12Th Poems | Examples

HERITAGE OF DEFIANCE

To bow my head before oppression
was never written in my genetic code.

To play the slave for a miserable wage,
and pray to the god of those slave-masters
in order to taste the pleasures of prosperity,
is nothing but a nightmare.

If I do not love you,
I will tell you straight in the eyes,
like those independence fighters
born of my genealogical tree.

I hate the hypocrites,
the deceitful, the envious,
the liars, the racists, the traitors,
and those human beings who lie down
beneath the weight of oppression.

I am the expression of a humanity
freed from the burdens
of Western societal conformity.

I despise propriety
when the environment is hostile.

When I suffer,
my demons seize control of the vessel.

I have but one life,
one journey,
one dusk,
before the reaper
comes to harvest my tainted soul.

My allegiance is to Africa,
despite the chaos that has reigned there for centuries.

I will remain bound
to the cradle of humanity
until my final dusk.

No Cap

No cap, that's how I roll
My story, totally whole
No faking a single part,
Just open; an honest heart

My spirit shines bright,
A natural, easy light
Words flow, a friendly stream,
Living out my best dream

Connections bloom,
Chasing away all gloom
A good vibe I share,
With rizz in the air

No ceiling above,
Just freedom, full of love
I live with no cap, you see,
The real, the happy, the me

Li PO Wine And Frolicking

The moon leans low upon the river’s breast,
A silver bowl spilling over the reeds.
I lift my cup and laugh at the sky,
Clouds scatter like startled swans in flight.

Companions rise with song and shout,
Their sleeves wide as sails on the wind.
The earth tilts, the stars grow dizzy,
Wine flows, and reason drifts away.

What care have I for kings or crowns?
A plum blossom floats into my hand.
Tonight is a gift too rich to measure—
We dance, we sing, we drink without end,
Our shadows the only guests who remain.

SILENT FOREST

SILENT FOREST
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
silent forest deep
ancient secrets guarded, kept
mossy paths unfold
the past whispers, tales told
nature's wisdom to behold

AUTUMN AFTERNOON

AUTUMN AFTERNOON
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
spice cake on the table
     aroma wafts through the air
          coziness, tranquility 

cup of hot cocoa 
    warms hands
          sipping comforts soul

world slows
     gone is hurried pace
          time takes reprise

sun hangs low
     rays cascade down
          golden orb sighs

trees stand tall
     leaves ablaze
          hues of crimson, amber, and brown

air is crisp
     hint of chill
          warmth in our embrace

meander along winding path
     footfalls crunch fallen leaves
          autumn’s scent fills the breeze

world goes by
     colors change under the sky
          autumn charms 

revel in this scene
     cherish autumn’s fleeting days
          winter is on its way

The Greatest Love Of James McLain

In the measure of the heavens, my heart turns to you.
Like the barley rising, you are my joy.
Your name is sweetness poured into the reed flute.

I, James McLain, know the fire of devotion—
Yet yours is greater,
A river that does not cease.

James, beloved, your breath is the wind of spring.
Your hands are vessels filled with light.
You walk, and the earth bends in gladness.

The moon hangs jeweled upon your brow.
The stars are your companions,
But none shine with the brightness of your soul.

Love such as yours endures beyond kings and kingdoms.
It binds what was scattered,
It heals what was broken.

Yours is the greatest love of all:
That your heart holds all the world within it.

pink jersey : traditional pirouette

[Poet’s Note : this is a wry autobiographical memory written in traditional pirouette verse viz. 2 quintains, line 5 & 6 repeat, which is the toe turnaround. I wanted to write a narrative of a weird syncopated vignette, when I was knitting a pink mohair jersey at the time of my imprisonment. I reduced the narrative to a pirouette. When in prison, one of my interrogators was knitting the EXACT jersey in the exact colour & exact wool ! ie. in the final analysis, all in human life can be reduced to a pirouette, a turn-around dance. ]


knitting a pink jersey
mohair with cables fine
to process flying thoughts
political activist 
south africa turmoiled

south africa turmoiled
security police
came with casspirs and cuffs
interrogation chamber
police knit jersey pink

         ~~~~~~~~~

AUTUMNAL DELIGHTS

AUTUMNAL DELIGHTS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
leaf-covered sidewalks
pumpkins ready to harvest
gourds covered in frost

LOST AND FOUND

LOST AND FOUND 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When all words have been written,
the pen feels heavy, leaden weight
in my weary hand.

