best
I am a friend of a friend that talks so many things
That friend talks to much it is insane and insanity it brings
I do care, about my friends they are all good people
They tend to stand on their high steeple 
Today I find myself not so aware
Disbanding my fear of regret and care
Walking many different paths I see that I have found holes
It is the path that people choose to use to fuel their rage with coals
Coals are partially burnt wood or fossils a piece of fuel
It is the source of burden and fire a rage of emotions that stands cruel
It can be warm and caring, but it also can be baring
I just start to feel so low, below the ground I keep on staring
I reach for my friends so many times I feel so ignorant at times
Just once I feel I should not rely on them when feeling I can not find 
I dig my hole deeper and I can not climb out
For some reason I am just full of doubt
I care about so many things and what I have is confusion
One person should be all I should think about to get out of that illusion
My battle in my heart and mind is not at all so pleasant
I feel so alone in an island that is shaped like a crescent
My emotions is like coinciding with a diameter of the semicircle
Not a full emotion that is complete like a circle
My feelings is circular full of incomplete thoughts, so much deeper
I feel it will wake up my evil half a evil soul that is a sleeper
What question should I ask myself? to believe that I am not so alone
As I feel like a person who is deteriorating to the bone
I ask my friends the same question once again
I figure I should do it, to know what kind of feelings I should end
So many thoughts that come out of my feeling
I feel like my friends take, an emotional trauma of stealing
They ask me questions and I answer theirs
But when I need mine answered I feel burning inside like a flare
Are they even friends when they do not take me serious in anyway
Just put me in my hole cause I feel nothing in their will be getting in my way
It's just so simple to answer someones problem
I answer friends with beauty of a rose, but when they answer mine I get the stem
I know the stem is very important in life, with out it how can a rose be a rose
With a hole to put the root and stem in how can it grow
The words we speak I guess is like all natural things we reap and sow


Details | I do not know? | |

A Simple Wish

a simple wish...

no fancy words
no more clever rhymes
no more slickly crafted verse

just a simple wish
to cherish the moments
in-between the hue and cry of this life

no more the dull-edged jab
no more the anger and the strife

a simple wish
beyond the wasted hours and the days and the blurry fears

a simple wish
of a simpler life

after all the bitterness of the passing years

and so

to retire from the hustle
to flee from the hollow wasted breaths that have been breathed

to bid the emptiness farewell

while

ushering in the new tomorrow

bathed in the soft glow of hope

and kissing adieu to all the hurt and all the doleful sorrow...


Details | I do not know? | |

I Stand, Alone



I stand, alone.

Scratching for my truths,
peeling away the veneer,

I stand, alone, before this
impregnable cliff so sheer.

Cocooned in my solitary shell,
wrenching a smile from a tear,

I stand, alone, a little odd,
and definitely quite queer.

I stand, alone.


Details | Rhyme | |

Humble

I give my word a breath of life
and those who give me strife
I willingly do what needs to be done
and do not wish to be won
I smile a smile that lights up any face
and hope to never disgrace
I do what I am taught to do
and that my help would be true
I clam my words together
and hope times will never weather
I do have some faith in all matters
and things to reach with ladders
I hope for many things in heart
and I cherish everyone that is part 
I do know one thing is set
and with my life I would bet
I will hold true to my words
and make my world good towards


Details | Acrostic | |

New Years Eve

New Years Eve celebration
Ever so grateful of redemption 
With overindulgence of consumption

Year-end celebrating 
Edibles I've been craving
Aha so much champagne drinking
Recoup from stomach bloating
Swaying, light-headed teetering

Eek nightcaps of antacid
Verily, not so lucid
Eau de mornings, feeling putrid



For Francine Roberts' contest, "New Years Eve,"


Details | I do not know? | |

The Glow of Soft Truths

the glow of soft truths
tucked between the folds of the heart

radiates through the coarse fabric of each fleeting day

transcending the hurdles that litter the way

extinguishing the trepidation and the unfounded fears away

beyond the very now with an eye firmly gazing towards the coming morrow

where genuine peace may be found while dispelling the nasty sting and the solitary sorrow

and when that moment is finally found

when peace and mirth is felt all around

the bliss may seem plentiful, and the being with simple joy may abound

without a word being spoken

without the din, the static of the endless drone

so infused with soothing music, yet hardly making a sound

for the truth of peace that lies in wait

just beyond the corner

is a truth that may never be sought

or bought

for that truth of peace must be ushered inside

until deep in the soul it will then quietly reside...


