Another weekend spent well
Thank you Momo
With you, the impossible are possible
God lives in YOU
29.10.12
26.10.12
25.10.12
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
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
19.10.12
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"
|
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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?
18.10.12
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
17.10.12
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
15.10.12
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.
12.10.12
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 LEAPING
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.
11.10.12
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 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.
10.10.12
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
9.10.12
8.10.12
SEASONS
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
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
4.10.12
Me
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...
3.10.12
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
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