Police lady kneels in prayer for peace* against echoing bombshells
Babe sleeps midst quietude inside mother’s womb.
*Philippians 4:7 ...The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
March 28, 2023
3RD PLACE, "Write BANTUs" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Suzanne Delaney; judged on 4/6/2023
"Two-line Bantu (or Abantu) poetry developed from the Bantu people of Africa (speakers of the Swahili, Kinyarwand, Kirundi, Zulu, Xhosa and other related languages). It arose from the oral tradition of “call and response.” In the rhythm of their work and perhaps in the spirit of a game or to relieve boredom, people would call out to each other. The first speaker called out a line that contained an image. A second speaker replied using a second image. This second image was meant to function as an elaboration or metaphor of the first."
I am proud of who I am
While respecting other cultures
I honour my womanhood
While I take pride in my manhood
Understanding it is to go through it
As I am comfortable in my own skin
Being inspired by the culture
May the ancestors be awakened
As I am raised in a Christian environment
Being mesmerised by faith
May the holy spirit fall on me
As I am about to raise the spear in the air
Being confident in my alignment
May the whole nation know
Appreciating my blessings
I am honoured of who I have become
While being thankful to the challenges and struggles
I cherish those sweet and sour memories
While I praise my enemies
To know it is to go through it
Trying something new! Spelling out Bible twice once on the left and once in the middle, not the exact middle lol 3 in 1 if you count the top Bible, father son and holy spirit
(According to a user from South Africa, the name Lilitha is of Xhosa-African origin and means "Light of God".)
Anchored by its feet hangs the carcass
Butcher removes brisket and strings it
Chuck steak diced for stews and pies
Dark well matured silverside rests
Entrails give the dogs a royal feast
Flank minced for spaghetti bolognese
Gullet chopped into stock pot simmers
Hanging meat swings as the butcher works
Icy still from the blast chiller
Juicy steaks thickly cut are parcelled up
Kebabs skewered, placed on display
Loin of beef neatly lined up
Minced steak patties for burgers
Neck used in both stock pot and stew
Offal set aside for pate and pies
Perfectly roasted beef ready to carve
Quick flash fry of rib eye seals in juices
Rump not too trimmed dribbles on grill
Sirloin anointed by a king sizzling
Tongue gently braised in gravy or stock
Utensils casting shadows on the wall
Venison from red deer's makes tasty things
Wing rib rubbed with hot spices waits
Xhosa cattle graze in pastures green
Yellowed meats set aside for soup
Zibeline hides scrapped and cured, nailed up
8/27/2015
contest Any Poem written in August
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: We Are One
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: June/2014
One day in Cape Town, South
Africa, an old man spotted
twenty small children, all boys,
ages 8 to 12, playing in a field -
The old man noticed that the
boys had no water, or food. He
had a basket of fruit, and took
it out to the field where the
boys were playing a game. He
yelled, "The first one of you to
reach this sweet fruit basket,
can have all the fruit!"
At that instance, one of the
boys said, "whichever one of us
reaches the basket first, will
share with all of us."
And in the Xhosa language,
they all said: "UBUNTU!" I am
because we are.
Giant of justice has visited Baba Umkulukulu
The lion that gave in to wolves like sheep
To be sheered for our own freedom has died
Father of the black and white
Mentor and hero of freedom
Our own Madiba has died
Anti apartheid hero sleeps with grey hair
As we dress in sackcloth to mourn the great Lion
Rolihlahla Son of Thembu has rested
Though We mourn millions with pain
But for the son of Xhosa
We pray for
Instead of mourning
We praise
Praise our own
Rest in peace Mandela
If the sun shines
Vicious that the hands could hold its heat
If the wind whirls and wails
Turbulent, with fierceness of rushing water
If it becomes icy cold
That it could freeze the mind
If the sky, sullen and sly
Suddenly wear, without a tear
And the heaven unlatches its showers
Unceasing regardless of the reigning season
If cold and heat engaged
In a no conquest duel
If there are mown meadow mountains
More than human habitat
With hills spreading and sprawling
Sparingly shares expanse of space
If the valleys are fast and vast
Height-locked by conniving hills and mounts
And the plains, plain and plane
Laid bare of thickets and thorns
If you keep ascending and descending
In rhythmical crescendo and decrescendo
If the landscape is strewn
With mingling lily white egrets and sheepish African cows
If summer, winter, spring and autumn
Rolls, in seconds, minutes and hours
If all faces reflect Mandela
And most voices resonate his accent
Then, it is Alice, another wonderland!
The little Xhosa town; the University town of Fort Hare!!
Eastern Cape of the South of Africa
The words in my head are beautiful.
They are dancing cheek to cheek
with Southern legato or London staccato
with Chinese tunes and Xhosa clicks,
with native Dutch, straight from the heart.
The words in my head are reluctant
to stand in line. They like
to dance and play. They like
to echo inside the skull, infinite
Ping-Pong straight from the heart.
The words in my head come alive,
naked at the stroke of a key.
Ribbons of red and green show
who’s been good and who’s been bad.
Dots on the screen, straight from the heart.
The words in my head are ready
to face the world. I comb their hair
and clean their nose and wave goodbye
until they disappear around the bend.
One day they will be back, straight to the heart
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