POETRY

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  • contemporary foolery

    By Norbert Herrmann
    Startup Scaleup DigihubInnovation Technological RevolutionWeb 2.0 Transfer Internet of ThingsBig Data Smart Devices Agile SphinxAugmented Reality Autonomous DrivingEnergy Transition Industry 4.0Earth System Analyses Intelligent HomeFoster Framework Corresponding CloneIntegration Co-creation HackathonArtificial Intelligence Self-Learning BabylonWe accelerate to tenfold extraterrestrial speedWhile being soaked
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  • Fangs

    By Celeste Morton
    When you really smile,your fangs show at the side of your mouth, This is my favorite way to see you, In profile When you’re driving
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  • Le Pendu

    By Charika Swanepoel
    Life and death: they are one, at core entwined. Rainer Maria Rilke, 1922   I At first I thought, this must be midlife, but then again, it’s been only twenty-two years. I thought perhaps this must be the afterlife but
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  • Postcard

    By T. Michael Mboya
    The Wedgwood Bed and Breakfast, Melville, Johannesburg. 10.10.2016   Are my eyes opening in a dream? Or is a dream opening my eyes?   The furniture in the room floats In steel–grey half–light   The side table swims towards me
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  • She and I

    By Judy Chinel Gasgonia
    Did I just see her smirk at me?   Or was it a look of contempt?   I looked at her again, at my reflection, staring blankly at me.   Then we both smiled. "It is show time," I said.
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  • The Catching Game

    By Kamanee Govender
    They tell me to stay positive To look up and look forward Not to bring the darkness with me wherever I go But do they know there was a time when I was only brightness When I laughed when they
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  • The past

    By Sarah Frost
    What were you thinking, mother When you handed me a package with a watch in it, marking my tenth birthday, as I came to your bed that lonely winter morning?   The Rothko painting in the corner an abstract unreachable
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Wednesday, 14 June 2017 14:19

The past

By 
What were you thinking, mother

When you handed me a package

with a watch in it, marking my tenth birthday,

as I came to your bed that lonely winter morning?

 

The Rothko painting in the corner an abstract unreachable frieze

Me, mute with my longing for your love –

You, a distant angel, in buttoned-up Victorian nighty –

Dim morning light yellowing the pulled blind.

 

The quiet of that first house

echoes in me now, the years between an empty ache.

 

Later that day you would listen to Mahler's Songs of the Earth

Music heavy as a bowl of stones resting on a table

Covering the record sleeve, Monet’s field of crimson poppies

My father's first gift of music to you.

 

In the deep recesses of memory

You and I lodge

The  decades billowing back

Like soft muslin curtains

 

To show the garden of the soul;

verdant childhood trees  tangling -

The flagstones of my person

Laid down, flooring me.

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