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Social Tribute Poems | Social Poems About Tribute

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

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Details | Verse | |

Enigma's Calling

Extraordinary, I am 
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding  the gift I shouldn't fought
 
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
My passion
The food of my soul
 
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
 
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
 
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When  my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
 
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart


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 | Free verse | |

Generic Minds

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them


Details | Shape | |

Shoe Fetish

                                                              My Fetish. I adore you.
                                                            Wedges.             Pumps.
                                                          Stilettoes.             Brown.
                                                        Baby Blue.              Black.
                                                      Red. Pink are            all so
                                                    beautiful. You             make me
                                                  feel like a lady.             Nikes.
                                                Timberlands. A               pair of
                                             killer boots. Match             with a 
                                           fedora or a fresh to             death
                                         leather coat. Uggs,               Steven
                                       DSW, oh my how I am            grateful
                                      for you. Loafers. Buckles.         Straps.
                                   Peek a boo toes. Strapbacks.       ON SALE.
                                Played dress up with my mom's      and the
                             love affair began. Leopard. Bows.       Fashion.
                          Class. With leggings. Jeans. Skirts.        Suits.
                       Bikini underwear with a special Boo.         Bags
                    the same color, high heels assists with        what
                 some say is my sex appeal. Pretty details       draw
            attention from all ages and genders. A little         girl's
       obssession grown into a woman. Closet packed         sparkling
  eyes, legs dancing, carrying me into the next life           lesson.
I give you tribute and pay homage to you. I love              you shoes.


Details | List | |

I love

I love your soft kisses.I love firm but gentle touch.  I love the way you bite your lip.I love you soooooo much.
 I love the way you look at me.I love the way you smile.  I love the way you're shy sometimes,Every once and a while.
 I love it when you look at me, When I'm not looking at you.  You think I do not realize it, But really...I do.
 I love the way you cuddle. I love the way you sleep.  I love how you bite your lip when something turns you on. I love the way you rub your neck,when you are thinking so deep.
I love all of you,Your nose, your lips, your hair, even your smelly feet.  I love how you drink Dr Pepper. Morning noon and night.  I love how if someone puts me down your always there first one there ready to fight.  I will never stop loving you. You are so amazingly sweet.
 I love that I love you.I have loved you from the very start.  I LOVE ALL OF YOU,You alone hold the key to my heart.


Details | Narrative | |

Healing Words

My mother, my grandmother before has always held a place in my heart.
My father, and my grandfather before has the same part.
I was young and very active with unwillingness to listen fully to what they had to say.
I had a problem, never could be solved without my parents and grandparents till today.
With patience they all come to my aid when I fall on my face.
With little dishonor I listen to them and what they had to say, I embrace.
Over the years I go to them with no doubt a feeling of no dismay.
Over the years I go to them and they help me solve problems that to me is O.K.
Now I am getting a bit more aware of what had happen to me when I was growing.
Now I remember how the ride was in my beginning: it was a trial of not knowing.
With the guided words of my parents and grandparents I survive through them all.
With it some being a problem that I remember I recall.
My mother and my grandmother always said to be patient and it will be easy to solve.
My father and my grandfather always knew that I would grow and evolve.
I could wonder everyday what if my parents and grandparents was not in my life.
I could just think that would be fatal like a stab with a knife.
With knowledge that they had past on to me of what they had experience.
With their proof of teachings they had past on to me is their self existence.
Over the years I grew with life so full of happiness that was because of my families love.
Over the years it showed me the path that led me to all the above.
Now cherish those words that help me through my troubles in my new family.
Now I listen to my parents healing words of wisdom and except them gladly.


Details | Verse | |

I Don't Hate America

I Don’t Hate America

I like the country I live in
That doesn’t mean I have to sing their songs
to prove that sh@!.
That doesn't mean that 
I can just can’t get over the fact that
they murdered the people who built it
 
America was dedicated to a proposition that
“all men are created equal, except
for women, indians and blacks

The white men were just fine is what we were told 
but what about those who were stolen that never made it over to NEW WORLD?
The ones that were thrown overboard and
those who died from sickness while in transport

Remember those who were born into slavery and never even knew what freedom was before their physical bodies left
and people like Thomas Jefferson
He understood that slavery was wrong but did not free his own until his death
What about those who beaten senseless and burned, and hanged,  
All while screaming “Nigger" What’s your new name?
Oh how soon do we forget…
That’s why I despise that word and
I don’t care who it is that uses it
#u$k that slavery sh@!
And #u$k that flag b@%ch!
#u$k you America because you’ve always made things hard .
So don’t look at me strange when I show those songs disregard and those fake ass patriotic undertones about how we are the land of the free
more like the land of the captured and the Home of the Slaves, see

I don’t’ hate America
I can be and do and go as I please
But, then I remember the poor people they injected with disease 
They thought they were getting free health care but the doctor is giving them syphilis 
Please! 

I remember the natives of this land
They slaughtered and labored them to work for freedom in their own land 

I remember the Civil War 
where we were a country divided by the Mason Dixon Line
The north and the south of the same country at war to save lives
 
I don’t hate America
This is my home 
But I refuse to let the things that 
my ancestors endured during the struggle of building SUCH A FINE COUNTRY be forgotten
It’s 2012 and the politicians still plottin to find a way to take away the black vote 
It’s the same shit, but now they just don’t use the noose to choke the life out of souls  
I’m so tired of the constitution and it’s loop holes, and amendments, and acts, and laws
This just proves that man can’t govern themselves because even with all these rules we constantly fall into the black hole deeper and deeper
I don’t hate America
I just choose to not take part in its little song and dance
I pledge my allegiance to God 
and continue to write and lose myself in my poetic trans 


Details | Rhyme | |

Let's Praise the Lord

Let’s praise the Lord!
All you people of the land!
Let’s praise him with every
Instrument we have on hand!

Let’s shout praises to his
wonderful name!
A message of rejoicing,
we need to proclaim!

Let’s come before him,
with love from our hearts!
This is where a victorious
life really starts!

Let’s bring him our thanks
and appreciation!
And sing of his tender mercy
and wondrous salvation!

