Best Zulu Poems
Do you sometimes see a Zulu Warrior
Staring back from the mirror in the morning!
A nasty fierce looking bad tempered dude
Obscenities flying out without warning
Crabbing bout having to make a living
But enjoying all the many accoutrements
If it wasn't that, it'd be something else
People just love to complain and vent
A shower and shave, you're almost human
Not one person will ever suspect
That a member of the Zulu Warriors tribe
Was a coworker of great respect
Do you sometimes see a Zulu Warrior
Staring back from the mirror in the morning!
© Jack Ellison 2012
The words of the Zulu coconut,
a once coveted souvenir
from an indulgent visit
to festive Mardi Gras.
As our hero speaks
two mice nibble
unobserved
at his
coat.
"Beads
were slung;
doubloons cast.
Grasping tourists
seized the trifling throws.
Floats advanced in the queue
krewes tossed their tokens wildly.
Prize gifts are meant to be given.
So I, Zulu, went from hand to hand."
Meanwhile a mischief of mice emerged
to attack Zulu's varnished coat.
As they quickly devour him,
his paint began its work
within their stomachs
to do the same.
Zulu's last
witnessed
speech:
"Far
better
to restock
the soil of earth.
Better to be spent
as nourishment to some.
Better still to end this life
by sprouting as a seed of hope.
Better than this: "paint may be toxic."
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
I am....
An Ashanti warrior A Bantu dancer
I am a Yoruba royal clothed in my Asooke
Dancing Adowa and kpalogo to tunes from wulomei and masekela
I am proud Masai
Standing around manyattas,
Jumping to melodies from the olaranyani
Eunoto is here and today I dance in front my peers in transition into a senior warrior
Oh how sweet the African rhythms
Imprudently lifting and soul soothing
Sisala sebrew on Akan drums
Highlife explorations unending on opus 1.
I am an Ewe woman
From the lineage of Nerfetiti
And a great great ....grand daughter of Nandi
My Gèle will never fall off
My Dashiki will never fade out
I am a Fulani herdsman
Wandering the Sahel plains of Africa
Along with a fellow Malinke brother
Who speaks fluent igbo and today we revisit our roots in Nok
I’m from Gao
320 km east-southeast of Timbuktu.
A descendant of Sonni Ali ,
Reciting the epic of Sundiata with intertwining soothing kora melodies from Kandia Kouyate
Oh how dazzling the African landscape
And glorious it's Heritage
Such rekindling and Homeric folklores
And a boundless diverse cultures
I am the African dream
mother's only son my father’s only daughter
I'm the incantations of royal fetish and message behind the talking drum
I am the African noble
Free from identity torment
I know of my glorious past and my colourful future
My city will bleed no more
Never again will i be a wanderer
I know my culture
And my alluring language
Ah how powerful the African names
Araba Termytorphe and Ifedayo chant in unity
Diallo Sissoko and Achiaa bestow serenity
Mbali and Lamisi elegantly wore their kente
Tonight we dance to tunes from the kete
For Yaa Asantewaa never gave up the fight
So we lift our hearts with emancipated minds
To reach new heights ! O’ Nana Nyame,
May you forever guide us with your light .
To me you are the
Sea life after you dance when
Can I marry you
There once was a tiger at the zoo.
His eyes followed visitors like glue.
Teeth sparkled bright white.
Chops licked at their sight.
He wanted Zulu on his menu.
© January 17, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Chaka Zulu
Dlungwana son of Ndaba!
the greatest warrior of all times
conceived out of wedlock by his mother Nandi and his father
voracious one of Senzangakhona
son of Nandi kaBebe, the daughter of a Langeni chief
born in Langeni territory at the Nguga homestead
bayete inkosi
The scorpion of Phunga
boy from esiKlebeni homestead
who was cooked in the deep pot of Ntombazi
overcame Msikazi among the Ndimoshes
son of the Mhlathuze Valley and Langeni people
bayete inkosi
Mandla kaNgome
who moved to the Mthethwa people
grew up in the court of Dingiswayo
founded the Ntontela regiment
the impi in the iziCwe regiment
Nodumehlezi
bayete inkosi
Axe of Senzangakhona
the warrior of Mhlathuze River
designer of the aniklwa
the king of KwaBulawayo, at the banks of the Mhodi,
in the Mhlathuze valley,
bayete inkosi
Young raging one of Nbaba!
the cause of Mfecane, Difaqane, Lifaqane
king of the centralized monarchy
builder of the Dukuza
undisputed, almighty ruler
bayete inkosi
THE ZULU CRIER
Where thou thee
Sons of Afrika
There over the edge is a halo
It's coming to crown the world
He who stands wear it first
So rise up my people, my children
For we had long remain knelt to the giant
That charmeleon, Ananse of our indiference
End him now with the swords of oneness
You Asante man marry that Buganda maid
You Zulu landlord accomodate that Fula
Thee Igbo barter with that Nubian
Yee men, men of this land, I call !
All tribes, all caste of Afrika
Know thy neighbour
Break the land's fences down
And travel the sands and the rocks
From Cape Town to Alexandria
From Capo Verde to Eritrea
And share the goodness, tastes of Afrika
Of our new communism
The twenty firsst revolutionary calls
Now, Now, before the sun downs
With joy and pride.
Awake Mama Afrika !
Still wondering
trying to understand my title?
well that just a name of my QUEEN,
that is my sister.
Hlengiwe the lady who raised me and my subligs,
in times of deaath, sorrow and weakenesses,
In times of hunger , poorer and anger,
She always hold our hands and say,
"together we can do it"
In days where we lost hope,
she helped us restore it.
She became a mother to us when our own left the world.
We were all young , but she managed to parent us.
