Another weekend spent well

Thank you Momo

With you, the impossible are possible

God lives in YOU
Their anger raged more than thunder,
Their words were as deadly as the lightning that the birds lost their melody
and the sun never returned
Some were on a quest to see her come undone
while others wanted to save her
There’s something greater for me out there
Something I’ve been praying for
Bruised knees have made known the tales of my quest
I surrender to the calling
There’s something greater for me out there
And it is in your soul
I wanna curl up in the well of your bosom
Tap to every stroke of your affection
and hear you tell me how you pined for my return
Sprinkle me with the oil of your devotion
from the follicle of my hair to the soles of my suffering
and I will worship you
You bashed me your words of piercing silence
Showered me with daily words of your displeasure
Words unspoken
Finally made me an ambassador of failure
So packed my dreams away
Blossomed in doubt
Till I realized the power of self
She expected a storm of painful words;
little did she know I came dressed as a Saint this time around
It just dawned on me that
pain haunts me
as passionately as I haunt slumber at night


I am tarnished and blue
Surely sinking
Drowning in and out of sanity


You took away your love and all I now have are shades of your presence
How do I attest you were real?



I'm just a bundle of pain and that's the closest I've ever gotten to joy

She adorned her face with more layers of "make me up"
Yet every nightfall she asked the Lord to make her as beautiful as Snow White
Little did she know that her beauty was her zeal for her creator

I'm the same colour as the nails holding up a broken house
Rusted and weary
Tarnished and blue
Revive me
Save me


My Neighbours' Daughter

She was a beautiful woman
Her voice must have been that of Mary
Her stride commanded sinners to righteousness
She was her Mother’s spawn
the reason for every man's fall
had every hand cling to her lustrous temptations
A goddess of wickedness

She carried the sins of men in her bosom, the well of tragedy
Around her neck she wore the bruises offered to her by the father who stole her womanhood every Sunday night
Soaking wet with compliments from men who left their wives uncelebrated
Intoxicating foul-mouthed men by the scent between her thighs

She clutched the taste of heaven at the tip of her tongue
As she worshipped the coins in their pockets
More so, when they clumsily read from her parted lips
Scarring her skin with their inharmonious grins and groans
Her intelligence insulted by their atrocious chitchats

She clothed herself with more lies than the fabrics
which were no more than 3 even on the coldest of nights
She adorned her speech with more fairy tales than the reality
she shoved behind her closet every winter night
As she tirelessly climbed the paradigms of her enthusiasts’ bliss
Her lovers called her art

Silently she wept for help, implored for redemption, the more she let escape what they confused for delight
As she hurried to a pretentious climax
The more she screamed I am coming, her mind flew to places only she created
Where she pined for her lover who never made it out of her imagination
Her fragment of paradise never made it home after the fires of that sombre night
She cried to the heavens seeking answers to questions she never dared to ask
Until that day of audacity where she’d make known to the messiah her pleas
A haven of broken dreams she knew she’d remain

©GayKindaLove 2012-10-25



My words are

Melody to the brokenness of my being
Tales of the damaged spirit,
A masquerade to the brokenness of my mortality
An escape from my nightmares, sometimes I live my nightmares through the words I utter to the world
Infant footprints to redemption
Hallway to my thoughts
The splinters of my dreams, a fragment of my reality
A voice to the lifeless parts of my soul I lost in the fires of change
Pieces of my suffering as I attempt to mend my own heart, to become my own saviour
A mother to all the demons that have become residents to my soul
Abstract ideas of my prospect
The only testimony that I breathe
My words are my mediocre endeavour at poetry

© GayKindaLove 2012-10-19

Writers' College

So for the first time I have difficulty writing and it's driving me nuts. I am trying to apply at the SA's writers' college for a Novel writing course and it's a year long. I had originally applied for an Honours' in Economics with an accredited university, the very one that enabled me to obtain my degree in Economics and Accounting but I had to withdraw my application because I am going overseas next year May for a year on business, so I am set to return from the “never never” land the following year around the same time and I have no desires to study through UNISA for my lazy reasons really.  Now Writers' college wants a motivation letter of 200 characters as to why they must take me and then they trick me and say, I quote


 Don't worry, it isn't a test! We just want to know a bit about you"


Of course it’s a test silly and I will ace it, as soon as I can locate my creative cap. At the moment I don't know why they must take me but I know I want to study with them, isn’t that enough? I mean what's up with these trick questions, they are not at all amusing really. It's an online writing course and it is therefore very convenient for my stay abroad but I just can't seem to be able to give them reasons as to why they should take me. It’s totally incongruous that I am unable to write this because I tirelessly write about a lot of stuff all the days of my life. I write about everything, everyone, everywhere, things I have personally experienced and things I see those close to me experience and sometimes my mind flows and tell tales of things I have never experienced nor seen but on this one it seems I’ve reached the plateau of my demise.