Let’s bring him a heart filled
With hope and cheer!
The coming of the lord,
is so very near!

We bless the father, the spirit
and son!
Through the blood of Jesus,
we have overcome!


By Jim Pemberton


Details | Free verse | |

Love, Death, and Rebirth

The signs started in December
When she started waking up in tears each night
She was a normal girl with dark brown hair and darker brown eyes
She had plenty of friends and a loving family with just one thing missing
Her father. 

Days passed by and turned into weeks but only felt like a few seconds
Her life just whizzed by faster and faster until it was just a whirr in front of her eyes
Darkness filtered into her heart and mind until she didn't know if she could go on
But she had to. She couldn't let her mother and her sister drown in this same pain
She wouldn't let them.

She pushed all the darkness into the depths of her own heart
In hopes to save the hearts of the two people she had left
Because what else was there to live for now?
The rest of her world had crashed and her mother and sister was all that was left 
She wouldn't let them drown in pain too. 

She watched as they started to heal in her loving arms
Their hearts started to lighten up once more
But hers was just as dark as it was before 
And growing darker day by day 
But she wouldn't let that stop her. 

Suddenly a year had passed... and then two 
It only seemed like seconds to her but everyone else started moving on
Her mother and sister no longer needed her nurturing care
But she needed someone to hold on to
Anyone...

With nothing left for her to take control of, the dark pushed past her boundries 
It found a way into her soul
Until all she could see was dark and no light 
But her mother and sister were healed now
They didn't understand

The tears came back and engulfed her soul
Bit by bit until she wasn't sure why she was still alive
The grief took over like knives 
Piercing her skin over and over and over
It hurt so much.

She started to wonder what it'd look like to be dead
She could see him again if she was
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to endure this pain?
Wouldn't it be so much easier than having to live knowing she'd never see him again?
It would.

So she started to hate herself
All that negative energy was starting to take toll
Everyone around her was breathing while she suffocated more and more by the second
She wished she'd just choke already instead of living in constant pain
If no one would put her out of her misery, she'd have to do it herself

She couldn't see any light anymore
So she grabbed the pill bottle off the shelf and just hoped it wouldn't take long to die
Deep down she still had a spark of light, but she just couldn't find it 
And now it was too late in her mind to change, to turn back and try to look deeper
She was done living.

That's when people started to notice that everything wasn't as peaceful as it seemed
They started to see how deeply depressed she had become
They wanted to help her see the light again before it was too late 
So they sent her away to see doctors and to take pills to make everything better
It was a start.

She didn't see a change at first but suddenly she could think clearly
Maybe what they were doing was actually going to help her see the light again
Yes, she still wanted to die, but maybe that wasn't the only option anymore
They cared,  and behind all their own problems they were trying to understand
They really were trying

Six months longer she would be treated and cared for
Until suddenly she was sent home from her treatment and care with a smile on her face
She had a new perspective
Someone had helped her ignite that spark in her heart until it was a glowing ember
She had been reborn

Sometimes you have to be able to experience the worst of it
To come back shining brighter than before
And if she had died that cold day in October, she wouldn't of ever seen the best of it
Or known that it would get better
and it did!

And she now sits at her laptop, with a smile on her face and warmth in her heart
It's never been an easy road and it won't ever be
But at least she knows she's lived through the worst
And it can only get better from here

So whenever she feels lonely or gets back into that dark spot again
She can look back on what she's learned and can read this poem
And remember that she survived the darkest depths of depression
And she will continue to survive it as long as she lives
Because she is stronger now than she ever was before ?


Details | Ode | |

Ode To Jose Rizal

sited down with his head, the chilled lonely table.
pen cries lovely piece of solemn lyrics, his head uttered.
last sky may be till tomorrow, no more other days.
I saw tears fell among dusty floor, a nail stroke my heart.

farewell dearly beloved, his first solemn phrase.
he dream for shiny beloved land, smiling at the sun.
where moon creates gold, for better own children alone.
he wish for a dream, where he wouldn't  taste at all.

heaviest morning comes like a mourning cloud.
as counted journey flew to the end of sight.
he let his feet move, conquered the fear so dim.
as tied hands live the shadowed song, heart on grave.

farewell dearly beloved, his last dying words
before the guns vomit a deadly burning fumes
tears just fall, while smile been seen glowing
the hero just shout, set free my beloved land.


Authors Note:
This is a story of the last day before the death of the Philippine National Hero, Dr. Jose Rizal.
From the night of the his last piece written the Mi Ultimo Adios, to the time of the firing squad.


Details | Verse | |

Home of the Slaves

Land of the free
Home of the slaves
The blood, sweat and tears of my ancestors resonate
Amongst the soil where they were slain
I’m hearing their struggle
I’m feeling their pain
I can’t imagine being forced to part from my family
All for massa’s gain
So I pay homage to those who promoted change

People like every slave who tried to escape
Nat Turner, Ms Carlotta, Harriet Tubman
And the safe houses who were in accord
And peg leg Joe with his song
Follow the drinking gourd.

People like, the disregarded - those thrown overboard
And who was dismissed and defamed
The ones who were stripped of their soul, their pride, their names

The list could go on  
The full will never be told
So I pay homage to others who were bold
Like John Brown, The Freedom Riders, Sojourner Truth
Ida B Wells, Phyllis Wheatley, Maya Angelou, 
Langston Hughes and Charles Drew

George Washington Carver, Ruby Bridges
Booker T Washington and Mary McCleod Bethune
Charles Houston, Ralph Bunche, Fredrick Douglass
WEB Dubois, Paul Robeson, Ralph Abernathy
Benjamin Banneker, Marcus Garvey and Crispus Attucks
Who’s death by the way
Symbolized the American lie
You cant declare the rights of all men
While the people of African decent rights get denied
But still we rise

Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, 
The Black Panthers, the Buffalo Soldiers and Tuskegee Airmen
None who were showed any love
Yeah it’s an uphill battle, 
But obviously greatness can be done.

