Archives for March 2013

A writer’s process – third session

Everyone is requested to think about their writing process. How would you define that process? When you say that you are waiting for a ‘spark’ to ignite the creative juices, do you know what that spark is? How it looks like? Feel like? Taste like? What are you waiting to understand before you can unleash your ink on the page? Is it an imagine of a character? A specific setting? A line? A face?

Whatever it is, do you understand why it is so important to your writing? To your process? Do you want to understand it? Do you want to control it? Take charge? Or at least make an attempt? If yes, I’d like to you to think of a metaphor that would explain the process. How does the metaphor capture the different stages of your writing? How does it communicate that process to someone? Can you give a parallel analysis of how the metaphor not only mirrors but gives a detailed breakdown description of the process? This information should enable me to follow step-by-step instruction of how you work. Is this possible? How detailed can you be? How much can you unlock? I.e. Someone once told me that their writing process is like a kite (metaphor). When they begin a new writing they envision the process to be like building a kite. First you need material; plastic, sticks, string, pins, etc. These in their writing process mirrors research. For instance, you need your grounding data or evidence – sticks hold or provide the basic structure for a kite. So they will look for them first to build the skeleton of a kite. In their writing, this could mean key grounding literature. If you are writing a book about Zombies, what are the basic elements which you must adhere to or establish for your story to hold? Etc… One can go on to explain how the metaphor reveals how and where the writer places themselves in their writing and defines a sense of direction.

If you’ve never did this before, take the challenge and you will see it will start to show you, at the very least, how well you understand or have taken some things for granted in your writing. This process might be spontaneous and mysterious for many but within that there is great room for a writer to
understand the workings behind it. Try new things, learn how to stimulate yourself and your writing. We might not have figured out the secret to teach writing but we know how to enable the process. So take a chance. Write a metaphor you think would best explain your process and post it here. You might be amazed at something small you discover about your writing.

Is this important?
Well, you decide.

Date: 4 March 2013

Venue: The Wits Writing Centre

TheWritersClu

Hide me

They said to hide knowledge from a black people you should hide it in the book.
That their brains are as short as their hair.
Today I hide myself with embarassment,ashamed.
When the future education is destroyed by corruption,when they are warming the seats with corruption and incompitence.
I hide myself when future give no darn about spelling and grammar.

When the only word can spell is ‘no job’ and ‘no food’.
Hide me,hide me I’m scared.
Scared for South Africa’s children.
Rather learn how to mislead the youth,and how to pay someone to kill anyone who makes your seat uncomfortable.

Than to end up being shot by police for mining your kid’s bread.
Or drag to hell for being you.

Someone hide me

let it go

i love you echoes in my ears
though from a distance
fading

as the wind sweeps them on the tee barks
grass and the sand
lingering, through tiny hole
body in cold eyes watery
hands shaking
remains my communication language

he, walking lackadaisically
as if it did not exist
without heart and care
after the venom,breaking
the fragile heart,
memories start haunting
like a winter wind
speechless.

tears dry ,forcing a smile
though heart is bleeding
accepting the future ,
and forgetting the past,
memories

Will you be there?

Will you be there when I rise again?
When the phoenix in me arises?
Will you be there when the universe gives me
the applaude I deserve?

When haters are left with no more hate for me?
When my glory shines even brighter than the morning star?
When I have conquered all odds?
When I have risen above and beyond limitations and boundaries?

Will you still be there even when you have
realised the greatness I posses?
When you’ve realised the marvel that I am?

Will you be there at my worst point in life?
When the walls have crushed on me?
When darkness seems to have won?
When beauty has faded?
When wrinkles have taken over?

Will you be there?and
love me still?

Walk with me

Though I may journey alone upon this path.
It is destiny that leads me.
My strength,a song in my heart.
My companion,a haunting melody.

If you should find me lying weary,
Broken upon this path.
My strength at it’s lowest.
No music in my heart.

If you should look into my eyes,
And see where I have been.
Would you offer me your hand,lift me up.
Would you walk with me.