Details | I do not know? | |

They Left so Abruptly

They Left so Abruptly

(for the countless South Africans, of all colours, who dedicated their lives for freedom and democracy)

the valiant ones
countless
many known
many more nameless

the truest sons and singers
husbands and poets
lovers and wives
daughters and farmers
workers and sisters
brothers and friends

they left so abruptly
with quiet pride
steely courage
gentle dignity

they left so abruptly
leaving us our tomorrows
brighter
hopeful
filled with promise

they left so abruptly
so that we may breathe
the breath of liberty
the air of freedom
the warmth of justice

they left so abruptly
leaving with us their parting gift

freedom
inkululeko
swatantrata
liberte
azadi
vhudilangi
libertad

they left so abruptly
yet we remember them all
today
in the days that slipped away
and in the many more that we await

they left so abruptly
yet they remain
hewed into our memories
etched in our consciences
engraved in our hearts
they left so abruptly
and yet they endure
with us
within us
now and forever more


Details | I do not know? | |

Illegitimi non Carborundum

Illegitimi non carborundum ;-)


...Staggering, my vision cloudy,


I fall to the hard ground.


when life’s sharp left-jab leaves my face bloody,


and all that surrounds me, is the desolation of loss I feel all around.



I see myself slipping,

down the abyss to where nothingness exists,


still, I cling on, groping for a foothold,

for my will to stay persists.



I clamber up, I stand my ground, though battered and bruised I may be,


my curtain is not falling yet, I have some fight still left in me.



It is then, in the pit of despair, when all seems bleak and painful and dull,


I summon the strength from deep within,


I rise, slowly, to face the day,


I refuse to sink,

to wallow, to surrender, to throw in the towel,


to drown,


for I am stronger now,


indeed I am, after all the years, and all the battles,


I stand, bruised and bloody,


still,


I stand,


I refuse, to sink, to drown,


for they can try, to punish me some more,


but I shall not allow them to grind me down…


;-)


Details | Free verse | |

All To Be Content

TV- you see allot of dumb stuff, 
 you hear their commercials… 
clever, yet they holler, isn't this enough, 
they bombard you with paid infomercials, 

We’ve turned it off, switched to DVD's 
an our computer, xbox came an gone, 
they changed to reality, pushing BVD's 
we collect our movie CDs, too, hang on, 

News is all about current fear 
another device they have in use, 
sure, we want to stay current to hear 
weather, crime, meds, world event news, 

TV, pods an our music is essential 
pageants also game shows, soaps too, 
late night talk, comedy central 
entertainment, see us USA, what we do, 

Also radio will always be here... 
what else will they use, brew or invent, 
what will get us back in our lounge chair 
food, fashion, gadgets, all to be content


Details | Rhyme | |

Respect Comes with Age

My father and my mother sat me down one day
     to tell me how wonderful that I was growing O.K.
The years passes by as I got to be a teenager
     with high hopes of becoming the first young manager
Life turns out a manager job is not for me
     so I kept things to a minimum working hard you see
My family had taught me with all do respect
     the life we lead is the image of our age in an aspect
Like queens and kings we bow our head
     to the people who is wiser in age even when dead
Life as our guide the time we have aged
     is what we leave behind that we are gaged
In prospective we are the stars and we are the earth
     because we age and leave behind a new birth
To those that seek such blessing of heart
     remember this age is respect for living from the start
Do you remember your father, mother, and teachers
     they are the ones cheering you on, sitting on those bleachers


Details | I do not know? | |

MLK - 1929 - 1968

MLK...
(January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968)


they shot you down
all those years ago

but

your dream lives on
and always will

for though much has been
gained since you dreamed
your dream

there is much to fight for
and much more to struggle for

and much, much more
to fight for still

so
your dream resounds in
our hearts and we pledge 
this to you today
for though they shot you down
all those years ago on a memphis day
we shall overcome
this we do believe
deep in our hearts
that
we shall overcome
someday...


(for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.)


Details | Quatrain | |

All The Way Live

                                       


                                      So we're on the brink of a new weekend;
                                       And I'm ready for the guests to arrive.
                                          Come Friday everything will begin;
                                                  Let's go all the way live.





                                                     ©2014 Honestly JT


Details | Rhyme | |

Memory

When I walked through the door,I could tell something was wrong,
The house was quiet,clothes all packed,everyone was gone.
Me and ole jack daniels sit and talked over the situation,
Thought about the mood I was in and came up with this conclusion.
I need to buy a car,one built for speed,
Something that goes real fast,to outrun you'r memory.
Smoke the tires down two-o-five,headin out of town,
Take it to one hundred and ten,so you'r memory can't run me down.
Traveled the roads from shore to shore,
Just can't outrun you'r memory anymore.
Have to get on home,face my misery,
Go back to an emty house and me.
Need to buy a car,one built for speed.
Need to put the nose in the wind and run back to you'r memory.
Need to grab the gears,mash that peddle to the floor,
Because I wont run from you'r memory anymore.