What do I say? Why must they take me?


I gave you my heart as an offering
A holy lamb to the communion of our affair
A sacrament for all my felonies

© GayKindaLove 2012-10-18

A Letter to all great Broken Poets dressed in Tattoos’, Piercings and Cigarettes

I would marry you if I wasn't already in love with your words. Now, it would be hard to distinguish you from your words and then I'd constantly fear what would happen to you and me if you ever ran out of words or were too tired to write for me, about me and about us.

I would marry you so I can see you wake next to me every morning, just to say I, once upon a time, was woken by the rays of the sun that came radiating through the corners of your eyes and be sanctified with your "awful" morning breath that wouldn't be so awful anymore when you are mad at me and aren't talking to me because of my love for other women, sometimes I obliviously carry the spirit of Jezebel with me and inadvertently err with my lustrous every wandering eye so pardon me for my gluttony. I command you to prune me to your liking, to the greatness of heart lead me.

I would marry you if I wasn't already in love with your words. I'd tell you how I fell in love with your rhymes and haiku's and how I yearn to be your fountain of inspiration, just a word or two in your poetic hymns, living inside your mind, the ink mothering every scribble, an inhabitant to your dwelling of creativity, what a patriot I’d become.

I would marry you so I can tell you that you are beautiful in instances when you feel your worst and kiss away the traces of your pain from your countenance. I'd tell you how much your words healed me way before you met me, I'd tell you how I played your voice like a record over and over in my head before you could even hear the sound of my voice. I'd tell you how the world stops when you speak so you can know your worth. I'd tell you how the world worships your very existence when you feel unwanted.
I would marry you if I wasn't already in love with your words. I'd scribble my affection all over your body just like those tattoos you elegantly wear and adorn you with piercing attention so you never feel the solitude of your world. I'd assure you immortality so we can bask in never ending pillow talks after our sexual debates as we mend the broken limbs from the wilderness. After every intimate communion, the scars on your body would let known the tales of how I worshipped the tone of your voice wrapped in moans translating pleasure, the intimate narrations of your soul. Your speech would be cluttered with words of how your spirit travelled every corner of paradise owing to my caress, how you tapped out of the Devil's cradle sprinting to my rescue so you can tan in the pleasures of my embrace and you would debut to the world the pages as you jotted them out  from my womanhood.
 I would marry you if I wasn't already in love with your words and I'd be your light to your journey to every cigarette as I breathe in every part of your soul you breathe out. I’d sail away with you to every piece of my mind just to show you that it’s okay to be broken. I’d let you surf the depths of my fears just to show you that I too cry at night. I’d let you nail me in anger as you rebuke me for all my sins just so you can save me as if you were my saviour and I resurrect to the power of your warmth.

© GayKindaLove 2012-10-18


I have died a million deaths
Became a haven of more graves than I dared to live
Became a widow of my own soul
Covered myself with the cloak of death mourning the glory of loss upon us
Dressed myself in more insults with a dash of curses than your devotion
As I dangled from the roof of your mercy petitioning for your worthy heart
Became an ambassador of your threats to disappear than your affection
But again and again I return to you
In hope that one day
you might believe that I am not what you are used to

©GayKindaLove 2012-10-17


A Poetry Festival

My weekend was flooded with words and it felt good sinking in too deep with no prayers to be rescued, seeking no salvation from this sin of art. It was a two day poetic offering by Word N Sound Poetry and Live Music Series in collaboration/partnership (I stand corrected) with Melville Poetry Festival that started on Saturday and concluded on Sunday. Saturday was poetry as I know it, PERFORMANCE, PERFORMANCE and PERFORMANCE. The Word N Sound finalists were bashing us with their poetic revelations and we (Nomonde, Nkateko and I) sat in the very front row so we were also blessed with literal spits from the artists, instead of going EEUW, I felt honoured instead, LOL, I am serious. I felt their anointing falling on me, LITERALLY.