I wish you’d remain young

I wish you’d remain young and innocent as a
newly born lamb
I wish you’d remain chubby,jolly and sweet
like the morning star
I wish you’d remain fresh and blossom
like a sunflower
I wish you’d remain with your sweeter scent of trust,
with your perfect smile,
and beautiful eyes,
with your contagious laughter that brings
the smell of freshly rained soil

I wish you’d remain the gentle untainted soul
that careses my life
I wish you’d remain the purest pure of purity

I wish you’d never have to feel pain
or the sight of cruelity
I wish you’d never have to witness
poverty and frustrations of life

I wish you’d never had to know the reality
of failure and disappointment
I wish you’d never have to
frown,curse or regret

I wish you’d never have to think
you know more better
I wish you’d never have to bite the hand that feeds you,
or take the easy way out

I wish you’d never want to leave
your skin colour or background
I wish you’d never be too lazy
or too curious of the unknown

I wish you’d always remain true to yourself and roots
I wish you’d never loose your ways,
customs,beliefs,dreams,religion and language

I wish you’d remain true,kind and respectful
I wish you’d never loose your way
or your virginity

I wish you’d remain young,pure,good
and always mine

Kiss of death

As you lay in this street,
Your body broken,mangled,
Your blood dripping of my hands,
Bones and intestines on display.
You cannot speak.
Your eyes they beg for release.
My mind understands your plea.
But my heart,
Every thing that is my heart says no.
If it must be mercy,
Then death’s kiss for you,
Must be thunder and flame.
Close your eyes.
Find a better place.
The last sight you see,
Must not be me.
The tears in my eyes,
Blurs my vision.
I place the gun against your head,
Hands shaking.
Hoping my aim is true.
I pull the trigger.
For you.
This will be release.
For me.
This is where my life ends.

She was

She was sweet,lovely,kind and cheerful
She was one of a kind,always cared for everyone,
always gave away our old clothes,
always gave me a good hiding whenever
I lost my school jersey(a habit I’ve since lost)
with a wet bath cloth in the bath

Always gave us a fit when we didn’t
finish our plates,
“People are starving and you’re ungrateful”
Being a kid then I didn’t understand
but I do now

I was my brother’s keeper,being the firstborn,
back and forth from creche I would take him
I hated it then,
but when another kid would make fun of him
I would in a heartbeat try to discipline that damn kid!

She left that day and somehow,
I knew that she wasn’t coming back
as she’d often do
It was June the 12th when we were told
of their passing a day after my birthday
we almost cried our eyes out but luckily we didn’t,
imagine being blind and parentless!
It was June the 17th when she was placed
in a brown box,she laid in it,
as beautiful as I always remembered her,
but she seemed numb,cold and lifeless,
I thought however that the box seemed
too small and stiff,but anyway it mattered not,
since it will be put in a six feet pit,which will be decomposed
by the earth and all the worms and whatever that lived in the earth,
in maybe a day,or a week or a month but definitely
It will be tattered and just bones left

She was our everything
She was our mother and provider
Our protector and disciplinarian
She was our guardian and mentor
She was our rock

She was our mother.

Turn left at the stop sign

It left my body
like a slow release of cigarette smoke through parted lips.
I blink my eyes, life goes by in the blink of one.
The flame of the candle flickers,
Green wax and the hum of the heat in my ears.

We paint our souls so that they’re colourful,
we fill in the spaces where the air seeps through
those spaces that are black and white,
because everyone wants to be significant.

They told me: “If you’re grey on the inside
you’ll drift through life like a ghost on water with no reflection
and not even the moon will shine on you.”

I cry out into the night and my tears raise the ocean.
The world is heavy with sighs,
the ground heaves and shudders
and is dirtied by sand-stained feet.

I’m walking on the tired earth with a tired heart
with heavy arms and a stretched soul.
Invisible hands have pulled my head in a million directions,
and I have lost focus.

The tears and the hope and the madness have evaporated into the air
and formed clouds of quiet melancholy that hang over the earth
like dirtied sheets on a clothes line,
blowing back and forth in the wind.

Indifferent

He took my heart and looked at it
he cocked his head and furrowed his brow at it
he blinked his eyes and breathed his breath on it
he smelt it and pulled a face at it
he turned it over and examined it
he stroked it softly and handled it
he dropped my heart and stepped away from it
he looked down at it and contemplated it
his love was empty, I could see it
his hands were dirty, he wiped them on his shirt
he left my heart there on the floor where he’d let it slip
his hands were clean now, he’d made sure of it
And as long as he didn’t get too close again
he wouldn’t have to face it, he could forget about it
so he walked away from my heart, he turned his back on it
because sometimes it’s easier to drop a fragile thing
than it is to take take care of it