We can rise above this stigma 
That blacks are lazy and daunting
That our worth is null and void 
And in essence minus nothing
And of all the names mentioned 
And the greatness of their successes
No one has been able to erase the evil transgressions of a racist mind
And once you have experienced just a taste of it
It changes your perception of time
The oppression beats like the drum on the chariot
Of when it was finally time to escape to freedom
It's mine


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 | List | |

Rules in the eyes of a toddler

If it is off, I must turn it on.
If it is on, I must turn it off.
If it is folded, I must unfold it.
If it is a liquid, it must be shaken, then spilled.
If it a solid, it must be crumbled, chewed, stepped on or smeared.
If it is high, it must be reached.
If it is shelved, it must be unshelved.
If it is pointed, it must be run with at top speed.
If it has leaves, they must be picked.
If it is plugged, it must be unplugged.
If it is not trash, it must be thrown away.
If it is in the trash, it must be removed, inspected, and thrown on the floor.
If it is closed, it must be opened.
If it does not open, it must be screamed at.
If it has drawers, they must be rifled.
If it is a pencil, it must write on the refrigerator, monitor, or table.
If it is full, it will be more interesting emptied.
If it is empty, it will be more interesting full.
If it is a pile of dirt, it must be laid upon.
If it is stroller, it must under no circumstances be ridden in without protest. It must be pushed by me instead.
If it has a flat surface, it must be banged upon.
If Mommy's hands are full, I must be carried.
If Mommy is in a hurry and wants to carry me, I must walk alone.
If it is paper, it must be torn.
If it has buttons, they must be pressed.
If the volume is low, it must go high.
If it is toilet paper, it must be unrolled on the floor.
If it is a drawer, it must be pulled upon.
If it is a toothbrush, it must be inserted into my mouth.
If it has a faucet, it must be turned on at full force.
If it is a phone, I must talk to it.
If it is a bug, it must be swallowed.
If it doesn't stay on my spoon, it must be dropped on the floor.
If it is not food, it must be tasted.
If it IS food, it must not be tasted.
If it is dry, it must be made wet with drool, milk, or toilet water.
If it is a car seat, it must be protested with arched back.
If it is Mommy, must make her dirty
If it is sibling, must slap,kick,and fight.
If it has four legs, must squeeze tight until makes noise
If big person is on phone, must make lots of noise
If tv is not on cartoons, scream until they are
If food is not good, throw it, refuse to eat it and cry until big people give you something good


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

The number the brand

When I met her , a very old lady she was , yet inside lay a frightened child .
I felt my heart cry , I felt as if I was touching history itself , as I made this older lady, child,  chai .

I remember the day , and so many tears I have cried
I have cried before she and I met 
As a child , so many tears, left confused inside .

Not understanding Why , and how could we stand by and live our lives as if this never happened ?

It happened , we are left in dismay of the movies seen the accounts taken of History 
My self ..I have caught stereotyping the very people whom did this to she , the rest of her Family erased .


The white candles we light , we try and forgive , or just simply block this pain out completely.

It occurs , over and over , as it has been said History will repeat .
When thinking of my children , when I think of that little girl losing ,  cold and scarred , feeling only defeat .

There is a lesson here and I pray , that all whom have been taken from life , have no pain and are gifted spirits throughout eternity . May they be warmed with love,  and reunited with the ones they lost .

The first time I met her , her old hand I took and warmed it with mine , I held it for a long time . 
You could not,  but notice ..the Evil imprinted on skin , the Evil only to remind.
This very old Soul , in her eyes you could see . 
The child that once lived , so innocently free, not aware yet,  of the Hostility .

I speak of a Little girl, I speak of a old woman , I speak of a Jewish,  chosen Religion.

There as I held her frail , old hand  , a brand , a number stamped in Evil a long time ago .   In 1945  , once in our distant, yet Frightening  past . 

We should never forget , never forget it happened , never forget all the names .
If we do , we have learned nothing , A World living in Shame .
                                " Etta Babooshka Kofman  "


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 | |

Jesus

Judas betrayed Jesus’s whereabouts
End, was near
Son of God, knew this
Universe of the Son of the Divine Father, restored
Sins of man forgiven, Prince of our Universal domain, alive in the hearts of his children


Details | Ballad | |

American dust off crews

American dust off crews

I served some time in Vietnam
As a medic I performed
And saw some things to make me think
As I suppose would be the norm.
But the thing that did impress me most
Were those dust off crews I saw
They hailed from the USA, did they
They were the best for sure.

They were the bravest of the brave
They seemed to have no fear
They’d go where others feared to tread
And lord, they drank some beer
So often I’d get drunk with them
We’d have a grand old time
Back there in that long gone year
Of nineteen sixty nine.

Those lads would put themselves in danger
No matter what the score
They will have my admiration
From now till evermore.
For many men were saved by them
{God bless them every one}
As we served, us our two countries
Neath that hazy Asian sun


Details | Acrostic | |

Easter

Earths people, it is time to wake up, the ‘Prince’ is alive! 
Ascension available, access through your heart 
Seek and you shall find! 
Time is short, personally unite, connect as one
Eternity given
Rise to the occasion, celebrate the gift of life, bond, with ‘our lord Jesus’ and ‘our Universal Father in heaven, building a bridge, experiencing kinship, between human and spirit

                     ***Happy Easter Everyone***


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 | 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 | Free verse | |

THE FULL MOON BLOOMS

Tonight, the full moon blooms
And foils the looming gloom.
The remnant doom from noon
Has lost it's bullish tune.
And embraces dusk's eerie cool.


The village square it illuminates
Arena of moonlight tales of late
The little ones gather and wait
While the elderly engage in debates
And the goats noisily ruminates


The bright night, lights sparks
Of bliss and joy in trees' barks
The tall iroko whistle in parks
Where young lovers end their tracks
And skimpy skirts lose their tacks
 
 
The son of perdition frets unsure
The thief in the night fears exposure
The pirate sailor steers from ashore
The night fisherman denied action
For the kind light bathes the ocean


Tonight, the full moon beams proud
As the town crier makes his round
Belting forth a piercing sound.
While the town's chorus echoes loud
The stage is set for the yearning crowd


Details | Sonnet | |

Honor Befalls Me

A squad of cavalries turns up at first
their flag flutters at every angle
proud and their poor fate stubbornly reversed
the youngest one of them blows the bugle

Next, day strips itself of night, boisterous
the survivors step over the fallen
to the summit, wounded but victorious
the bravest one sags all of a sudden

That happens and will do, when justice is sliced
it was worth it and it will since God pleads
It's a cause for which our lives are sacrificed
as blooded swords are put back into sheaths

Honor befalls me, who made it public
in a lonely sonnet, epic and lyric


Details | Haiku | |

Words

Words said, sung, written
Bred man's civilization. 
Words made us human.