My main act for that had me drooling in admiration was Masai Dabula, I am not at all into male poetry, well because I am an overly sensitive being and therefore women always know how to have me begging for mercy with their words that always seem to hit just the right spot, but Masai as unemotional as he was, had me leaping in incredible heights with joy, he had my friends especially Nkateko, on their knees worshipping the grounds he spat on and he was deserving of the adoration. His words were as perfect as the aura that travelled with him and almost as perfect as the love that left Nkateko blushing like a fool. Nomonde was validated, she always spoke of the greatness that resided in Masai and I never showed interest in her words until he walked on that stage and commanded the world to listen like he were a god and boy did we listen, such authority is too godly to be ignored. He totally blew my mind away and then Thandiswa Mazwai came in, Momo went all bananas and then she left, she came in briefly I guess to see what kept everyone in doors. If I go on about how she stole the crowd and became a victim of a million stares in wonder or how she had Momo go on and on and on about her heavenly aura and beauty, I will not get to Sunday, so I will stop here.


Then Sunday came, can't believe it was just yesterday, when Nova performed. I apparently have this love-hate relationship with Nova that Momo and Nkatz pointed out, which is not to be entertained at this instance, so for now I will only dwell on the love that I have for her, not that there as any aspect of hate in me for her. Oh Father, she is one talented woman, she is amazing and I admire her work. Lord how she blesses me is mystery even to myself. She stood on that stage yesterday, her body full of tattoos like a rebel and sang me away in poetry, she serenaded my every limb, and almost had me acting like a groupie but I contained myself otherwise Momo would have been embarrassed so I behaved myself, for Momo's sake of course. I personally wanted to misbehave and once in a while act like a hooligan in love but the audience would have stared at me in disappointment, the audience was too mature for such teenage tendencies so I was forced to maturity and I obliged. So anyway, she stood there, dressed in simplicity, her body scribbled in ink and her voice hypnotic like a lullaby and sang rhyme to my very being. She performed my favourites, of course she did, "The Re-Enacting October" and "A Love Supreme" and also performed the most relevant pieces titled "To do List for Africa" and "The House We Built". In total she performed 5 poems though I cannot remember the fifth one. Nonetheless, she knows how to take my breath away with her work almost as perfect as she is. Nova is a goddess, God's gift to my world, I wouldn't hate on her even if that was to make me a better person. Other people performed and they were also good but Nova was the definition of day and why at all I went to the festival yesterday.


So poetry signed, sealed and delivered my heart to the God of art in thanksgiving.


Yesterday painted her face
with memories of how the sun
left your side the other day

Via Grapevine Volume 1 Anthology

This day officially marks the start of great things that I am yet to experience. A while ago I was approached by a lady named Brigitte Poirson, an anthologist, who showed an interest in my work. Long story short, I had uploaded two poems on a poetry page titled "Poetic Design" and she saw them, fell in love with them and asked if she could add them in her Poetry Anthology and without hesitancy I agreed. Months have passed and the Anthology was launched and my work is there, one poem I wrote while feeling swallowed by the world and left untitled is there and the other one I believe will be on Volume 2 of the Anthology.

I am happy, I am positive that eventually I will publish all my work, all my poetry and the novel I am currently working on. Day by day I feel closer to my destiny. I am not taking NO for an answer, the heavens have just deemed me worthy of this breakthrough and therefore the world and its residents MUST open way for me and the universe sure is conspiring in my favour, the great Alchemist was right when he said " When a person really desires something, all the universe conspires to help that person realize his dream" . I am taking up a course for novel writing with SA writers' college next year just to learn the acceptable technique of writing. I have a story and I am ready to tell it, it has haunted me for many nights, took away the pleasure from slumber and now is the time for my freedom and finally face the demons of my sleep.

Below is the note you will find in the Anthology.

Tears leap from eye to eye,
Sorrow kissing every soul.
Insults seduce the lips of the pure,
Dancing to the beats of rejection.
Body to body, we move to the touch of loneliness:
We are children to the kings of sorrow,
The offspring of the mothers who meant to abort us,
Mimicking what our forefathers became.
We are the descendants of pain.

Thank you Brigitte.

If I didn't believe in dreams coming true before, today I am born again into something even greater than faith in the God of Art. Like he did with the great Psalmist David, he truly turned my wailing into dancing; and removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.


