Eternal Sunshine

So, I literally wrote this poem 20 min ago.... I hope you enjoy it... I was a bit tired (seeing as its 4am) so it may come across as a bit weird....

Eternal Sunshine, let it not be a face or a smile. Let it be of the mind be of the soul. Let it not form husks of being that would steal sanity from the jaws of enveloping madness. Give the sky a sign with which to end the onslaught. Make from the ashes of the eternal day a pillar or a cloud to lean on and rest. Eternal Sunshine, give the hearts of men and beasts to the darkness. Do not punish them for opening their eyes to the light, for loving the taste of the Calgary snow or the El Hebi sand, for being beings of the planet. Yet, shine forever eternal sunshine, and give light to Rah and Anubis, and life to metal mammoths who will live forever. Eternal Sunshine, do not turn a blind eye, for a blind eye sees only darkness...

23/05/2013

Really Long Hybrid Thingy: I'm Sorry

Upon further inspection, I've decided that this isn't in fact a poem. It has a few similarities though, so I decided to call it a hybrid. It has no formal structure, no rhyme scheme, nothing. However, once you read it, I thin it'll sort of fit in somewhere. Its actually very long. The longest I've written actually. But here it is;

I'm Sorry

I'm sorry for everything that I've done. Who I've become as opposed to who I was. Being a man, being a soldier, being wrong. I want to be different, I don't want to change. I want to make a difference, I want to make a change. But there's something inside me that won't let me be that man. Be the boy of 15, the boy of innocence. It takes the strain off my shoulders, the pain from my mind and soul and calms me down to a mellow murmur of a being. But I want to be perfect, and its so hard to be that. To be what I want to be, because I can't change me intrinsically it makes... Sense. Senseless... Senselessness... Please stop oppressing my mind with your thoughts and my faults and this court case that makes life a race to convince those who find it convenient to be lost for freedom. I'm sorry I'm not who I want to be, because that's just the way I see the world, and its hurts because I don't want to be... Or, not to be, or why do I see these stars above my head in the smoke from my mouth. I bled fire from the inside, my mind raw hide of a cow, a sow, a bough of a tree, that has no roots, but is rooted in the sky by the blue, and the white clouds and the grey clouds and the sun who shines bright and hurts my eyes every time I try to cry. My tears would well up in a pool, like stagnant blood if it wasn't for this... Release, deceased before I could live. My life seems so worth it, but worthless in this messy mauve melancholy that I made for myself. I'm sorry I can't be with you while I write this because what it means to me is what I mean to say that I mean to be a better person today. But I won't because I'm being held back by these strings that won't give any slack until my work here is done. But, could I finish it now, o cow, oh sow, oh roots in the clouds? I am, will be a soulless mess slowly undressed by this foolishness. I would lie bare chested and sore breasted from those times I would whine and cry and pray that I would die. But I can't just stand up like that because my legs are upside down and my head is in the clouds, sow, cow, now I don't know where to go, why I don't know where the wind blows. I came, I saw, I saw, and left. Left a note in my head that says "never do that again" but I'm sorry I can't be clean. Be unseen, be a ghost in a dream because the clouds I see are covering me like a blanket of lost hope, I hope I won't choke on this smoke because. Its not what I want. Its not what I want. Its not what I want... I'm sorry I can't do everything. Be a superman, or even a man who knows what truth is. Because you can't live without a lie. Separated, extrapolated, excavated like brain soup for the sun god to breathe down on the darkness. Planting thoughts in the sky like trees, like birds and bees. Like me. And I'm sorry that's all that I turned out to be, but, that's just the way it's gonna go I see. I'm not a soldier, or a saint, but this fight has been worth the wait, and heaven knows how much I'll fight, for what I think is right, but not tonight, because I can't see with smoke in my eyes.

10/02/2013

I am Egg

This poem is very random. Well, not so random. I wrote it towards the end of last year. Its pretty self explanatory, but I hope you enjoy it! Its titled I am Egg.