Details | I do not know? | |

For Men Everywhere One Billion Rising

1 Billion Rising.

For Men Everywhere.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

Stop!

Stop the abuse!

Of grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Listen!

Listen to the voices!

Of grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Think!

Think of how you treat,

grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Act!

Act now to change yourself!

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

stops when you stop,

the violence,
the abuse,
the rape.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

is perpetrated by,

grand-fathers,
colleagues,
boyfriends,
husbands,
nephews,
brothers,
partners,
fathers,
uncles,

men,

all men.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

stops when us men stop,

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

today, now.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!


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 | Prose Poetry | |

MY AFRICAN WOMAN

Open Letter To The Golden Black Angel

The black angel on earth, the one proud of her skin
The hot chocolate in Africa, the one with glorious power
The ebony strength beneath the sun, the one full of sensuous splendor.

The golden black angel, the one flying the clouds
The shining star in the rich land, the woman defining beauty
The rich, the warm, the dark, the glittering flower breathing in Africa.

Just look at her eyes, the narrow eyes sliding to the sides
Just give a glance to her ruby lips, these syrupy, luscious and tepid lips
Just stare closely at her smile, am sure you are zooming the sun.

I feel her hypnotizing presence, the soothing aroma in the world
I feel her soporific nature, the one that naturally sends me to the sky
I feel her wafting movements, the movements worth every sane eye
I feel her tantalizing voice, Scandalizing my ears to lick it.

Am i forgetting her curves, the curves surpassing enchanted love potions?
Am i forgetting her manners, the manners giving me bedroom tendencies?
How can i? How can i not talk of the African woman? Eh? Tell her i adore her

Yours African,
Mzee Mwau.


Details | Haiku | |

All About the Music: Bodies

Blundering bodies
Find fulfilment in rhythm;
Let the Music in.


Details | Rhyme | |

Somewhere Tonight a Soldier Stands

Somewhere tonight a soldier stands
The fate of freedom in his hands
He mans his post, he stands his ground
In trouble spots the world around
He could be 18 or over 30
All spit and polish or down and dirty
He might be wearing Army green
Or the uniform of a proud Marine
He could be Air Force flying cover
Or Navy in their crafts that hover
He could be Coast Guard on a river
No matter what he will deliver
He’s pledged to give up life and limb
If that is what is asked of him
And all he’ll ask for in return
Is the respect that he has earned
These footsteps that he chose to follow
Echo through the years so hollow
His grandpa’s grandpa’s grandpa’s fought
With Washington their freedom sought
They rode with Grant or maybe Lee
Fighting for their family
And when the Kaiser declared war
They joined to give the guy what for
Then when that German Hitler reigned
They signed up for that war’s campaign
Korea in some  frozen field
They stood their ground, there was no yield
And in the jungle, Vietnam
Never knowing peace and calm
They fight despite the known syndrome
Of what awaits them back at home
In Desert Storm and in Iraq
And Afghanistan, they have our back
They fight for honor, fight with pride
But through the years so many died
Though some may question why they fought
Let’s end this now with this one thought 
Somewhere tonight a soldier stands
The fate of freedom in his hands

 6/25/12

We have a history club here in our community and the chairman of the club asked if I would write a poem for an upcoming meeting all about Vietnam with vets from each of the service talking about their experiences during that war.  I wrote two poems - this is one I will read at the meeting.


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 | Rhyme | |

Beer

This is the best beer I've ever had. 
Yes, The best beer I've ever had. 
No beer is really bad, but 
This is the best beer I’ve ever had. 
 
Beer’s invention was accidental I’m told. 
Something about stored grain and mold. 
Before the Sphinx, beer was made and sold; 
And at times, more valuable than gold. 
 
Drank my first beer while serving Uncle Sam.
Got drunk on ‘33' in Saigon, Vietnam. 
By 19, I was a soldier becoming a man; 
So, I drank ‘til I didn’t give a damn. 
 
Since then, I’ve travelled the world all around; 
And tasted each brew that I’ve found. 
Most are named for people, animals or towns; 
And are glorious shades of gold, red or brown. 

There are pilsners, lagers and ales
Swilled from bottles, cans, mugs…even pails.
If you want to get drunk, you can’t fail.
Drink too much, you may end up in jail.
 
Drank Stegmaier in old Scranton town. 
Folks bragged it was the "best around“. 
I tried their Golden, their Porter, their Brown; 
And I must say, their judgement is sound. 

In Ireland, the Guinness is Stout. 
‘Tis a brew those Micks can’t live without. 
In the pubs, they all sing and shout; 
Until, eventually, they're all drunken louts.

In old Germany, there are too many to choose. 
Every Berg and Stein make their own brews. 
I tried each one on the Rhine river cruise. 
So many to taste.  How could I lose? 

I enjoyed Sapporo in Tokyo, Japan;
Served by a Geisha at the wave of my hand.
The Singh Hai in Bangkok was grand,
As was the Ninkasi in ancient Tehran.

Tried a lager called Foster’s down under. 
Drank too many.  My head pounded like thunder. 
They say Foster's once laid Dundee asunder; 
But they love it… though you may wonder. 
 
Enjoyed Red Stripe on Jamaican shores 
And each one tasted like more. 
A local beauty I was hoping to score; 
But next morning, my head was so sore. 
 
Henry Hudson’s serves Budweiser Light.
It’s weak, so you can drink it all night.
Yes, it takes quite a bit to get “tight”;
But it’s cheap and that makes it alright.   