Maybe I don't have a good heart, maybe I won't make it to heaven, maybe I was destined for hell so I dine with the likes of me but I have always been good to you, good to you that it frightens me, I have been good to you beyond hell's approval, it scares me. I don't think I was made for such righteousness; it's too godly to swallow.

I try to make you see in me what I can't see of myself. Maybe I try too hard and sometimes to your soul's detriment and my own destruction but I will try even harder next time, I promise, even if we mourn the loss of our souls everyday in my attempts to save our creation. One day we may reincarnate to something definitely more beautiful than the scars we wear so shyly and we will be new again.


I'm a different kind of messed up
the type of damaged you wouldn't wish on your greatest enemy
And sometimes like now, I need to hear you tell me
that it's okay,
that I'm okay,
that you and I are more damaged than the world has to offer

You sailed across the oceans of doubt,
away from reality
made a few stumbles
and you haven't returned
to the sea of my delight yet

Dear Sailor

The day wore your smile today
She crawled up on me to remind me of why I fell for you
What a beautiful serpent she was
She wore your scent
that every blow from the wind led me to my home that is in you
only you won't let me in
so I slid the letter chanting my remorse under your door
She wore your big arms
that I ran to her, banged my broken self against her bosom
only she didn't hold me the way that you do
so I crumbled at her watch
She spoke in tones that resembled your voice
that I left a million voice notes on your recorder
hoping you'd dial my number even by mistake
The day wore your smile today

© S Phohleli 2012

My Faith

I stand in the heart of the burning flames unmoved

Rooted in him who makes it all worthwhile

The Truth about Fall

As she paged through the pages of my womanhood, I knew history was about to me made


I rejoice at the sight of nightfall
replay the moments
when you came on me that silly night

Twinkle Twinkle little star
The lipstick of your shirt shines brighter than your lies
Twinkle Twinkle little star
How I wish she was worth your loss

© S Phohleli 2012-10-09



You left me in the WINTER of my destruction
the 11th hour before my redemption
you rubbed a piercing cold from the crusts of my solitude
against my already cracked skin that left me
calling for the angel of death
pining for her as if she were a lover
like a chandelier I hung from the roof of her mercy asking her to save me
AUTUMN stripped me off the leaves of my sanity
as I SPRING back to regrets of why I never freed myself off of you way
before my tears rained
harder than the
SUMMER showers


Someone please tell me I've made it home
Safe though not sound
That life is still worthwhile

I lost the sound of my voice in the wilderness
when you came on me with your hand on my mouth
as you ordered me not to move an inch


I'm not your typical girl next door, not at all your "let's sit down and talk about it" typa girl and I know that I am not always good to have around. Sometimes I'm more of a storm than summer breeze; sometimes I swear and forget to write you love letters to hide under your pillow when you wake in the morning. Sometimes I'm more thorns than roses, sometimes I'm more on sad hymns than writing you sweet melodies, sometimes I break and expect you to catch me even if that's accompanied by daggers of words through your heart but still you smile. I see you everyday sacrificing a piece of your soul to teach me life, I see you holding on to me with your pillow drenched in tears as you mourn yet another part of your soul. I see you everyday teaching me lessons about God and self sacrifice...

As the night sleeps in me
I remember the reason I danced when the sunlight touched my toes that they curled up in awe
Loud cymbals in honour of the new day
I stood in the confession booth of my misery
And laid without care how recklessly I have fallen for you

You have become such a glutton for pain
that you feast on her
even when happiness
is on the other plate

I will never understand
how you always confuse
thorns for roses
Sometimes I think
you are the Messiah of agony


She let me roll my tongue at the tip of her tongue
and that's the deepest conversation we've had
I dribble and turned to the corner of her eye
and that's the first time I knew she cared

© S Phohleli 2012-10-03

The Vacillation

We hailed "Abba Father"
as we fell into temptation
with both our hands digging deep into the forbidden jar

We chanted hymns of disbelief
as we laid awake on the bed of our sins
under the white sheets of yesterday's declaration
The morning after the fall

We moved to the tunes of broken promises, uninspired
Dancing on flames of hurt
Echoes of silent words
with hands covered with the blood of our indecision

The oil of sin dripped from our crowns
as we sang Bloody Mary to our sorrows
Crucifying every word that once pained us
Nailing them with torment
through the exchange of bodily fluids
as we partook in sexual debates

©S Phohleli 2012/10/03