When days turn tough she prayed tough,
because no one helped her to be tough,
Only God restored , caltivated and motivated her.
Young as she was she maneged untill we bacame old,
With her prayers and love we grew well.
Look at me now im grown and i am able to write this poetry.
THANK YOU SISTER HLENGIWE KHANYISILE ZULU
(The Battle for Orgreave Pit)
Cries of Zulu as miners rushed the barricades
Truncheons banging against riot shields
A nation at war with itself
Men of South Yorkshire,
United in the right to defend their pit
Maggie’s the Caesar of capitalism
Her legionnaires bought with 30 pieces of silver
Brought from the four corners of this septic isle
To take away another man’s right.
To destroy his culture, his freedom, his way of life
A democracy of road blocks and strip searches
England for the few
While miners live on Pots of rabbit stew
Demonised by the elected south,
Propaganda their stew.
Orgreave, now a place of forgotten ghosts
And Coal the driver of this great economic power
All gone
Memories, now overwhelmed by the banks and the city
But power is fleeting, a house of cards
For they too have felt the wind of recession
So beware the hurricane, or you too might become extinct
And what Caesar will save you.
Footnote to this poem
This poem is about the Miners’ Strike, June 18th 1984
As a young lad and bizarre as it may seem I played in a 5 a side football match at Orgreave Pit on this day.
My way was blocked by 1000s of miners and a cordon of Police blocking our access with barriers of Riot Shields.
We made our way to the front and asked a Policeman to let us through. To my amazement the cordon opened and we were let through.
Behind us was a surge of Miners all shouting Zulu. It must have been a rallying call, for me it was a magnificent site, a place of community rebellion, a place to be proud of. In response the Police beat their shields with truncheons. The sounds were deafening,
From the sides mounted police horses galloped into the crowd causing miners to fall and split. This was war without guns. The Miners regrouped and the Cry of Zulu saw miners coming over fields and down the lane charging at the barricade of shields, the sounds of the clashes were unbelievable. At the end of the day I was coming home there were coaches of police holding up their wage packets to the window at the remnants of miners now left, a final insult to the miners. None of this was reported at the time.
Do you sometimes see a Zulu Warrior
Staring back from the mirror in the morning!
A nasty fierce looking bad-tempered dude
Obscenities flying out without warning
Crabbing bout having to make a living
But enjoying all the many accouterments
If it wasn't for that, it'd be something else
People just love to complain and vent
A shower and shave, you're almost human
Not one person will ever suspect
That a member of the Zulu Warriors tribe
Was a coworker of great respect
Do you sometimes see a Zulu Warrior
Staring back from the mirror in the morning!
When you first hear those fateful words
It hits you like a thunderbolt
Although totally expected
The blood still drains from your face
You sit, disbelieving, shocked, numb
Not quite able to take it in
You ask the usual questions
How long have I got, will it hurt
Is there nothing that can be done
But you know, way down, deep inside
This is it, the end is in sight
The day you dreaded is finally here
That rock and roll lifestyle of old
Has come back to bite your backside
So you ask the only question
That matters to you any more
“Will I be able to eat nuts,
Once the dentures are in, I mean?”
Has God accepted
your burning
white flesh
yet?
As the blood seeps into the ground
nourishing the land
that was advanced by civilization.
The raped White carcasses
of White farmers
residents
and their ancestors
made them equal:
To the Black death of the dark continent.
Civilizations' fall
despite the gospel given --
that said love your enemy.
The pagan and tribal era has returned
--to dance upon the White carcass--
of autonomy.
If the savage had not been baptized
in Christ's name;
if he had not been clothed in civilization.
If tribe and chief had not been
absolved for sovereign man
--White man--
would not be supreme.
On the reservation is the tradition
of the primitive; still living their ghost.
Farther South they gather in the jungle...
Are they clothed? Have they heard you Lord?
Among the farthest East --they heard you-- and made you one of them.
Running wild in the streets untamed, the heathen rapes and robs in the name of social justice.
Saying your clothes do not fit and your baptism was not full submersion.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Under a thatch of welded grasses
Beneath the sentry trees and singing birds
A seven decade muse sits on a naked earth
Drunk by the tunes of choir birds
Creativity invades her weary veins
As she strokes the grassy strips
Expertise emits from her ridged visage
Her keen eyes chant the incantation of creativity
While busy fingers turn imagination into reality
Crosswise strips respect their given orders
As they conjugate the lengthwise ones
The perfect union of strips delivers a woven basket
She smiled and picks another
Note: Zulu is a tribe in South Africa.
Their women are very skilled in weaving basket
Written by: Joseph Osita
For Nette's contest:” Anything handmade
With unsettled heart,
I say this,
Though,I hope to be brisk
In this rage
And more...
I wish I relinquish
The flow of terrific vengeance
Going here and there
Moving like blood
Down those streams,
Thus exciting so much,
So much negative energy
That my veins feel ablaze
Uncle zulu!
Thank the gods for these tenets
That keeps you awake
And steady in this state
That in my stinking bate
I pardon your insolence
For not only d aged knows disrespect
When seen.
You that your other half showed mercy
You that never wish another
Such uplifting u wish yourself
Epitome of blight
You are darkness
With no atom of light.
The master of trade by barter
No wonder,
To fetch some gold
You would easily give your seed
Now in light
I would pronounce you worthless
Dreamless being
Uncultured
Happy that time made you old,
Some respect to the gray
But still no hidden Frey
By this you know
That though little the age
Respect is meant
For those deserving.
Dear uncle Zulu!
To you,another seed from within I seem
But should in-case
You try in your little head
To decipher the purpose of my being
Or try compare me with yours
I would say,
I am your king
The one who will
See your gray,
Go down flat,
In homage at my sight
I am the Joseph
From whose desk you shall feast.