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Naked Visions

As my eye’ see darker into the light, my mind understands the
time that has past

the mountains are glowing with dusty purpule airs

the sun is far too far from the mountains. above the heavens darkening fields, I can see a few stars shinning, and right in the calm before nature and me, birds flying has descended

insects and bugs starts with their chorus, now every step I take is
in focus, but soon the questions of the day will hunt me in bed
till then peace becomes a prey

but then the night is prettier than
the day, its blinks in green glitter where neons has been passing, its fields the pastures of grass with tiling mist, even spring water isn’t fresher than the sweat dew falling from leaves

the night is still like a crocodile hunting, its quiet like the words from the bible, nrat as a staw hut

but soon the light will walk on the sky with the sun on it’s hands and morning will dress my visions

The Untold Blues Of Poetry

Still in a dream a shadowy light marches through the mind and
mist my past with a dreamy fascination, it filled all the cold voices in my imaginations

through poetry, like a ghost vanishing without a trace untold expressions cast a shadow over my imaginations, in the medit of silence crept lines, lines so diverse you bet this lie is reherrsed

my poetic being is scribbling in my mind, my thoughts are quiet and magical like the death of my character, I could’nt move to skate on the pad, I’m thinking, my mind flickering with the poetry, even the lad in me is awake, my passion, my inspiration, but I know this story wont be told

Beneath the earth Poetry is a key to a peaceful world that lies deep
within the mysteries of peace, I layeth still composing this magical bliss of sweetness I will only witness

the noise in my stress is now silence, Poetry in my head is the very best piece I have ever
had

all I can here is the chaos of children with echos of laughter ringging out clear, like the sound in the flaps of a butterflies wing, I realise i’v just missed a poem, I
could’nt do much it got me prisoned for reason, that why I call it, The untold blues of Poetry…

NB:The best poem I have ever read is the one that only appeared in thought

The Untold Blues Of Poetry!

A Lamentation

I have drunk to the dregs
The blood of my dead.
I splutter and choke
On the gore
That they pour.
I have drunk to the dregs
From the cup I’ve been fed.
The blood – so much blood – cries out from the sand:
Murder! Desist! Lift your hand! Lift your hand!
Mercy! Compassion! Stop profaning the land!
Lift up your voices, my children, and weep
and howl because life’s become so cheap.
Licentiousness, violence, disease plague the land,
Laying waste what was planted by His mighty Hand.
These locusts inexorably press on and on,
Reaping, depleting, they scuttle along.
Repent! Your transgression has reached to the sky:
there’s mercy for you, just look up on High.
Carnage on roadways – statistics just grow,
The blood and the tears cease not to flow.
Heartbreak and sorrow and bitter regret:
What if? and Why not? and Why did they so?
It’s just woe after woe after woe after woe.
Mourn for my unborn, cheated of time.
Grieve for my children cut down in their prime
Bewail the fate of all victims of crime.
The land is distressed
She weeps in the night.
Softly she mournfully croons out her plight.
She cradles all who fall to the scourge
For them she sings her plaintive dirge.
She’s been defiled – she’s drenched in blood
A never-ending crimson flood.

Death of a country school girl

In our backyard is a mound
Vuyo lies there – underground.

We have to walk quite far each way
to school and back every day.
We laugh and shout and run and play
and sometimes from the stream get clay.
Across the N2 it’s still far;
for quite a way we walk by tar
until we reach the beaten track
that takes us home and brings us back.

Woe to us all on that terrible day
etched in our mem’ries forever I’ll say.
Whoosh, went the red car – a streak on the road,
BANG went the bottle – we heard it explode.

A wicked sliver wedged up high
in little Vuyo’s skinny thigh.
She filled the air with her distress;
then, shocked, we saw the gory mess.
Our little Vuyo’s precious blood
poured forth, a bright red gushing flood.

It just flowed and it spurted and spattered us all,
and I sprang when I saw her swirl slowly and fall.
Terror-struck, jabbering, transfixed with fear,
“Sipho, run home and fetch Mama, you hear?”
Crushing her to me and holding her tight
I kept my tears back with all of my might.

I can’t recall the moment when
our Vuyo’s moans came to an end.
I looked at her and then I saw
her open eyes could see no more.
Our baby’s life had ebbed away
this was to be her final day.
When Mama’s feet came into view
an hour had passed or maybe two.

Off Mama trot at a steady pace
a stricken look upon her face.
She held Vuyo close to her throbbing breast
struggling for air to her tortured chest.
We got to the clinic at last but knew
for Vuyo life was long since through.
They put our girl in a backroom hold
toe-tagged and left on a slab so cold.

Our little girl lies in a hole in the ground;
we go there quite often to visit that mound.
We all feel the loss of our dear little one
she was such a joy and a bundle of fun.

35

35,
and on a train
two bags beside him,
all his belongings; his life
stuffed into it
Sitting across from me
35 and he’s lost
He holds his face away;
no grace in it, he smokes
a pack a day
even more, if he’s pockets are full
Where are you heading young sir?
He asks me, when I am not watching
but staring into my phone
The next stop is my stop, I respond
And you?
Don’t know, he says amused
35 and lost, still
There; then, when the train stops
He gets off
He asks my age, 21;
I tell him; and you sir?
35
Oh?
We’re the same age then,
I say;
young sir

Never Cease

In a single palm
Or at end of finger tips
To live and to have lived
Not one life
But many

The plea of love and light
The keyboard keys echo
Alone
In the dark

This twilight of dreams
The one who writes
The one who reads
Lives more than once

What then of love?
What then of filling or being filled by light,life and being?
This their verbose immortality
Or brevity sweet

The unwritten realities shall day with thee
Universes in mind
These words
These lines