Yes, beer is a beverage so grand, 
One of God's greatest gifts to man. 
When life gets too tough to stand,  
Just open a chilled bottle or can. 

This is the best beer I’ve ever had. 
When I arrived I was down and quite sad; 
After just two or three, life isn't so bad. 
This is the best beer I’ve ever had. 
 
Yes, the best beer I've ever had. 



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 | Blank verse | |

Paragon Of Excellence

Here stands a fair beauty 
Queen with poise and 
Dignity.
The daughter of an 
Erudite,an erudite herself
One of the three central 
Spoke-persons in the 
Assembly of law-givers.
The defender of the 
Helpless,mother of the 
Motherless. As fearless as 
A lion,who dared the 
Gunners in power,time 
Had she spent in jail, 
Thrown in by the most 
Powerful.
One thought she would 
Cower down,yet more 
Resolute she became.
For stonewalls do not 
Make a prison make.
She still the people's 
Mouthpiece.
Champion of war on 
Gender in-equality,a 
Visionary leader,hope is 
Rekindled-hearts rejoice, 
Tears of joy pour freely as 
She mounts the podium 
Of power.


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 | Rhyme | |

two woman one child

Once there were two women who lived different lives..
One I hardly around for me to remember, the other I call my mother.
Two different lives, shaped to make my one...
One was out of reach like a star, the other became bright sun.
The first gave me life and the second taught me how to live it.
The first gave me a need for love, and the second was always there to give it.
One gave me a nationality, the other gave me my nick name.
One gave me a seed of talent, the other gave me an aim.
One gave me emotions, the other calmed my fears.
One heard my first cry, the other dried all my tears.
One gave me up  without a second thought...To selfish to care
The other prayed for my safety and God led me straight to her. I was her Mandy Bear
And now you ask me, As my peer 
the age old question unanswered throughout the years...
Heredity or environment .. Which am I the product of..
Neither, my friend .. neither..
just two different kinds of people...That ended with only ONE LOVE


Details | I do not know? | |

Woman's Day

Women's Day


wiping away those tears

of the brutal truths of your past

wiping away those tears

your spirit rises up, far beyond your scars

and your strength resides deep within you 

with an unshakeable resolve that shall forever last


...the weakened men whose brute force is so macho and empty 

and that has always been in your face

are now nothing but specks of aging, obsolete rust

flitting past you, for you hold it all together

as you always have 

rising up firm and strong from being shoved into the dust


...you are a mother, a lover, a daughter, a wife, and a worker ... above all a worker you have been

tying the loose ends together time after time

always there 

yet unseen


...a woman you are 

of fibre 

of courage

of being the bedrock on which we trample 

on whose shoulders this world stands

as you continue to work ceaselessly on

with lines on your face

and with raw wounds on your hands

but...

now your time has come

and no longer will you silently bear

the jabs and taunts of men

for now you proudly declare

that a mother am I, a daughter too, a lover and a wife as well

and now the time has come for them to awaken

to the tolling a new bell


...a bell that tolls for you

for you have taken back the pride and dignity that they stripped off you for ages

for now theirs is a lost cause while your battle still defiantly rages

through cities and homes and villages 

and in town after nameless town

for now the bell has tolled

and the time has passed for you

to be ever
again
put down


Details | I do not know? | |

For our Father, Nelson Madiba Mandela

For our Father, Nelson 'Madiba' Mandela

you are our eternal inspiration

our hopes
our dreams
our conscience

you gave everything of yourself
so that we may live and love and laugh and dream and breathe the air of freedom, dignity and liberty

you lead us through the darkest days with your unshakeable principles and your belief in us

you brought peace and freedom to us

and when at times we felt all was lost

you stayed with us as a father would

you lent us your wisdom
and you chastised us too

and we are here today because of you
you stayed with us, Nelson Rolihlala 'Madiba' Mandela, through all the crests and valleys of our turbulent times

you stayed with us, father
today, we hope and pray and wish
that you, our father Madiba
stay with us still
stay with us, Madiba
stay with us...


Details | Free verse | |

Do not read this

But now your here,

Raise a glass
to all the talented poets here
who, inspire us to write everyday
and all the friends we have met along the way.

Brought together
by a common interest
to express our thoughts
and feelings
and give pleasure
to all the poetry family.

peter Dome. copyright. 2012.


Details | Rhyme | |

Just A Little Talk With Jesus

Just A Little Talk With Jesus… Why not talk to Jesus? And spend some time alone? Won’t you ask him to be the Lord of your heart and home? Just a little talk with Jesus can make your day so bright. He can heal your troubles and make everything “alright!” Just a few moments with him can make all of the difference! His love can give you hope and a joyous experience! Feel free to share with him your every need and concern! Won’t you allow him to guide you at life’s every turn? Won’t you allow his cleansing power to take your sins away? He can make you a new person! And can do it TODAY! The time you can spend with him, is time you won’t regret! HE will never fail you! And hasn’t let go of anyone yet! Just a little talk with Jesus will bring sweetness to your soul! The words of Christ can completely make you whole! Please remember a promise from the beginning of time. When God created the world... He had all of us in mind! Spending time with Jesus will be the best thing you did! Won’t you accept his love and willingness to forgive? Just think about the opportunity with Christ you can share! You can have time with him! And can meet him anywhere! Behold the glory of our Lord! He reigns from heaven above! You can enjoy his presence! And the power of HIS LOVE! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Rhyme | |

LADY OF THE NIGHT - I

You were born in a war ravaged state
You lost your man to the caprices of fate
You fell prey to your wayward ways
Victims of betrayal, greed or circumstances
You were drowned in the tide of darkness

Depraved incidents of forced sex and perversions
Rooted in carnal desires and unsated frustrations
The fleshpots in town frowned upon as receptacles of sin
Wisdom of society’s views wearing very thin
Thwarting those in heat from living out their dream

Objects of titillation and subjected to derision
Unfortunately placed or forced in a profession
Reckoned as the world’s oldest
Harlots you are, courtesans at best
Buffers to man’s baser side without respite or rest

Mistress to royalty or a gangster’s moll
You’ve mastered the act of a defenceless doll
Apparently enjoying the bizarre and the extraordinary
But behind this masquerade is the quintessential mercenary
Pandering only to the philandering of the paying strata of humanity

