Townships Poems | Examples

ARTIST : 3 - specular verse

contemporary Persian ancient 
blending intro-imagery with peach
                                    vulnerability            
identity a Khoisan outpouring on fields of Skukuza healings
whilst township dancers make their rites
              to bite presence on platform sites
              so will Gen Z’s make their 
 vibrant scratches on our rock walls
                   for Galactics to visit tall
courage was torn with rosemary bushes like
                                      biltong shreds 
                          ¥
he pierced her teenage framework newly     
                        smoothed with rosemary 
 galaxies watched in horror 
          scratched her legs with longing paws
                Gen Z’s roared their rage across    
                      the continent 
     she bit her presence into his poverty 
     townships waited in mourning
     her virginity ripped
     identity equals Acturian
             vulnerability is paintbrush memories 
             seven shadowy children 
             are to arrive crystal
             not through her uterus

April 16 Rain

April 16—Rain

No Rain



In 2025, the world ended
With the collapse
Of the worldwide climate system.

Monster storms of the century
devastated half the world.

But the other half of the world
Had no rain or snow
For almost a whole year
The once-green grass was dying.


Crops failed everywhere
And baked in the unrelenting
Blastwave furnace-like heat
Heatwave after heatwave.


Military coups took place
Fascism re-emerged
The public demanded action
The politicians played
The blame game.

With the collapse of trade
And travel restrictions
People stayed home
Making do the best they could.

Home-grown gardens
Proliferated.

Feudal townships grew
As people walled themselves off
To save their communities.

The rich build underground cities
While the poor starved
And civilization crumbled

Wildlife proliferated
As did neo-savage
cannibal gangs.

By the year 2030
It was all over
And the rains
Never came out west.

Old and New 2 : Boardroom

OLD AND NEW 2 : BOARDROOM 


Jackal preyed on dimpled dolls
smiling gold on slender wrist
nosing down a slippery path
scowling schoolboy promoted
beyond his mediocre castle


Mammals sat on polished teak
coiffed moustaches, tonged peaks
feeding unclipped grapevines 
old words and wounds
eating raisin muffins


Falcon scribbled notes
watching eyes serving 
newly ordained masters
legalese from a previous 
age flowed from fine shifting 
fingers in a cage


Overgrown thyroid sat there 
his infantry lost in teeming 
townships blaring transistors
interrogators of another time
peeped at a polished tiger-eye
on his seat


Minds like noisy tools 
drilled atomic holes in 
the boardroom table
beaded headdresses falling 
from fat oozing french seams


They will learn Christmas carols
in mint retirement homes
when the table losses its legs


©GhairoDanielsPoetry1997

The View From Up Above

From high above the mighty eagles soar
and gaze with teary eyes upon the land;
a proud and peaceful nation thrived, before 
the bombs began to fall with czar’s command.

Their saddened eyes see blood upon the sand
as innocence lay scattered on the shore;
they’re witnessing the slaughter now at hand
from high above as mighty eagles soar.

Her cities lay in ruin from the war;
her leaders pleading for a helping hand;
the world in horror watches evermore, 
and gaze with teary eyes upon the land.

Atrocities and pillage deftly planned
erasing all the joys from days of yore;
the villages and townships now unmanned
where proud and peaceful nation thrived before.

I cannot see the reason for this gore
nor endgame of this despot’s evil hand,
and history repeats itself once more
as bombs begin to fall with czar’s command.

And what will be the outcome of this stand
when smoke has cleared the war which we deplore;
and who will be the next at his demand
as angel’s tears begin to fall once more
                                             from high above?

July 1, 2022

Kuiken Little - My Own Baby Chicken

I
Siblings stolen
Why list the nations ills ...
Bring Chicken Little home

II
Kuiken has cage during light
Twilight cheeps, louder -- plaintive --
Back in box, quietest baby

Filthy Senryu - Newtown, Eastern Cape In Africa

NOTE:
In 2022, Nelson Mandela's famed South Africa, sanitation STINKS especially outside big cities. Municipalities only burn diapers ('KIMBIES', in local lingo) as women & a few men walk the LOCATION (or townships like Newtown for mixed race, locally called Coloureds). But before daylight burning of trash & plastics, dogs tear diapers on every street. One fails to convince even educated people of color to wait for the weekly trash trucks, or for feeding the filth to the fires burning a few times each week. Instead we have the following senryu situation

II senryu from South Africa
Rain in slow showers
Feed bush, Nature, dirt-roads -
Mud white - gel, torn diapers

Flying Down the Highway

Eastern townships
Land of settlers
A blur across centuries
The land my father loved
Land of my ancestors
Miles of nostalgia
Farmland at rest
Barns with cows and horses
Hills and valleys
Stretching for miles
Music to my heart



Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~FLYING DOWN THE HIGHWAY~ 2019
Also published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~A SIMPLE MAN~ 2020

AP: Honorable Mention 2022

Submitted on June 18, 2021 for contest ALL YOURS (JUN 19) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND

Originally posted on January 17, 2019

If Ever I Had a Country : Xxiii and Xxiv

IF ever I had a country : XXIII-XXIV

                               XXIII

IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were but the Home Secretary
I wouldn't sit on my baked beans doing my level-best to avoid responsibility
While waiting to pat myself on the back on Bastille Day down the Champs Elysée
I'd keep both public and pubic forces from running rampage on every refugee
But set about tidying the House with bleach to rid oath-taking secret skullduggery
That is, if ever I were but the Home Secretary
And even if I never ever had no country

