Despite your intelligence mimicry,
You still come far short in your gimmickry,
Throwing down the drains fine masterpieces,
Flushed away as a fresh bout of faeces.
Nights without sleep to pen wonders on sheet,
Yet a lame detector brands one a cheat,
An app claiming to be a true genius ~
Is far from being labeled ingenious.
How long will your pretence rule human minds,
Before you're swept off by the southern winds,
That your charade may stop to fool the world,
And your foolishness may at last unfurl.
Strange how your fanbase keeps on increasing,
Even the most smart, you're daily fleecing,
These cursed detectors come in many brands,
Some free – yet some charge dollars and rands.
I'm amazed you didn't claim this was by you,
This bitter pill, your pride has had to chew,
But that won't stop me from calling you out,
To nip in the bud your infamous clout.
As I write ... streams slow
And a trickle of guilt
Flow, flow, flow
"Father, father, Faaathhher"
From beyond my gate and border
"Pastor, pastor, pastor"
Was the cry an hour before
He, Shady, got 5 Rands; he hoped for more
But as I write, I decide
Wonga won't be attended to
8 o'Clock at night? No, Charity will wait
I have shared uncooked & cooked rice
And the usual soups, bread, fruit
Coins adding up to 30 Rands
But mostly under 17; to enhance
My safety - giving minus predictability
So my "parishioners" see limits
But raised mostly Catholic, FATHER
Comes naturally to them -
I did not take any title at the beginning
They avoid churches, even at funerals
Tents at homes is the local culture
So I share a little, though few attend
Our Protestant style of worship
Yet, once a week I invent JesusLuvsU Day
Jesus is Love, Love, LOVE
A DECEMBER TO REMEMBER
Roy Mokoena
Who will I be without number twelve,
Time for gatherings and restoration of relations,
A lot of festivities but my birthday month,
The tail of the year, in it I was created.
Triple decades ago, I was still crawling, It felt
good moving from place to another with knees.
Like a thirsty stallion I could not stop crying,
The lullaby I always sang before the bedtime.
A December to Remember
Flecks of grey speckled over my dark hair,
I am now growing and becoming very old,
If age was a wage, health would be my wealth.
Rands in the hands, the poorman's daily dream. Brighter days, Holiday on a Monday I was born,
A bouquet of dandelions I received as a gift,
but songs and surprises are always a Joy for Roy.
Christ was born on the twenty-fifth day
A December to Remember
I was born on the twenty-sixth day
I am also a Member to Remember.
Be Strong On Your Studies.
Now learn-
later on, earn
you will then celebrate
with your old room-mate (s)
and don't forget your
friends
and those who gave you some rands ,
your siblings and
parents
always remain
important-
thanks to your class
teachers
for all the given
lectures
in all what you have been
through
your dream has become
true
now stand up and go
forward
and never return
backwards
because education
has lead you to this
destination.
Drencho_POET_Loads
LIFE.....
What is life???
Life is a journey
Life is a puzzle
Only the correct pieces to be connected
Connected to complete puzzle
Pieces which differ from size & shape
They made from different moments
Even if they fit but does not...
A human life.
It has to be the right format.
Life that depends in all seasons
Life is not completed with Rands or Dollas
Only those who has the strength to
Hang on will survive.
Life is a picture without a painter
Its a subject of tolerance.
Life is a gift from the Creator
Life is a Journey without a master
It is full of surprises and challenges
Consist of Great and Happy moments
Life is never good
Life is never smooth
Life is a storm just learn how to dance on it
It consist of rain,sun and cold weather
LIFE IS PRECIOUS...
He shuffles his feet like the money he once flaunted
Green between his toes, a bar of soap he once afforded
Toenails overgrown like spades digging for gold
He walks barefoot his state of mankind receded
Soiled worst that the shadowy projection of his silhouette
The earth sends his hunched over skeleton a R.I.P. invite
Down on all fours like a dog begging for a treat, he accepts
Pleading to God for forgiveness through the teeth he rots
Extravagant choices on the menu at the French restaurant
He succeeded in expediting a quick conversion rate
Omelette to cheques; chicks to tips; Rands to Euros
He sits dreading the wasted indices he reduced to zeros
The man who owns the hour commands power
The fool who doesn’t cross his 8 Mile grows poorer
Funny how money is loyal until the last cent
Once spent, it leaves without even a trace of its scent
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore —?
Was a boy who wouldn’t shut a door!?
Winter came in that year of yore-?
Sleet blew in and covered the floor. ?
Summer came with its bugs galore—?
Flies and gnats, cicadas and more.
?At last his parents, irked full sore,?
Shipped him away to Baltimore.*
*W. B. Rands Square—a shorter Victorian moral
*Mathematics&Poetry—based on a mathematical square: the number of syllables in a line equals the number of lines.
He leaves his soul on the pavement,
To be greeted only by the soles of shoes passing by,
Never stopping.
They are equally decrepit,
Equally as likely to be discarded when their purpose is no longer obvious.
He works his fingers to the bone,
To feed only on bones tossed away by licked fingers,
Never sharing.
They are equally decayed,
Equally as likely to be discarded when their purpose is no longer obvious.
***
"Help Me",
He says, in a voice hoarse with thirst,
with a tongue thick with pleads and regret.
"Sorry,"
I say, in a voice damp with machine coffee,
through teeth caked with take away food and regret.
I reach to the depths of my heart,
In search of something that might fill the depths of his bowels,
For something of sense beyond cents and rands.
I reach to the seams of my pockets,
In search of something that might alter the seams of his existence,
For something of sense beyond cents and rands.
I reach to the limits of me,
In search of something that might lift the limits of him,
For something of sense beyond cents and rands.
I cannot.
I cannot.
For this,
I am truly sorry
An immortal sadness, an eternal loneliness
Pretentious happiness and painted smiles
A life forcefully lived
And a journey made up of mosaic tiles
A penny for your thoughts
And 2 more rands for your heart
You’re my rose without thorns
Yet still I suffer at your touch
Manipulate me with your charms
And once again get your way
Promise to come back to my arms
And yet another lie it had to stay
I’d rather be your fool then a fool to loneliness
Even if it means dancing to a rhythm less tune
Stupid I remain for your controlling ways
Funny how scent lingers with me right through noon
Mpho Lebohang Mokhele
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