Conscience.....

The conscience of society dead
Propriety fades
Cause of mentality change

Fatalities great
Moms just pushing the dough
Grinding on the floor
Kids just looking for hope
but none in their scope
False be the language at home
And tired of their folk
So they step out on the street
Get drugs in their stream
Searching for the one with the light
To brighten their night
Cursed be the love of the streets
Bow down to the glitz
Pushing for acceptance they be
Thinking it's real
Shrinking from morality
It's profanity
The cloak that poisons the soul
And boasts of the shame
The pain that leads to the blame and a kid in the frame
Enthralled by the flash of the dough
She runs through the door
Now she's on kid number four
With nowhere to go
To feed her little ones so
Her back is on the floor
Caressed but stained to the core
Disease in her flow
AIDS be a couple of miles
The Reaper in her stride
Believe I'll be looking to the stars
My vision afar
A dream that once was alive
A dream from the start
Deceased like the look in her eyes
It's all in her mind

BY PETER ZOWA (ZIMBABWE)

PHOTO CREDITS:

oncampus.macleans.ca

Midnight muses and endearments.

An insignificant being,

On the greater scheme of

things.

Dancing fingers, nervously

penned a love letter to you,

Pity though

Out of words, out of sight

out of bounds, murky night

of starlit skies of no ink

running dry,

Its written in the sky.

By lebohang Kuenane ( Lesotho)

picture credits; www.wikipedia.com

Janet........

I've never been the type to say what I feel
So basically I keep everything inside
And with you it was no different
I want to tell you, believe me I've tried

But there's part of me that just can't take that chance
So I doubt that you'll ever know
Which may be fine with you, but it's hurting me
I choose not to show it though

I guess I'm your secret admirer
That name seems to fit just right
I don't know what I like about you
But you're on my mind, day and night

Maybe it's the way you look
So sexy I can't get enough
Or how you make me feel when you come around
I instantly forget all other stuff

Maybe it's the way you say my name
Or maybe it's the way you smile
Then again it might just be everything
Getting to know you seems worth my while

But I guess I'll never know what it is
My true feelings I could never reveal to you
I'll just admire you from a distance
I'm not sure what else there is to.

By 

 Lentsoe Mahomaile (Lesotho)

picture credits;africancolours.com

ZAMBIA- WE CELEBRATE(AFCON 2012)

‘A victory dedication to the Zambian soccer team  that perished in the  Gabon plane crash’

So beautiful a noise, a song of triumph

The street madness

Chants of young and old music combined

The colour of smoke and fire

The tolerance of the law

The muscles and the steam

A tumult is born from the only Zambian goal

Arrested by guilty is the desire to celebrate

Only but for those whose great allegiance demanded

A sacrifice of life at sea

A blend of laughter and pain

A passion for an effort of lost dear brothers

Whose memories we treasure and endeavour

With pain to let go

A flush of ages

Blood, salt, pain and ashes

An old tale of a mourning president

Whose fine words could not find  grace

In Comfort for the hopeless

It takes humanity

To fly back to a land whose past

Unfolds a provoking bitterness of a worst curse

And whose share is a reward of a prostitute.

It is Gabon 2012

By Clement Suze ( Zambia )

Photo credits: victoriafalls24.com

Inspired by Daniella....

*sigh!*
i'm falling in love with that man of yours.
Your partnership with Him,your closeness,i want that too.
I wanna lay open before Him the way that you do.
To let Him use me,&inspire me through and through.

Your happiness together.
you seem to withstand any weather.
He gives you peace within&definitely makes your life better.
Is it right for me to want what you have with Him?
Would you be willing to let me spend some time with Him?

I'm falling in love with the God in you.
It's weird'cause i thought He's the same God in me.
So either mine's a fluke or i keep holding myself back so i limit him.