You frequent raunchy night-clubs and sleazy bars
Walk the streets and lurk around dark corners
You are often just a number in the telephone directory
Or recommended for unusual skills, honed to a speciality
But you seldom blackmail, reflecting your innate nobility

Possibly you booze to drown your pain
And get your high on heroin and cocaine
You are accused of ruining marital ties
And of driving your lovers to a life of vice
Who squander fortunes, just affording your price

Hail lady of the night
Only death can release you from your sordid plight
You are the paramour without the strings of a wife
You are the reprieve from loneliness and strife
But alas, you suffer damnation in your earthly life


Details | I do not know? | |

For Nelson Rolihlahla 'Madiba' Mandela

and just when i felt lost

again...

when i feared that you were slipping away

i feared more for myself, in truth I say, than for you

again...

you came back to us

again...

your light shone, ablaze

reaching inside of me with the warmth of your dignity

with your infinite gentleness

with your effortless peace

with all that makes you, you

again...

soothing me as you soothed a nation

and a people, and people everywhere

of every hue

and of every creed

and of the human spirit itself

again...

you gave of yourself

92 and frail and weak and alive

oh yes alive!

again...

you breathed my fears away

you embraced me as you have always done

again...

you made me cry

weeping tears of joy for you

for your light to shine on through

again...

you shined so brightly

as I basked in your warmth of you being you

again...

you cradled my shaken being in your hands, lined with age and with wisdom and with a pureness so bright

that just knowing that you are back home, smiling that fatherly smile of yours

was enough for me, to slip into the waiting arms of this warm and joyous night

and again...

though i know that you cannot be with me forever more

you came back to me on this night

and just knowing that you are still here with me now

is enough now, for within me, you will reside forever more

just knowing that you are resting and recovering at home

filled, and fills me with peace and with joy

with the peace and the joy that has been your gift to me, and to us, one and all

shaking me to my very core

as you have selflessly done

throughout my life, and on countless occasions before

He is home

you are home

and

i am home with you

as your light of life continues to shine

now and forever

warm and dignified and forever true

Viva Nelson Rolihlala 'Madiba' Mandela Viva!


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 | Rhyme | |

someone cares

Someone cares if I'm happy today 
If my day is cheerful and bright? 
Someone somewhere cares if I'm feeling ok 
If everything going just right. 

Someone somewhere cares if I eat
If there is food in my fridge and plates full at my table.
Someone somewhere cares if I have clothes on my back and shoes on my feet
They keep my mental state stable. 

Here I sit wondering if someone still thinks about me.
Pondering if that someone is still out there.
Is this how life is always going to be
And if that someone still remembers, I care about them too if they care about me.


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? | |

I Want to Walk with You

I Want to Walk with You
 
I want to walk with you with our heads held high
Never cowering, never with heads bowed
With our feet on this blessed soil, and our dreams reaching for the sky
 
Dreams of simple joys and of peace and of mirth
For all our fellow travelers on this delightful earth
 
Dreams not of wealth or of positions of high standing or of mighty power
Simple dreams of a walk in the aftermath of a Johannesburg evening rain-shower
 
Dreams of bread and water and dignity and shelter and clothes for all
Dreams where all fellow travelers may together walk this earth proud and tall
 
I want to walk with you, my fellow traveler, with our heads held high
Never pandering to power, never silent in the face of its abuse
Always firm in our convictions that we can all make peace if we only try
 
If we try to stop and think and sometimes not to look the other way
If we practice what our different creeds really teach, we will surely see that day
 
When we all, fellow travelers may walk with our heads held high
Never cowering, never with our heads bowed
With our feet on this blessed soil, and our collective dreams reaching for the sky
 
Call me silly, call me naive, call me hopeless, and if you must, call me weak
But is this not the common good that our different creeds and cultures all seek?
 


Details | Rhyme | |

Still In Love With My Wife


Still In Love With My Wife...

My son came to me with 
a question on his mind.
I said; “Not now son—
I just don't have the time.”
He said, “Daddy—are you still 
in love with Mommy?”
“Do you love her like you did when 
I was in her tummy?”

My eyes choked with tears; 
“Yes son I really do!”
“I'm in love with her...
and I appreciate you.”
“Daddy—will you always love
me like you do mom?”
“Yes my son—my love for you 
will always belong.”

I looked down and much to my surprise.
There were tears running
down my son's eyes.
He came running to me with arms wide open.
“Thank you daddy” were his words spoken.
I picked him up and gave
him a great big hug.
As I let him down, on my shirt I felt a tug.

His little arm reached up to grab my hand.
I knew that what I said,
he began to understand.
I love his mom so much—my wonderful wife.
She's been such a blessing-
a great part of my life!

By Jim Pemberton 



Details | Rhyme | |

Through The Trials And Valleys

Through The Trials And Valleys…

I’ve been through trials and difficult situations.
Many times it happens with no explanations!

Whatever I’ve had or have taken with me.
I’ve been there when everyone has left me!

The uncertainties I’ve had and struggles I face.
Have brought me to my knees in a “quiet” place.

The journeys I’ve traveled and the storms ahead.
Have brought worry and stress in the words I said.

Whatever trials I’ve  faced...  To Jesus I cried!
A comfort and strength .   He did provide!

I know a truth that is important and most certain.	
Jesus can take away any hardship or burden!

If  there were no trials...  How could I trust him?
Because of what he’s done  How I love him!

If I had no hardships or trials, I’d probably “forget him.”
Giving him my whole life?  I don’t think I’d let him!

But he’s proven to me just how much he loves me!
He reached down from heaven and touched me!

He’s my comfort and joy and enduring friend!
He’ll be there with me…  Till the very end!

This Jesus I know.  I recommend him to you!
He is God!  Our provider! This is so true!

Won’t you give him a chance in your life today!
He can bring hope and take 
all of the dark clouds away!

