archive - issue 18

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  • 10 Characters

    By Anton Krueger
    Nurse Marie Her lapel is a little faded and her lipstick slightly smudged in the corner of her mouth. “It’s an easy job,” she
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  • A Cry for Help

    By Ross Fleming
    I come from a long line of great worriers. My earliest memory is of Father, the morning paper spread out before him, tearing his
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  • A selection from a series of polaroids and paintings "We are Definitely Heroes" that calls into question our self-obsessed nature through the lens of
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  • a perspective

    By Lucca Munnik
    she’s a contradiction:anxious yet fierce andchallenging yet sensitive. she carries emotions that she hides from people,but then bluntly spurts them out when it gets
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    • POETRY
  • A shortish life in 15 shortish paragraphs   1.       Birth From the start it was all hard work. Later her blue-eyed brothers and sisters made
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  • All the World

    By Jeannie Wallace McKeown
    Hours spent dreaming herself a role in an infinite movie reel of lives; string theory says she’s living them; somewhere she moved to a
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    • POETRY
  • Commuting in Jozi

    Coming from Polokwane, a small town in Limpopo, Johannesburg is a big city to me. It is a congested, confusing, concrete jungle compared to
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  • Constellations

    By Caitlin Stobie
    For Ryan   We were meant to be characters: two queer geeks with a Tarot set.   Setting: the day of the velveteen stage,
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    • POETRY
  • de-identified

    By Kirsten Stolle
    de-identified examines the impact of facial recognition technology on individual privacy.  Using augmented portraits of 19th century women and an imagined narrative, de-identified explores how
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  • do you

    By Anton Krueger
    do you also hold your breath in movies when a character’s drowning, to see if you can outlast them? do you also miss those
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    • POETRY
  • gogogo is in love

    By esethu esethu
    REMEMBERING HERE an excerpt from "A Long Story Short", an unpublished novella   It was not always as contaminated, the nature of the resentments
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  • Hugh Hervey Walker

    By Molly Walker
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  • I am very angry

    By James Chapangara Mugabe
     Part 1 - Introduction Please let me rant! I am angry, very angry! I am angry with you Comrades Ja! Ek is gatvol! Ini ndakadumbirwa
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    • POETRY
  • I doodled your name by force

    By Naggayi Lydia Sanyu
    I doodled your name by force. Yes please. I was not going to be that girl who'd pass through her teenage years without ever
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  • It is

    By Kyle Allan
    It is.   It is a ball surrounded by lightning and the mercy of cosmic rays being hurled through space, again and again finding
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    • POETRY
  • Joseph: Starlin

    By Joseph Claassen
    Joseph: Starlin He rolls up on me while I’m whatsapping calls softly from the side to not scare meout here in the city’s dukderma man
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    • POETRY
  • Kinoti's Flower Bud

    By Michael Thuo
    A green writer is one in constant motion. This motion is in the state of mind: seeking ideas, inspiration and appealing to the yet
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  • La femme obscur

    By Lunette Elle Warren
    She’s a natural brunette. She has an incurable case of Resting Bitch Face. She’s a poet. She’s a dirt road that stretches into the
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    • POETRY
  • 1.   I hid in the church after they left. Some of the stained glass had been broken, and the plain sunlight bled into
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  • Meeting Kasiobi

    By Mariam Sule
    Few things have evoked my empathy like the evening I spent with a beautiful man named Kasiobi who has lost an ability that I
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  • Mostly about a Beetle

    By Anthea Garman
    Ken’s red beetle 1963 – I am three years old. I pose against the beetle in the way I have seen my mother do. Fat
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  • Mountain Heart

    By Maria Kjartans
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  • My Grandmother's Name

    By Louella Sullivan
    In her 70s the rigid clack of a label maker stamped out her neat name to be stuck spirit-level straight on cupboards, Tupperware, biscuit
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    • POETRY
  • Nairobi Is A Quick Lover

    By Waiganjo Ndirangu
    First flash: a business-bright billboard smile; A suit far too neat for the jam on Jogoo Road; A suit too well knit, too well
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    • POETRY
  • There’s an old proverbial postulate that the commercial competitive market model seeks to create the best possible goods at the lowest possible prices (now,
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  • Image Gallery Character resonating out hard into the environs: with physical manifestations in Heaven and Earth; for better or worse; meteorologically, geologically, technologically; synthesising
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  • The Garden's Memory

    By Louella Sullivan
    A garden is harder than a marriage you can’t throw sex or wine at it to pacify the wilderness that threatens.   A garden
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    • POETRY
  • The Gathering