I want what you have and i hope you don't mind.
I watch you display Him like a masterpiece at an exhibition.
I watch you take Him everywhere..and let him lead you.
Oh please introduce me-i promise i'll be good.
&i'll say all the right things,but mostly,i'll be honest and tell him-''hi,my name's Edwina. 
I thought i knew you,but please allow me to know you. Turns out i just knew a whole lot about you.''

BY  EDWINA MAZUNDA ( ZAMBIA )

photo credits: www.google.com

Her songs.....

A bird sings and a woman sweeps her yard
Gently she draws lines on the earth’s floor
With soft whiskers of the forest straw
Her songs are riddles never to be forgotten
Or lost to her baby’s ears
For she sings with pride and humbleness
That would soothe his cries and turn his 
Frown into a toothless grin as he looks up to 
A face so dear and holds on to the fingers,
The hands that brought him life
Later on, he will not remember but he does 
Not forget the gentle caress that tucked him in
And put him to sleep at night.

But when a new dawn awakens 
And dark cloud hangs over him
When his mornings are no longer filled with 
Music but murderous thoughts
He would hide the little boy inside him under the thick
Veil of masculinity, wishing it to protect him
He does not remember but he will never forget
The songs of his mother, 
Riddles that should never be forgotten.

By Boineelo Jennifer Legotlwane ( Botswana)

photo credits: mitchellk.photoshelter.com

Take me Home And I will Show you...

And I will show you
My strawberries
Invitingly Shapely on the outside,

Femme fatale RED.

They say do not judge 
A book by its cover
Hmm...
Take me home 
And I will show you what it means

Take me home
And I will show you 
The pink that belies the curves
The subtle but hysterical pink
A pink that is warmer, more inviting
Ever more pulling

Take me home
And I will show you
A pale white behind the pink
A discovery beyond another
A glowing fluorescent white
A white that lights up
From the inside out
Radiant, snowy white.

A white so white 
That if you blink 
You will miss the final layer
.a hollow space inside that white.
That rests cosily right in the centre.

Take me home
And I will show you the breathtaking beauty
Beyond the curves,
The hard ugly dimples on the outside
The femme fatale red.

Take me home
And taste the bitter sweet taste
Of my strawberries.
The beauty you can't hear
From the curves
The inviting pink you can't smell

Take me home
And see 
that this white chocolate ice cream
Coats the beauty that is ME
And Hides me and keeps me for herself.

Take me home and I will show you my strawberries.

BY:

 Gaongalelwe Mosweu (Gao Puna Gongy Mosweu) Botswana

artwork credits: www.google.com

Brunel University African Poetry Prize

Under the auspices of the Fund, one of its key facets will be the establishment of an additional prize for poetry, the Brunel University African Poetry Prize, awarded for a selection of poems by an African poet. The Brunel University African Poetry Prize is a major new poetry prize of £3000 aimed at the development, celebration and promotion of poetry from Africa. The prize is sponsored by Brunel University and partnered by Commonwealth Writers, the Africa Centre UK, and the African Poetry Book Fund USA. British-Nigerian writer, Bernardine Evaristo, has initiated the prize. Prairie Schooner, one of the leading literary journals in the USA, having published continuously for eighty-five years, has committed to publishing some of the work of the winning poets of the Brunel University African Poetry Prize. Wasafiri, the leading British journal of international writing, will also publish the winner. Similar arrangements will be pursued with other major literary journals in the United Kingdom and the US.

In collaboration with the African Poetry Book Fund, the Brunel University African Poetry Prize will develop a series poetry workshops and courses in Africa in its efforts to provide technical support for poets writing in Africa.

There will be a distinguished panel of judges including the poet Kwame Dawes and the academic Mpalive Msiska. There will also be an advisory committee. All to be announced.

Eligibility

The prize is for ten poems exactly in order to encourage serious poets. Therefore ten poems exactly have to be submitted in order to be eligible for this prize. These poems may, however, have been published. Only poets who have not yet had a full-length poetry book published are eligible. (Poets who have self-published poetry books or had chapbooks and pamphlets published are allowed to submit for this prize.)