Details | I do not know? | |

Mido Macia 1986 - 2013


Mido Macia 1986 - 2013


Mido Macia was a 27 year old Mozambican man, working in Daveyton near Johannesburg as a taxi-driver, who was found dead in a police cell, after police savagely dragged Mr. Macia whom they had tied to their police van.

The brutal incident of Mr. Macia being dragged was caught on camera and has shocked South Africa.

The 8 police officers involved are facing charges of murder, and have been suspended from the South African Police Service (SAPS).

This poem is an angry poem that I felt had to be written, because as a society, we need to ask ourselves and each other the hardest questions about xenophobia and intolerance and violence.





Mido Macia 1986 - 2013


Death came to Mido Macia,
a savage, brutal, hellish death came to Mido Macia.


Death came to Mido Macia,
death dressed-up in the colours of authority,
as callous, vile, sadistic policemen murdered Mido Macia.


The video-footage is blood-curdling,
Mido Macia being dragged,
his hands tied behind him,
to a police van.


But death came later to Mido Macia,
death cheered, clapped, and tore into Mido Macia.


Death came to Mido Macia,
in the cells where they murdered Mido Macia.



Death came to Mido Macia,
a fuelled, cheered-on, instigated death came to Mido Macia.


We are all culpable,
every one of us is culpable,


from racist 'jokes' emailed and texted,
to self-righteous comments about the 'foreigners',


from casual dinner-table conversations,

'they take our jobs',
'they are crooks' 
the 'they marry our women' kind of lunch-time chats,


racist, xenophobic, hate-filled talk,


to beating a human-being to death in a police cell,


or on the streets of Cape Town, Johannesburg ,

and in Daveyton,

where death came to Mido Macia.



Mido Macia 1986 - 2013




Details | I do not know? | |

A Hollow Shell

a hollow shell
of tangled synapses
sparked into gradual madness
which drowns out the truths of the day
as the mind reeks of the rotten sad moments
that swirl in the rancid soup of forgotten dreams
dreams that once traced a gentle path of innocence
dreams that reached for pure love’s tender touch
dreams now paralysed but once vivaciously alive
what became of those fresh dreams and hopes
as they lie mustily on dusty bookshelves
torn into shreds by time’s fine scimitar
devoid of the touch of raw passion
when all that remains of love is
a hollow shell


Details | Free verse | |

True Reality

Why is it
I am always wrong?
Something
I have always done?
Why is it
I am 
Never good enough
In your eyes
In challenging times?

How many times
Do I have to say
“I love You?”
What will it take
To convince
That mind 
And 
Heart 
Of yours?

What can I say
That will ease 
This jealousy
And 
Resentment
You feel towards me
When drinking 
Too much booze
Killing what brain cells
Are left
In that stubborn 
Head of yours!

How long 
Will it take
For you 
To believe in me?
For I know
I am a fool 
Staying here, with you!
Feeling desperate
Lost and lonely
Dreams squashed
Emotionally drained
When ‘we’ need to pull together
In union ship
To make 
This bond strong
Between us!

'Uniting as One’'

'Love Conquering All'

“Well!”
“So, I am told!”

I love you more
Than this
Arguing and fighting!
But 
You refuse to understand
The love I have for you

My head 
Tells me to stay with you
But
My heart knows
I cannot!
For
I have asked you 
To be kind to me
I have asked
You to open up 

Your anger and rage
Continues growing
Out of control
Taking over
Like
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde 
Burning bridges
Being ruthless
Always
Out for the kill!

I need to break away!
I need to clear my head!
I need to experience
Love and longevity
True togetherness
With 
The one’s I love!
My heart needs to experience
‘Healthy Love’
My heart deserves the best!
You now
Belong in my past
I am no longer the person
You once knew me, to be

Your insecurities
Your inner demons 
Far bigger
Than any of the love
You choose to acknowledge 
Or 
Feel from me!

You can believe this 
To be true
If nothing else!

“Love thy self”

Share
Without personal gain
Being 
Your Primary Motive!
Know Love 
Be Love, in Action!

Be honest
Have empathy now
As
I cut these cords
Of emotional bondage
That 
Bind us together 
True Love 
No longer 
Our foundation!

I stand on my own
Knowing
I have learnt the lessons
You have come to teach
I now know
What love isn't!
“I thank you”
For showing me this!