By Jim Pemberton


Details | Rhyme | |

This Thanksgiving Day


During this time known as Thanksgiving Day. I hope you'll give thanks and pray. A prayer of thanks for everything God has given. He has blessed us in the way we've been livin'! Our country is blessed like no other. God has supplied our "bread and butter." He's given us the freedom, we've all enjoyed. Be thankful for your food, home and being employed. For those who've endured hardship... Thank God too! It's no secret how much he loves YOU! We find in the Bible... God clearly said; "I've never seen the righteous forsaken, Nor their children begging for bread." Thanks be to Jesus, for his love, mercy and grace. And for making my heart, "his special place." I am blessed and thankful to Jesus indeed. He's given me salvation and supplies my every need. I thank God for this special day in November. Thanksgiving is a day... I will always remember! By Jim Pemberton


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 | Couplet | |

revolution will

The revolution will come bit-by-bit
freedoms for securities, a stock split

The revolution will not be streamed
things aren't always what they seem

The revolution will occur in silent din
future different from what has been

The revolution will certainly be cloned
both rich and poor will be bemoaned

The revolution will not be boxed
change refuses to be outfoxed 

The revolution will make us worse
and better too - our coin's obverse

The revolution will not be painless at all
but a deep gut pain in abdominal wall

The revolution will be bloody and clean
when we're overtaken by our infernal machine

The revolution will be from inside out
'cause that's what revolution is all about

The revolution will be beyond comprehension
when people point out, a point of contention

The revolution will not be equal for all
many will rise, as, many will fall

The revolution will not be streamed
The revolution will not be Tubed
The revolution will not be Twittered
The revolution will not be podcast
The revolution will - 'til next revolution - last

The revolution will be, in the long run, forgiving
The revolution will be -- in our living
The revolution will begin - and be, in you

© Goode Guy 2013-03-09

http://www.gilscottheron.com/lyrevol.html


Details | Rhyme | |

All To Jesus I Surrender


All To Jesus I Surrender…

All to Jesus, I give and totally surrender!
May my heart be broken and tender!

All to Jesus, I come and freely give!
I ask him to be my Lord every day I live!

All to Jesus, I will humbly share…
His love and joy to people everywhere!

It’s Jesus, who is made perfect in my weakness!!
He has given to me his love and sweetness!

It’s in Jesus, I have found pure delight.
His spirit comforts me each day and night!

It’s in Jesus, there is hope and peace within!
He has come and broken the bondage of sin!

My dear Jesus, I kneel and humbly bow!
I need you my Lord!  I need you now!

Only in Jesus, can I hope to obtain.
Everything I need.  It’s all in HIS name!

Only in Jesus, will I find a shelter from all harm.
I want to be wrapped up in his strong arms!

Only in Jesus, have I found what I needed.
With him in my life….  
 I am now completed!

By Jim Pemberton    


Details | I do not know? | |

She



A sweetly-scented, earthy rain-storm,
she came to me,

thunderously raging with raw emotion,
she came to me,

drenched in the essence of truth,
she came to me,

she touched a chord deep inside,
she strummed away all emptiness,

she came to me,

once...

she comes to me,

still...


a gentle presence filling my life,


she comes to me,


still,

a healing spirit soothing all inner strife.





Details | I do not know? | |

Vula Amehlo - Zulu for open your eyes

Vula Amehlo (open your eyes)

"Vula Amehlo"is Zulu for "open your eyes"

Vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
though eyes aren’t needed to behold
the flowing tears of those of us, left out in the cold

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
the time to turn your back is long gone
no time now to pander and no time now to fawn

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we the people are hungry, angry, and our skin is torn
though we say it loudly, unbowed we are, and not forlorn

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we may be invisible and tucked away far from you
but we are here, still, waiting for the promise of freedom to come true

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
you see us sometimes, though you avert your gaze
come on now, compatriots, awaken from your complacent daze

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we are the open wound that festers on your ostentatious display
band-aids won’t do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
as you roll down your windows and toss us some coins, look in our eyes
we are your slumbering consciences, we are the famished proof of your lies

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
forget us not as you tuck your pretty children in, and turn off the lights
we too are the children whose mothers, fathers fought for all our peoples’ rights

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
don’t think that we are bitter and livid for no reason or cause
we have been waiting and waiting, for days and a decade, without any pause

vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
vula amehlo
mothers and fathers
vula amehlo
brown and white and all shades of this rainbow so bright
we repeat what we said, we are not going to melt away into the night
vula amehlo
one and all
our patience is being tested from day to day, year to year
we have listened to your promises and we now demand that you hear
vula amehlo
open your eyes
and see us, and hear us clearly, and hear us today
band-aids won’t do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay

vula amehlo
open your eyes



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? | |

For Robert Zimmerman

For Bob Dylan

sheltered from the howling winds of vows and scattered souls and sweltering hate

she is a refuge from the blistering sands of dread and loss and torn and twisted fate

when the emptiness inside becomes an abyss so dark and wild and cold

my words get lost in the jangling alleys where dreams are bought and sold

I met her in those alleys among the withering roses on a bed of thorns

and she filled me up with poems banishing the scowling moments and their baleful scorns

now I lie awake and wish that I could sleep and drift away into the maze of her dream

but slumber has fled and slipped the noose around my words as they thrash around and scream

words that swirl around and around like that scarlet scarf wrapped around her face

she's a mystery still as she will always be while I sift through this empty desolate space

the storm it broke and ceased and shuffled my words as they drifted forlornly into the chasm of the dead

leaving me here still and mute and frantic as I try to pick up the pieces of all the words that have been said

far too many far too often far too conceited and far too proud

for I failed to hear the stillness of beauty as I rambled along barking my words out aloud

she hushes me now as she hushed me then in the cobwebbed tunnels of the past

while I weep more words in blood and ink onto dried parchment meant never to last

so tell her that her whiskey has been greedily gulped down and now that I am soberly drunk

I see her songs and hear her breath reaching down into my mouldy abode of hapless funk

fare-thee-well for now as I slide into the scribbled hubris of another battered rhyme

dazed by the glaring embers as they scorch the moments of quickly fading time

and if tomorrow finds me here still shell-shocked and drained in body and in mind

tell her that her wine has slipped through the loose knots that bind

tying me to this place of sanity and insanity all rolled into one

while all is numb and scarred from the deed that has been done

and as I flee recklessly chasing away myself from me once more
she'll know the words for its a song that's been sung far too many times before