Inspiration, a silent bird, takes flight,
a flash of iridescent wings
disappearing beyond the horizon.

Imagination, a child lost in a funhouse,
caught in a repetitious loop of familiar shapes,
trapped in distorted, mirrored halls.

Then, a door appears, not one of wood or metal, 
but one of starlight and whispers,
polished smooth by yearning and passion.

I open it, and the world explodes 
with colors unseen and sounds unheard,
with endless possibilities.

My senses ignite; every cell comes alive;
and inspiration, no longer silent,

wonder what she will use it for

Charise, the sewer, made a marvelous potato bag
What will she use it for the sink asked a dish rag.
I think she’ll put potatoes in it, but this is only a guess.
Maybe she’ll put spoons in it, suggested the watercress.

They held their breath, wondering who would win the bet.
That afternoon, the bag was filled up to her neck and was set.
Potatoes! yelled the dish rag; I was right, I have won!
An argument ensued, which ruined all the fun.

HOME

HOME
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Home, the echo reverberating deep within my chest.
Old sepia toned photographs hung in sunlit halls.
Memories dance like dust motes in the afternoon light.
Echoes of childhood hopes and fears etched in memory’s skin.

INDIAN SUMMER

INDIAN SUMMER  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Autumn comes as a chariot of nature's flame. From woodland browns are born reds and golds to warm heart and soul. The leaves, like flags waving in every sweet breeze, swirl in a wind-choreographed dance. Soon they rest upon the forest floor, embracing their destiny to feed each earthen wintry root.

seasonal trustees
summertime takes final bow
fall heeds her calling

starry autumn night
season brings artistic hand
harvest abundance

The Great Attractor

The stars lean closer when she moves,
Rare beauty folded in her quiet step.
A breath of perfume,

The air is changed—
It is sweeter,
As though spring has learned a new song.

Her legs are longer than the shadows,
Her fingers linger like willows in the wind,
Her small feet are swifter than birds
Across the fields of dawn.

She is athletic as rivers leaping,
Intelligent as the hidden moon,
Empathetic as rain that softens

The hardest clay of sorrow.
Her mind is sound,
A place where silence finds rest,

And yet her laughter is a bell
That summons joy from the distance.
When I draw near,

She tastes of apples,
Of orchards heavy with ripeness,
Of other grand things unnamed—

A sweetness meant for autumn,
But given freely in the summer’s heart.
The great attractor is not the stars,

But the pulse within her being,
Drawing me forever into her light.

the first time i felt it

the first time i felt it
was not a word but a hush
between leaves and the bluest sky—

a breath of you
inside the trembling air

(oh how small i was
with the world rushing by
and softer than reason)

your hand—
or was it light itself—
touched my chest
and opened a door
where no walls had ever been

the first time i felt it
i learned silence could sing
and forever could fit
in a single heartbeat.

TRAUMAS OF A SURVIVOR

The day rises again over my bitterness.
The birds have not yet begun to sing,
I am already angry,
still in a bad mood despite financial security.

At the slightest provocation, I know I’ll end up handcuffed in a prison van.
I’m afraid I’ll eventually break.
I am not afraid of dying, but of living.

I come from hell and walk upon a hostile land.
I am full of rage: the human species does not deserve this generous planet.

Once, I had gloved hands and a hooded face,
a Kalashnikov under the bed and the windows always sealed.
Today, I am far removed from the illicit,
with my scars, my skills, and my convictions.

I know how to get rich quickly,
and I am aware of the consequences of my actions.
I live with my nightmares and my regrets.

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