My illusions of love
Blinding me
Colouring my experiences
Revealing
Only what 
'I Wanted Us To Be'
Not
‘True Reality’


Details | I do not know? | |

For Aung San Suu Kyi

For Aung San Suu Kyi

manacled
you remained unyielding
bruised by their bayonets of power
you remained unyielding
gagged by their coarse brutality
you remained unyielding
today you return
and we salute
your spirit
that remained
and remains
unyielding


Details | Free verse | |

Once Here Now Dead

Once here
Now dead & gone
“What am I known for, this time round?”
I exist only as a memory now
A memory that fades, over time
“Who will remember me, when I am gone?”

No one knew me
Yet people will say they knew me, so well!
A laugh, how often people think “they are experts”
Yet, really
Know nothing at all!

“How well did you know the inside of me?”
For, if I was to ask...
“What is my favourite colour?”
Or, “what’s my favourite song?”
I listen for answers...none come

“What’s my favourite food to eat?”
Complete silence...
I could hear a pin drop
Round...about...now!
“Do these questions fall upon deaf ears?”
For I ask...

“Who truly knew me?”
“What am I known for?”
“Who will remember me?”
When I am dead & gone


Details | Rhyme | |

An Unfathomable Fortune

Dust hugged a vague object
That lay deep inside my closet
I shivered as I touched the box's cover
Unaware what I’m about to discover

Gently I placed it on my laps
Suddenly, a bird’s wings flapped
As it was freed from within
It wasn’t a unique bird coming from Berlin
But, the memory that burst deep inside 

Opening the box was so memorable
For childhood crept into my fingers cradle   
Flashbacks pierced my mind
As they flipped so quickly making me blind

The box’s belongings slowly opened their eyes
As light entered gracefully into their thighs
A marble switched on its engine
Beginning to role again

Beneath it was a paper with words scribbled
Indicating the friend that provided 
Me with this lovely structure
Accompanying it with a soft texture
Red, Blue, and Yellow were the three streaks’ colors
Designing its interior

I held it in my hand observing it with punctuality 
Realizing the string that held me so closely
To the moments I shared with its donor
For I knew my friend for a year
Due to her leave to another country

Even though it is a simple marble many could have
Yet, it is a mark that held a memory that was saved
Whenever I hold it in my hand
In fact, it is a treasure I shall never strand
For it held a friendship once shared
Between a child and her friend
With three streaks resembling three important factors;
Friendship, Memories, and Love shared with an acquaintance...


Details | I do not know? | |

Night

night falls
wounded by the days' plight

night consumes
all the hopeful fractured splinters of light

night recedes
into its desolate lair

night extinguishes
the roaring furnace of despair

night hides
from a bubbling desire reaching out to feel

night flees
leaving the jilted to bow down and kneel

night soars
breaking the chains of isolation

night rots
in the cellars of time's vacuum of desolation

night devours
the travails of the day that has past

night mends
the wounds that once were doomed to last

night returns 
faithfully as the day must retire

night settles
the doomed voices that mutter and conspire
night consoles
the weary mind and the restless heart so torn
night placates
knowing that night itself is darkest just before a new dawn

so

night freezes
all snapshots of the passing day

as

night embraces
the new while the old simply fades away


Details | Couplet | |

ODE TO THE MEMORY MAKERS

Do you want to hear a story, perhaps an anecdote or two . . .
There is a place to do it, when life caves in on you.

There is a group of people who share their lives today . . .
I found them only by happy circumstance, as I was traveling this way.

They get together once a month, to tell tales of their past . . .
Each one in their particular way have stories that will last.

Each one could talk for hours on end, and there would be no lulls . . .
For the times and places they have been, are etched upon their souls.

Their pleasure in remembering is a joy to all who hear . . .
We like to listen to the tales they tell, they give us all a cheer.

The lives they have led, the people they've known, the places they've been to . . .
Are celebrated with us each month, as if we'd been there too.

The moments in time that in our hasty lives, we often will forget . . .
Are cherished now as memories, especially the ones we seem to fret.

Memories, I know, are not for us alone and need to be shared . . .
Even the ones we don't want to think on, the ones that made us scared.

The stories they share with us are not just a reason for rhyme . . .
But I wanted each of them to know, how much I enjoy this time.

Because of them, I have remembered so many things of my own past . . .
Times that I'd forgotten, but have come back to me at last.

The darkest corners of memory are brightened by their chat . . .
I, for one, know I will always be grateful for that.