    By Emmanuel Uweru Okoh
      Now I ask... What do you see? Eyes with shades of variedness Eyes of diverse vision A hundred feet in this room A
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    • POETRY
  • The prisoner

    By Carla Chait
    The clink-clink of chains along the corridor of area 354 is indicative of the approach of a prisoner. A prisoner is approaching and I
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  • The Running Man

    By Theodore Senene
    If you happened to be seated in the third coach of the 10 o'clock train heading west,  watching the luscious green countryside flash by,
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  • By the time they reached one hundred kilometres outside Kamieskroon, on the way to Cape Town, the rhythmic tikketu-tikketu of train meeting track had
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Kyle Allan

Kyle Allan

Kyle Allan is a 29 year old poet, recording artist and events organiser. He has published a book of poetry, " House without walls" in 2016 and in 2013 released an album titled " Influences". He has organised numerous events including most recently the UHAF ( Underberg Himeville Arts Festival) fest in 2016 in the southern Drakensberg.

Wednesday, 22 March 2017 17:11

Some things about this year.


Charity remains the most violent

And lasting

Form of colonialism.



No gift comes without

A future request.



When people say, it is

From the Lord, know that

They will be asking something

Of you soon.



The people that hated Fidel

While he was alive

Will still hate him

When he is dead.



There will always be

One impimpi

One Judas

One family member

One flesh and blood

Like you



Newspapers say state capture

Began under Zuma.

History shows state capture

Began in 1652

When van Riebeeck arrived.

It’s also known

As colonialism.



People are braver in crowds.

At home they can change

The channels

To soap operas

And sport.



The Nobel Prize for literature

And the literary system

Of awards

And hierarchies

Does not affect

The quality of your writing

Nor the essence of what

You say

Nor is it strictly useful

To your content

Or even your readers'


You will miss

The fact of your




Still so many crave for it

And the violent gaze

Of recognition


Do we want a knighthood




For every poem / poetic line

There will be ten

Exaggerated hashtags



For every original hashtag

There will be one hundred commercial




People still think sport

Is the greatest nation builder

In our spectator democracy

Followed of course

By special holidays



Before the revolution gets underway

The powers that be

Have already changed their outfits

And are leading

The revolution

Against themselves


A surprisingly peaceful





People do not have fun

In learning.

Things that are not fun

Become violent

Starting with

The heated words

Of our egos



Learning should be free. 

Data should be free, as it is

Another gateway to the book

Of the world.

Even the instagram pics

Have their own

Reality conveyed

The sharp points

Of captured light

And delineations of form

And the passing colour of

Being alive

Which can’t be summarised

In theses

But are found

With other realisations

The almost mundane

Beautiful insights

In the fourth dimension

Of all things

Suspended in the seemingly





Most importantly, living itself

Should be free 

Followed immediately

By a permanent home

With a name suggesting

We are here to stay        


And at times  

In love.



While modern art

Discusses the theory

And pictures are based

On a theory instead of

A theory based

On what is actuality

People take selfies

In varying perspectives

Of the miracle

Of light

Not thinking of the

Overused words

Truth and beauty

Or worse




Hatred will continue

In new forms

Long after the flashy

Takeover of all old


And the rebranding

Of the dictatorship.



Be here

Look out the window


Get out the house

Be on the street

Walk from place to place

An exile from every

Complacent truth

Awareness of your


Has its rewards

When you get back

Eat your phutu and black tea

Use words that describe

This actuality


Than start using your friends




A house without walls


Is still the only place

I can stay in you

And not have to

Pay rent

Or dictate

Our lives

Or be

Dictated too.



Write about

Things you know

Know about

Things you write.




Language itself never does anything bad

To anyone.

We do it

With our open mouths



The trends will come and go

But the washing never ends.
Friday, 07 October 2016 13:51

It is

It is.


It is a ball surrounded by lightning

and the mercy of cosmic rays

being hurled through space,

again and again finding itself

in the same place.


It is a ball made of razors

and childrens legs and bar parties

toasting another days defeat

and its return in hot drums

confessing night

beyond all referendum

and cooking naive rhetoric




insanity goes through us

like a train, a drill

coming in both sides

of the room,

both sides of a nameless


like two ears

blinded by sulphurous words.




it is not peace. it is

not death. it is something

else, this pure violence

where i come from.


it is not peace. it is

not death. it is something

else, this void where

it all starts again.




the preacher is preaching infinity again

and again. I know I will not leave

the room alive.