Merely paper scattered with dreams
This pen and ink
Or keys
The life and times of endless beings
In thy death
They shall not with thee
Ever end

For we and they shall read and be read
And again
They shall with thee
Never cease

Masterpiece

At the hill top of no map, we stood with our eyes gazed upon each other,
As the moon stood witness to the beautiful presence of affection
Glistened in the light of passion, the two became one
Their heart exchanged magnetic eminence as their palms touched.
As he slid his hand from her palm up her arms, she became a prisoner of his passion. She clenched her fist and closed her eyes…as he held her wrist ,that moment in time was theirs.
The perfection of a moment was created when two strangers became one .
A soul mate…Oh no, A lover …no never……But a masterpiece they created
A masterpiece of a moment perfected because of love

Mzanzi

Her smiles are always golden, and she always makes us weep. with great hope and much embrace we chose her fate to not be weak, which way to go which path to take, she will never hesitate, to take whats hers without debate. She never sleeps and hardly blinks without a care she’ll let you sink. Uplift you much , this is her trade but just for you to sooner fade. Beware her sting and yes she bites, as hopeful souls stand up to fight, nowhere to be but in her arms, her touch her love her sweet, sweet charms. Cruel and loving she can be to make many fall to their knees. We love her so , she treats us well, but for so many a lonely hell. she is you and she is me, we fought so hard to set her free. Her work is done , she got her prize , all the joy of many lives, her waking eyes are filled with glee, this is yours this is mine, this our mzanzi. By Angelo ‘benjie’ Jordan.

The hallucination of North American poet Sylvia Plath’s Lady Lazarus

This image
Is just an image
Lines from a poem
That I have

Come to know,
To love so well
In sickness
And in health

There is no greater
Love than the flight
From madness,
Of sacrifice

A lament
A hospital bed.
And so I come
To her London experience

Her Ted Hughes
It was Sylvia I reckon
In the end
Who was Lady Lazarus

When you’re hallucinating
Reality is a snake park
There aren’t any ducks
I’m afraid

You can’t make
Lemonade out of lemons
There’s a show
And you’re the star

The spotlight
Is shining on you
You become Hiroshima
A kroeskop duchess

You become
A mountain lion
You become famous
Known for psychosis

You become
the doppelganger
of all ghosts
then overnight

In the snake park
You become a stranger
in your own hometown
Nobody calls anymore.

The Prayers of a Thousand Africans

You can hear the pitta patter of your feet as you walk along the
Dusty road.
It seems as though the road itself is mad at you how it burns your feet.
Your bag is heavy shoulder; your burdens are heavy in your heart
How you’ve come to hate school because they laugh and ridicule
Since you don’t have shoes. So you weep.
You weep because; shadow patches on the ground feel like a glimpse of heaven,
Because the moment you step in them, the burn on your feet begins to cool, you weep.
Children your age want iPhones and Tablets, but every time you kneel…
You say Lord…. if I could just.get.shoes…
You see, these are the prayers of a thousand Africans.

You keep getting up every now and then to stir the pot that simmers on your stove.
Your kids ask when the food will be ready, and you say in an hour,
And then that hour becomes two, and that two becomes three
And then they finally fall asleep, and you weep
Because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them,
There was nothing for them eat.
You weep because their father walked out, and the welfare stopped paying. You weep.
Women your age want handbags and heels,
But every time you kneel, you say Lord,
If I could just.get.Food…..
You see these, are the prayers of a thousand Africans.

You grab a bucket and hold it up as the rain comes in through the tin that’s called your roof.
Your shack quakes and quivers at the onslaught of the storm, and at any minute you fear that it’ll fall..
And when the storm comes to an end, you sit down and you weep.
You weep because you want a house but you’re unemployed, so you weep.
You weep because your wife wants leave you, and your children have lost respect for you, so you weep.
Men your age want flat screens and Play Stations,
But every time you kneel you say
Lord, if I could just.get.a.Job….
You see These…are the prayers a thousand Africans.

You left home seven years ago, and everyone celebrated.
The first child in the neighborhood to go to college,
They dubbed you “the special one”,
The one who would break the shackles of poverty,
They were so proud.
But then you got to the city, and it’s lights and it’s people ,
They, they confused you,
And you traded in studying for partying, and they kicked you
Out of college and now you weep.
You weep because you’ve been gone seven years, they think you’re studying your doctorate
meanwhile you’re selling your body for a few pennies so you weep.
Girls your age want twitter followers and boyfriends,
But every time you kneel you say,
Lord, if could you could just.set.me.free…
You see these, are the prayers of a thousand Africans.

You used to be a worshiper…
But you wanted to be part of the popular kids, so you
Got girlfriends by the dozen, changing women like you change socks,
So you got high on leaves, way up above the clouds,
They used to call you the man, but now you weep.
You weep because you gave up the covenant of the grace,
For the pleasures of the flesh, you weep.
You weep because you’ve got H.I.V and now you face certain death, you weep.
Boys your age, they want Jordans and fly chicks..
But you every time you kneel,
You say Lord, if I could just.get.healed….
You see these, these are the prayers of a thousand Africans.

You see, the purpose of this poem is to get you out your comfort zone.
You’ve been stuck in it too long, making a mockery of the Grace,
You claim you understand the Cross, but every time you walk out of church you bring shame to the Gospel.
Understand this- everything you have, is because of the grace,
Don’t wait until you have to weep,
To respect the Covenant that Jesus made on the cross,
The day he died for you and me.
And now he sits at the right hand of the Father….
Listening. Every Morning. Every Day. Every Evening.
Every Night, Listening…
To the prayers of a thousand Africans.

Sdumisile Mbambo
@sdusne

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