(for bob dylan)


Details | Rhyme | |

Christ Voice Made The Difference

Christ’ Voice Made A Difference! Christ’ voice made a difference in my life today! He spoke peace and love! And took my sins away! His voice made the difference, when nothing else could. All of my problems and failures, he understood! His voice made the difference, with words of healing and hope! He picked me up, when my life was on a “slippery slope!” His voice made the difference, in my moment of desperation! It brought peace to my heart and sweet inspiration! His voice made the difference when everything else failed me! I listen to his voice! it brings love all around me! His voice can make the difference for you! Won’t you listen? You’ll never know “what in the world,” you’re missin! His voice speaks peace to all fears! And life’s raging storms! His love will “glue together,” a life that’s “wrecked and torn.” His voice is all you need! It brings assurance His gift of eternal life is 100% “life insurance!” His voice beckons... Our lord calls our name! I’m glad I listened! I’m very glad he came! His voice is what’s important! And very much needed! It’s only through Christ, that our life is completed! By Jim Pemberton


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 | I do not know? | |

Ludwig and Vincent

Ludwig & Vincent...


‘They said that you were mad, Vincent’, whispered Ludwig to a silent Vincent.


‘I still am, quite insane’, replied Vincent, ‘but you, dear Ludwig, you were deaf, and mad, I hear’.


‘I listened with my soul, Vincent, I heard it all without hearing a sound. Yes, mad and deaf indeed I too, still am’, Ludwig said, smiling at Vincent.


‘just look at them now’, Vincent replied, smiling with Ludwig, ‘look at them now, as they hawk sunflowers, blissfully oblivious of exquisite starry nights’.


‘yes’, smiled Ludwig, ‘look at them now, they crave joy, yet they cannot hear an ode, dear Vincent, they cannot hear it! They do not care enough to hear’.


‘Yes, dear Ludwig’, Vincent sighed, ‘they do not care enough to hear’.


Ludwig and Vincent smiled, each tugging an ear.


Details | I do not know? | |

For Comrade Chris Hani 1942 - 1993

For Comrade Chris Hani
(1942 – 1993)

mowed down
by hot lead
your blood flowed
into our African soil
murdered you, yes, they did
silence you, they never will
for your voice
your spirit
speaks to us still


Details | I do not know? | |

Embalming the Conscience

Embalming the Conscience

Embalming the conscience,
of a world catatonic with apathy.

Apathy worn on sleeves,
with shimmering cuff-links of brazen indifference.

Shopping, mall-hopping, acquiring.
Squinting at designer tags.

Ah! But the party never ends,
as we giggle and flirt and drink and screw.

While corpses burn,
nailed to the cross.

And while the others scavenge,
for scraps in the dirt.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Wind Carries His Name

The Wind Carries His Name.

They shot him down,
silencing a man of flesh and bone.

Though as the bullets tore through him,
the wind carried his name.

Far across the weary fields,
high above the stubborn peaks,
over the blood soaked streams,
the wind carried his name.

They shot him down,
silencing a man of flesh and bone.

Yet the wind carried his name,
to you and to me,
to them and to us.
They shot him down,
but we still say his name,
as we catch it on the breeze.

Still they try to shoot him down,
to silence a man of flesh and bone.
But the wind cannot be stilled,
and the wind carries his name.

"Che"

(For Ernesto Guevara)


Details | I do not know? | |

MEMORIAL DAY

What will you do this Memorial Day? 
Is it just another day off,  
For fun and getting away? 
Will you picnic with friends and family, 
In your usual way? 
 
Will you stop to remember those, 
Who have been and gone, 
Or will you forget what this day is about, 
And just move on? 
 
Will you stop by a loved one's 
Final resting place that day, 
To lay flowers of love, 
And pay tribute in your own special way? 
 
Will you stop by the grave of a fallen soldier, 
Be they a stranger or friend, 
Paying your respect to them, 
For their willingness to fight for our freedoms, 
To the bitter end? 
 
Will you look at your country's flag, 
Each and every hue, 
And remember that each color, 
Has meaning to me and to you? 
 
To me, the red represents, 
The blood that's been shed, 
By those who have protected our country, 
And are now dead. 
 
To me, the blue represents, 
Patriotism at its best, 
For each one who died, 
Did so to defend our country's interests. 
 
The white, to me, represents, 
The faith, purity and loyalty of all who died, 
Thinking only of their country, 
And putting their personal interests aside. 
 
So now as you plan your Memorial Day, 
Hang our country's flag high, 
And stop for a moment of silence, 
Paying tribute to all who've passed away, 
That we might make it to, 
Another Memorial Day.


Details | I do not know? | |

Pyaasa - Thirsty

pyaasa (thirsty) – for guru dutt

 

i’ll have none of it

the glittering vulgarity on crude display

puffed-up egos wrapped in vacuum-sealed packs

adorning the sterile aisles of shining malls with their endless racks

 

i’ll have none of it

the broken & battered souls swept up in the tide

of holidays by the sea & drinks on the ninth hole of the course

deaf to all cries & whimpers but for the closing bell of the bourse

 

i’ll have none of it

the endless parades of ostentatious pomp & raucous laughter

deadened spirits aspiring for nothing more than an unquenchable greed

haughtily trampling the ‘other’ in the crass pursuit of what next desire to feed

 

i’ll have none of it

the willful silence of the privileged few among the numberless many

so eloquently articulate & quick-witted in hour upon hour of polite chatter

yet mute & shushed by sips of chivas when the raging war outside doesn’t matter

 

i’ll have none of it

none of this nauseating mockery & none of this reeking sham

i’ll have none of it for i was there once & lapped up the vulgarity of it all

i’ll have none of it now, though, so you may as well put me up against the wall

 

i’ll have none of it now for i was there once & soaked in that intoxicating air

i’ll have none of it now, though, so if tonight i sleep forever, i’ll be the last one to care

 

(for guru dutt-saab, 1925 - 1964)