Only poetry written in English is eligible. Translated poetry is accepted but a percentage of the prize will be awarded to the translator.

The prize is open to poets who were born in Africa, or who are nationals of an African country, or whose parents are African.

Submission Period

The prize opens for entries on 1st September 2012 to 30th November 2012. and the winner will be announced at the end of April 2013.

**PLEASE DO NOT SUBMIT POEMS UNTIL THE PRIZE OPENS FOR ENTRIES.**

Contact.

For more updates and additional information go to http://www.africanpoetryprize.org/ or contact Bernardine Evaristo at Bernardine.Evaristo@brunel.ac.uk.

The Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets

The African Poetry Series has been made possible through seed funding from philanthropists, Laura and Robert F. X. Sillerman, whose generous contributions have facilitated the establishment of the African Poetry Book Fund.  Mr. and Mrs. Sillerman have also welcomed the use of their name for the First Book Prize for African Poets.

Prizes

The winner receives USD $1000 and publication through with the University of Nebraska Press and Amalion Press in Senegal.

Eligibility

The Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets will only accept “first book” submissions from African writers who have not published a book-length poetry collection. This includes self-published books if they were sold online, in stores, or at readings. Writers who have edited and published an anthology or a similar collection of other writers’ work remain eligible.

An “African writer” is taken to mean someone who was born in Africa, who is a national or resident of an African country, or whose parents are African.

Only poetry written in English is eligible. Translated poetry is accepted but a percentage of the prize will be awarded to the translator.

No past or present paid employees of the University of Nebraska Press or Amalion Press, or current faculty, students, or employees at the University of Nebraska, are eligible for the prizes.

When to Send

Manuscripts are accepted annually between September 15 and November 15.

Manuscript

Poetry manuscripts should be at least 50 pages long.

The author’s name should not appear on the manuscript. All entries will be read anonymously. Please include a cover page listing only the title of the manuscript (not the author’s name, address, telephone number, or email address). An acknowledgements page listing the publication history of individual poems may be included, if desired. No application forms are necessary. You may submit more than one manuscript.

The Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets accepts electronic submissions ONLY. to submit go on the websitehttp://africanpoetrybf.unl.edu/?page_id=21#brunel 

Entry Fee

A USD $20 processing fee must accompany each submission.

Notification

The winner is announced on the African Poetry Book Fund website on or before January 1. Results are emailed shortly thereafter.

Please send any questions to info@africanpoetrybf.unl.edu.

Number nine...

He saw a land

But he didn’t know he was going to die

It is called number nine

He bought the land

He built a house

He died nine years later

He left no will

He left two daughters

He left two wives

Alice and the other

He left a hungry pack of wolves; extended family

Prance and pounce

Fight and kill

Who shall have number nine?

Not the girls?

Definitely not Alice or the other

But we wolves have a right to it

The war broke out

No longer was it to be called a family

Alice the blunt woman,

She knew she had a right

She knew number nine was hers

The wolves decided to shut her up

They stuck a knife to her throat but she couldn’t be killed

Then they gave her the drug of insanity

She did shut up

This sent tears and a warning to the girls and other wife

Don’t fight this war

This war meaning the wolves and the land

Pulling knives and holding futile meeting

The constant; wasting enormous time.

Time was flying

Life changed

People were dying

Number nine wasn’t worth fighting for anymore

But the deed had been done

Alice was made to shut up

Just because of number nine

Just because of one flimsy house

Just because she had been Ajayi’s honest first wife.

By Cecil White (Nigeria)

Artwork source: mtc.ca.gov

In The Corner I Hid Myself In...

In the corner i hid myself in,
i saw things i guess weren't for my eyes.
I saw the hate you have for me within,

the betrayal and what hurts me the most is your serpent lies.

