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Best Poems Written by Suzanne Spittal

Below are the all-time best Suzanne Spittal poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Suzanne Spittal Poem

To Maggie

Maggie Skosana
cut down in your youth
for the simplest reason
telling the truth
'twas the hand of your brethren
that cast the first stone
your supporters have fled
leaving you on your own
No one came to shield you
No Police siren rang
No help for the victim
of a stone throwing gang
Your pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears
No black hand outstretched
No holding back tears
in the crowd that surrounds you
as you writhe in the dust
You're a victim of society's lust
for freedom and gain
Look only to God now
for relief from the pain.

Did they drag you outside
your face in the dust
Did you scream, did you struggle
Did you cry "What is Just?
Where are my protectors,
why did they not come?
Your death knell was tolled
on a paraffin drum
Your legs do not function
you struggle to rise
They kick you and beat you
You look in their eyes
Many black hands outstretched now
but to kill and to burn
The stones pelt down faster
you have no way to turn

They called you Informer, a Traitor, a Liar
Matches held in black hands
light your funeral pyre
Your executors dance
hands raised high in the air
No one came to help you
No one did care
That you had a black skin
That you thought you were right
No help for you Maggie
From black or from white
The fire chars your body
your end has now come
to the thumping of hands
on a paraffin drum
We weep for you Maggie
that your death was in vain
That you died in the dust
That you suffered such pain
In the great Halls of Justice
those who committed this crime
Your Judge, Jury, Executioners
meet their maker in time
Their end surely must come
when it does it will be
to a slow...slow...beat on a paraffin drum.


Maggie Skosana was a young African woman who was burnt to death for unknown reasons during rioting in South Africa many years ago. I wrote the poem so that she would be remembered as an innocent victim of man's cruelty.

Details | Suzanne Spittal Poem

Man's Extinction

I wonder what everyone will say
on that last and final day
when the bomb has burst
and the sky's ablaze
the sun disappeared
in that deathly haze
of Nuclear Dust

I think I left the iron on
Do you think this will take long?
Did you put the dogs away
Shall we bow our heads and pray
Is there any point in making dinner?
There goes Mary, she looks a bit thinner
than when I saw her last

I forgot to close my Bank Account
Let's go to town and have a drink
It may be our last
Maybe we should wait till rush hour
has passed, I need to stop and think
This could just bring us together
as a nation 
If we don't all die of Irradiation

I think we should all bow and to pray
This suspension is going
feel the car sway
The Stock Market has tumbled before
whatever we've lost we're sure to regain
if it's not all destroyed by acid rain
Shall we see a show, the cinema's close by
We are so convince we shall not die

And die we did when the air grew chill
Irradiation can make you ill
It can also kill and make you feel lowly
Very slowly

Details | Suzanne Spittal Poem

Happy Children

brown rounded bodies
like shiny river pebbles
tumbling and leaping
with arms outstretched
sunlight gleaming on polished skin
sparkling orbs of water
splashed high in the air
the glint of sunlight
on copper bracelets
sand covering wet bodies
sandpaper children
with faces lifted to an African sky
footprint patterns in wet sand

Details | Suzanne Spittal Poem

We Have But One God

What do you say
when you kneel to pray
Is it for Health or Wealth
The Nation's Good
or merely for a scrap of food
I suppose it depends
on whether you are ill or poor
Concerned or just hungry

Any one of these
would guide your words
You'd hope that someone heard
your pleas to ease the pain
For worldly gain
For Peace on Earth
Or is it rebirth
that you seek
In a world of the meek.

Do you take off your shoes
Do you cover your head
Do you pray for the living
and bless the dead
Do you do it in Church
Do you go to a Mosque
Do you sit on your bed
Clasp your hands, bow your head

Do you sing,
Do you shout
What is it about
This profession of good
This praying for food
for starving nations
The lighting of candles
for dead relations

I find it quite odd
That we have but one God
Yet we cannot pray together.

Details | Suzanne Spittal Poem

Treasure

We stumbled down the bar last night
for a couple of pots and a fight
We started on Beer, just for good cheer
and then Brandy for good measure
she sat with us at the end of the bar
and said her name was Treasure

Some bloke said he was off to bed
and asked, could he take Treasure.
Now Treasure happens to be the wife
of a chum of mine whose doing Life
in a Central Prison somewhere
I said I would take good care of her

He pulled out a knife and said he'd do life
and it would be a pleasure to cut my throat
He was only thinking of his mate "The Goat"
and looking after Treasure!
I knew his motive led him to bedding Treasure.

So I bought him drinks and let him think
that he'd got the better of me
and when he was well and truly oiled
I said I need a pee and did he?
He agreed with me!
I smashed my glass, that made him blink!

We strolled out into the dark backyard
he was really taking his leisure
He smiled and murmured under his breath
as he fumbled with his fly.
He thought I didn't hear, but I did
I heard his sigh as he murmured "Treasure"

The bottle I'd hid in my overcoat pocket
broke on his face and took out his eye socket
All for that small sigh of pleasure
while fumbling with his dick
he would have to die quick
because no one messed with Treasure

Details | Suzanne Spittal Poem

Hope Eternal

I saw a young man in the park
with a bottle wrapped in brown paper
I saw him drain the bottle to the last drop
The bottle shattered as it hit the ground
Shards of glass lay everywhere
like his broken dreams.

I saw a cheap woman on a street corner
in a short red dress, with dyed hair
long painted nails that curled at the ends
I saw a man pick her up in a smart car
I saw the glint in their eyes, for the quick buck
and the entertaining company, respectively.

I saw an old man at the Bakery Store
counting his coins over and over
as if they would multiply in the counting
He eyed the sticky buns, filled with jam longingly
his glasses were misty as he left empty handed.

I saw a young woman with a purple bow in her hair
with a checked shawl wrapped around her waist
gold earrings in her ears that dangled as she walked
there was a child at her side in a blue dress
I saw the smiles that lit up their faces
and I knew there was still hope.

Details | Suzanne Spittal Poem

The Squatter Camp

some bright spots shine out 
of the squatter camp
coloured plastic houses
flap in the winter wind
bricks hold roofs in place
cardboard houses labeled
"For the Whitest Whites
 and Brightest Colours"
shine brightly through the haze
of winter fires
a bright blue painted window
glass missing, brightens up a wall
made of Chibuku containers

a fence of scrap car doors
rattles like a skeleton
in the darkest hours of night
when prowlers prey on unlocked
homes, for these are homes!
people are living here!
as squalid as they seem
there's living and dying
drinking, cooking and cleaning
going on here
just as in other homes
a door of sewn mealiemeal bags
guards the entrance to a man's castle
his home!