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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T. Michael Mboya

T. Michael Mboya


Wednesday, 14 June 2017 12:25

Postcard

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

It brings me my cellphone

 

Natural light at 5:30am?

I am far away from home.

 

In the front garden of The Wedgwood

A bird stutters a song about loneliness

 

With a wave of the television remote control

I summon the seers to tell me how today will be

 

Here the results of the weather check:

Young people battling the police

In front of an iconic university building

A bleeding priest being led into a church

A bus burning in the middle of a street

Young men looting a sportswear shop …

 

A stubborn dream is opening

The eyes of the young

 

It is another spring in Johannesburg.

Tuesday, 22 October 2013 17:12

Cold Feet

So:
after
and in spite of
all this
contention
in the blood
and its
consequences
I will
at best
be
- only that?
A good father
trapped
by high
voices
flying bat-blind
about a
concrete and glass
cage?
I can just see
myself
ducking
and grunting
each time a word
brushes against
my newspaper-
shield.
ME?
Monday, 03 December 2012 11:53

Apologia

And now
As the radio reminds us every day:
Rifles are writing bloody lyrics
Across our country.

For this reason
You would rather I stop singing
Of love and kindness,
You would rather I instead play
The kind of music that makes us dance
So that with each step we extol
The name of our tribe.

It is possible that if I stopped singing
The hope that keeps couples awake
And toiling,
Drenching cold nights in steaming sweat
And groaning,
Knocking on heaven's door
With insistent prayer;
If I started playing this music of our time
– The praises of our kinspeople
Will gather on my head, a crown.

To every bird her call, I say.
To every bird her call.

No. I will not sing
Songs that tether dancer-feet
To the rhythm of a drill.
Yes. I will continue singing
This commonplace hope
And its labour.

Without them nothing is.