I realised your weakness was to
appreciate me,
your strength was to keep pulling me down,
your ability was to mislead thee,
throw me in the ocean of your deceit and let me drown.

I observed that you're only smiling because you've got white teeth,
you're alive because it's a crime to kill you.
I then concluded that you're the reason my everyday felt so blue,
that you're only here because you're trapped in my tender and loving care...this damn super glue.

In the corner i hid myself in
i saw what no one has ever seen.
I saw that your heart is like a dustbin,
a place where no one has ever been.

I tried to close my eyes
and forbid myself from looking,
but i happened to note that you're the reason my faith in love dies,had you known how i hate
poking.

I held my breathe trying not make
noise
but your absence thou you were present was too chaotic.
It felt like i had no choice
but to sit there,recite a poem in my heart for the hurt I'm
enduring makes me poetic.

In the corner i hid myself in,
i died deep inside,
my negativity's grew wide,
i went from pillar to post asking for peace...God knows I've tried,
i bet you're expecting me to let this piece of combined words
slide...
however my tears have already been dried.

In the corner i hid myself in,
i came out strong
and wise,
for you're never wrong
but life is like playing with a dice,
the game might take long,
just make sure at the end of this game you won't be the looser
that cries...

By  Nomthandazo Tsembeni  "Lola-Lady Black Poet"  ( South Africa ) 

picture credits:  cc-writes.blogspot.com

My Best friend.....

The sun has become my bestfriend..
In it warmness I have felt needed and valued..
Takes me in and warms me up..
Never goes away until it is sure I'm safe..

The sun is my bestfriend..
It gives me headaches..
Sure it thinks its helping out but it burns my skin and turns me dark..

The sun is my bestfriend..

I cannot wait till it creeps in my bedroom window..
Smiling at me and glowing..
When its not there its dull and cold..
But it burns my skin and gives me headaches...

By Thuthula Sodumo ( South Africa )

picture credits:news.bbc.co.uk

ARE WE STILL SLAVES?

Black men bleed dead on Zuma's ground
No more to hear the piercing sound
Of white man's bullets flying by
Nor shake their head, or breathe a sigh!

So I ask, are we still slaves?

When...

Once and again on running track
Bolt beat them all, a tall man black
And did you not all clap with glee
For all the watching world to see?

And...

Black Barack kid from Kenya's hill
He rules sure at Capitol Hill;
Did not your wives and young'uns
Blow loud for him the victory Horns?

Say...

Did not black Ben with coal like skin
Make a miracle no eyes have seen?
Did Ben not share the Binder boys
And let them both to pick their toys!

Yes...

I'm sure you know Emeagwali
And sure you fear the black Ali.
What would you say of Luther King
Or Soyinka of whom we sing?

So...

Would Maya Angelou not weep
And Stevie Wonder purse his lips?
What would you say to Jesse Jack
And every great one with skin black?

Please tell me, are we still slaves?

*a tribute to the senseless Marikana killings

By Kukogho I Samson (Nigeria )

Once for Zambia....

‘To Dr.Levy Mwanawasa & the people of a great country called Zambia” 

We held hands in prayer
In a moment we all treated rare

And watched the skies
As we saw the Eagle rise

In the freshness of Dawn
Tears rolled down cheeks of strong and noble men
Their Hearts heavy
For the one and only Levy

We all stand in relation
One and strong for the nation
Like a tormented child hurting
With our hearts heavy
Counting our love
As we remember Levy

We pave way all
For a great soul
A good day has gone
Yet embraced by Gods Love and never alone

Deprived of Excellency,
Loyalty and Honor
Yet we sing for Zambia
So proud and free

May God remember you all my people,
My Land and the blood that flows under this black skin
Of the Zambian soil
Bless my Soul oh God, once for Zambia
And for the Nations.

By  Clement Suze ( Zambia )

picture credits:

businessinfocus.blogspot.com