                              XXIV 

IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were but the Interior Secretary
I'd neither arrogate nor take for granted Hobbes's Leviathan-authorised cruelty
I'd seek and demolish local townships' self-appointed chief mafiosi
Who undermine hotel-maids with virile World Bank authority
Who add to the You-Too Hall of Fame Hollywood-producer community
That is, if ever I were but the Interior Sec in Gay Paree
And even if I never ever had no country

© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 10, 2018

The Years

Spent my life in awe, lived it content and free
travelled the world letting my wonder show.
With amazing sights presented to me
in heat of deserts and dark nights of cold.
Started so young, then becoming quite old
adventures long past are tales to be told.

All the people I met took many forms
different colors and languages spoke.
Lived in townships or small family farms,
from boisterous captains to simple folk.
Some gave orders while others told their joke
shared gentle smiles and strong after-meal smoke.

Destinations flourished with cherished life,
remembrance of gratitude for times past.
Many hard times, struggles, lifetime of strife,
eons of traditions forever last.
Survival daily was the utmost task
looking back, the years disappeared too fast.

Still reminisce how the journeys began
those decades have made me a better man.

I Love Meadowlands

I love meadowlands
And kasie where africans
Celebrate their
Ghettorization
In the land of their birth

Kasie:townships in south africa

Mzanzi, a Teardrop

The half-eaten, rotten remains of a culture
Still tastes like success to a ravenous vulture
To his chin, a sparkling teardrop drips
Into the abysmal from their slipping tight grips

Atop the tip of a sunken continent
Stands a risen giant monument
Under the growing weight of sadness
And the crushing pressure of darkness

Subdivided scatterings of a united mind
In the palm of a blistered, quivering hand
Shaking fists of fresh ideas punch the air
Revived from the coma of stifling fear

Unsheathed from an embryonic oil of riches
The face of a stillborn dug from mine trenches
Muddled from eons of a dysfunctional family feud
Blindsided by camouflage to fall to a poacher's foot

Lead by the neon glow of a golden tooth
Into the gaping jaw of a lion's mouth
To walk in our sandals of pride
Into the distant, eyes open wide

A nation built on slogans
The cost was sure at a bargain
And the growing waves of black and white fellowship
The returns of the struggle are in the townships

Some Hours With Family

Arrival of the long-awaited day, 
Here comes the kingly Sunday.
According to the planning, 
After weeks of spanning.
The family was supposed to meet, 
To gather together and eat.

Everybody reached the venue, 
All excited to see the menu.
Served along with tea, 
Were gossips about he, she n me.
Loud noises of laughter, 
Will be remember thereafter. 

The lunch began with fun, 
No one was in a hurry to run.
The moments together were peaceful, 
The demeanor around was graceful. The memories were relived, 
Each other's importance realized. 

The impact was such, 
All decided to meet much.
Family is a strong bond, 
That can resolve problems long.
Its the building block, 
Of a fruitful future's stock.

Value your relationships, 
More than your townships.
True bonds are your strength, 
They have no extents. 
These can make you smile, 
Even when away a hundred mile...

Slum Dwellers

Rapid urbanisation of the last century
causes more slums to mushroom
in the major cities of the world
particularly in developing countries.
Unplanned townships make it difficult 
for government to plan for better
service delivery such as roads,
electricity,health,water and sanitation.
Local planning authorities should halt 
illeagal allocation of land which leads 
to the proliferation of slums.
Government should keep planning 
for the poor;and must find better 
solutions of phasing out slums
which have characterised many
towns and cities of the world.
And slums lie on a GOLDMINE
(PRIME LAND)which can 
generate great wealthy
for poorer communities.

chipepo lwele
29/01/2013

I Fear My Country

The scars are reflected upon the wrinkled skin
Carried down through the anguish of history
But Beauty shines through their forgiving smiles
We are a nation history has spoken to 
Yet We rejoice and feel free in the "townships" 
But still scared of being inferior in the "suburbs"
Why so are we mentally still in jail.

"I am free" proclaims our young minds
Yet we are captive to drugs and crime 
Being a South African means breathing hope
I am scared for my neighbour
Even from my neighbour
A gun has been called a visitor
In my home shared with my kin
For protection against our own people.

I am young with hopes
I am a young with dreams
Yet I am scared of living in my homeland
The beauty of my birth place escapes my mind
When a young man kills 
When a man commits murder
When a woman is raped
When a woman is beaten 

I convey the future of South Africa 
My beautiful and blessed country
Dear God help my country
For a prayer indeed is what is needed
We may not perish 
We may not disappoint those slain for freedom
We may not lay down 
We will rise 
We will conquer
Because we are South Africans
Because I am a South African

Cattle

oh, this grinding surge
roaring into battle,
how the air is filled
with the sabre rattle;
how the sky is blacked
by fires in their burning,
how the townships sacked
by counter-strikes returning;
how the guns and shells
through the air are streaming,
how the tolling bells
bleed into the screaming;
oh, the fight for land, 
conflicts over chattel,
how the days are spent
in slaughtering the cattle.

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