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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 | 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 | 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 | 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 | 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 | 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 | 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 | 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 | |

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? | |

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 | 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 | 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 | |

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 | 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 | Haiku | |

All About the Music: Bodies

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


Details | Haiku | |

Words

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


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? | |

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 | Lyric | |

COLLECTIVE TRIBUTE

A
farewell
greeted with
a Mexican
wave


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 | 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 | Ballad | |

Heraldry And Tribute

I'm just a sputtering old fool,
Muttering old school rules,
When times made more sense,
And neighbors were your friends.

Now trapped by utter frailty,
And fear of today's reality,
My moistened eyes fasten,
Upon the new age reaction.

No longer do we aspire,
No longer do we inspire,
Religious or national pride,
For now we must take it all in stride.

That which can utterly,
Steal pride in God and country...
Oh I'm a sputtering old fool,
Just muttering old school rules.

You open doors and say Mamm',
You do everything you can,
You give to the poor and especially,
Love your neighbors, friends and family.

For it is in giving all that you have,
Caring, sharing and loving all you can,
Which tells the greatest story about you,
And lives on in heraldry and tribute.


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 | 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 | 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.