Our thought are put in new perspective - even the darkest ones we save . . .
But however dark and grim they are, as memories they behave.

To all the MEMORY MAKERS present and past who grace us all this way . . .
This rhyme is for you, "Thank You" for sharing your lives with us, past, present, and today.


Details | I do not know? | |

Love, Mania, and Verse

Love, Mania, and Verse

The pendulum swings,
while the mania in my head,
strips me bare and yanks me,
into the cauldron of love.

Once again,
never divining the tea leaves,
knowing, always knowing,
the gnawing knots of unease,
that curl into a fist.

My isolation is a shield,
a suit of armour,
tightly clad around my self,
once worn,
then discarded,
taking its place,
on my barren shelf.

Love, mania and verse,
coalesce, beseeching me,
with timeous forewarning,
not to tread into the quicksand,
that slippery bog of promise.

Yet,
in times past,
in moments present,
tis' that very promise,
that I cling to.

At times I lose,
myself in the crowd,
rebelling in the solitude found there,

at times I claw,
my way back to the now,
aching for the pain that stings,

the buried voice that sings,
dirges to forgotten emotions,

scribbled verse that flings,
the toys out of my cot,

while I wait,
for the mania to stop,

knowing,
always knowing,
that it shall be,

merely a matter of time,
before the other shoe,
must, as always, 
drop.


Details | I do not know? | |

They Do Not See Me at All

They Do Not See Me at All

they do not see me at all...

as I walk through these desecrated avenues

of soul-deadening frenzy

I see them all rushing past me

and no matter how hard I try to holler and to call

they do not see me at all

it seems at times, that invisible am I

for when I reach out, and shriek out, and when on my knees I crawl

they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

I have tried to raise their ire, I have taunted and goaded them, till exhausted and fatigued, to the cold damp ground I fall

still they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

I stand mutely then and wave my hands all around while scribbling verses in my unintelligible scrawl

and yet they rush past me

for they do not see me at all

they rush past me, knocking me over without ever looking back

and then trampling over my fallen form, they look past my limp crumpled shadow, as they whine on in their monotonous drawl

for they do not see me at all

and when at last I see them look my way, and as a flicker of recognition crosses their faces

I wish to crawl back into my nothingness

where they cannot see me at all


Details | I do not know? | |

Masks

Masks.

Fingers,
clawing at my face,
slipping beneath the facade,

tugging, tearing, flailing,

stripping off the veneer,
exposing the fragmented decay,
cloaked,
under this mask I wear today.

Hands,
groping for another layer,
embroidered on my thin skin,

peeling, rotting, searing,

shaving away the truths,
entwined in a jagged kiss,
revealing,
the vacuum of an emotional abyss.

Fleeing,
from myself yet again,
bound for nothingness,

desolate, cold, empty,

lost on barren pathways,
bruising my heart as I tread,
shuddering,
at the horrors that lie ahead.


Details | Bio | |

Abusers You Need To Hear This

What  you  may not  understand is  when a abuser abuses someone. They destroy the trusting mind of the person that is  being abused. 
No matter  what  age  for what ever illness you  have . You  have no right  to  abuse anyone  young or  old  alike  male  or   female  alike.words  do hurt just  like physical abuse. It remains  in  a person's  mind  for years to follow.Not trusting others  due to the fact  of  being abuse  is  very hard there is always  some  doubt.Successful relationships are hard to have.Watching Tv  reading the paper  may click this  memory  that is wished  to  be erased forever. There is  no miracle  medcine or no medical procedure that can take that  memory away.So before you abuse  take this in mind. 
Keep your  mouth and  hands to yourself.Seek help  that  you  so need. 
Noone asks to be sexually or physically or  mentally  abused. 


Details | Free verse | |

Hanging By A Moment

hanging by a moment 
one tiny fraction of time 
yet immeasurable
in it's value, incalculable

a moment after a few drinks 
late, grab the keys, out the door 
life flashes before your eyes 
someone dies, just a moment

left hanging 

the moment you said goodbye 
to what would be the love of your life
your dreams reflecting the cost 
decisions, unchangeable

left hanging 

the moment you gave up your dreams 
settled for mediocrity 
where you teetered on the edge 
and slipped into oblivion 

no longer hanging 

all those tiny fractured moments 
that make up our lives 
realizing that every moment matters 
for the sum of the whole defines who we are
and where we are going 

no time is wasted time 
every moment signifies a decision, a choice 
for when the moment is gone 
it quickly becomes a memory 

either a memory left hanging 
to try and forget 
or one to enjoy 
to always remember

hanging by a moment
small but mighty 
one single moment
can change all your moments

forever!