I Am Egg

I'm egg and you break my spirits. Lower me down to a place where I can't get up. Its so far away, too far, four mile oven that bakes, breaks my shell and turns me white and yellow, full and rich. I would have been a chicken but I'm egg and you take me away from where I'm supposed to be. you light me up, and boil me. Turn me soft and powdery like yellow chalk for the tongue. I'm egg and you meant the world to me. Kept me safe from whatever is or was out there. Outside the shell of my being. I sit and wait around or an oval, shape, cone and cup and container containing my being. I'm egg and you changed the way I see the world. No longer optimistic but darker shades of blue that cover my eyes. cover your eyes because I'm about to go supernova... Nova... New... Egg... I'm egg and you scramble my mind like Thursday's breakfast. Eat me slowly. Consume my being until there's nothing left. I'm egg, and I can't let you go like the hen that laid me, the god that made me or the hell that raised me. This must sound crazy but I'll be pushing up daisies and sitting in gravy but I'm egg and, I miss you.


2012

Ocean of Breeze

In light of my recent *extended* absence from the blogging scene, I have decided to make a return (mostly thanks to a friend and fellow poet who shall only referred to as Kartoffel. She reminded me (although I doubt she knows this herself) that sometimes stopping to smell the roses takes longer than you think, and you have to make time to do it. And so. I dedicate this very interesting poem to Kartoffel. This poem is interesting because it took me a week to write. Not because of editing and things, but because i limited myself to writing two lines per day for 7 days.... On some days I cheated and wrote three, and on some days I wrote one, so its kinda messy. Also, i didn't read or review the poem until it was finished (the end of the 7th day) so each line/sentence is the product of how i was feeling at that particular moment in time. I did have a theme though (ocean of breeze) and so everything circles around that idea. So, without further ado, here is the poem.

On the ocean of breeze i fly

I soar on top of waves

Ground sky

I see the fish fly and the birds swim

On my ocean of breeze I hear the world cry

Sink, Float, Lather

My Body

My breeze, My ocean of Breeze

As light as a feather I would walk in the sun

Drink in the salt Air.

I would wait for the twilight moon to shine darkness on me

So I may be truly seen

To bleed orange as the water 

Danced around me

And cut me like a knife.

The laughing waves tickling my feet as i ran away

From the wrong side of

Time

As an enemy, not a friend

Or a lover, or a confidant

 I look back at the ocean of breeze and see

My reflection,

Both sides of my face that are

Cut and bruised and hurt

And I filled the ocean with my tears,

And let them dry in the breeze

Ocean of Breeze

14/04/2013

Portrait of Her

So... Maybe this is just a tad bit late... BUT, I'm back. Sorry for the delay.. Internet problems and all. And a lot of stuff to do. But now I'm here, ready to post yet again. So, here's a poem I wrote last year. I can't remember exactly when. Anyway, a friend of mine (who also writes poetry) inspired me to write this one after a long period of writers' block. So, its a reflection of a whole lot of unsaid everything. I hope you enjoy it!!

It was her portrait. A picture of her that was drawn by expert hands. Hands that knew her every feature, her every beauty. But, did not know her flaws, her mistakes, her inability to be there at that moment to see herself through others' eyes. Her eyes were still, silent and blue like the waters in the lagoon. Her smile was still radiant, so bright it seemed to paint the sky. Te artist could not capture her voice. A sweet melody of happiness, and patience, and at one moment, pain. And she endured that pain. And when it was over, she smiled her smile and laughed her laugh. but soon her laughter died, and so did her smile and her pain. And they were gone forever. Just like her, only a memory on a portrait, a motion in a memory, a beam of light in the sky with the sun and with the stars.

2012

Hesitating

So, as promised, here is the poem for the day. I couldn't really find a title for it, so I stuck with "Hesitating" I hope you enjoy it!!

If I, Knew what to say, I'd say it without hesitation. but I'm hesitating and perspirating because the way you make me think is, out of this world like mars. Too far fetched to fetch but close enough to sketch your name on my arm. The one on the left with the memory of you, leaning against me because you were too drunk to see or make a move because it was your turn, avoiding the checkmate because you wanted to play with me a little longer. How much longer? you think as you, puke into the sink, headache, limbs shake,  period's late.You didn't want to go there but, you were too high on lust. I knew it wasn't love because you can't remember why you did it. You regretted every second because there are only 60 in a minute, and time flies when you're having fun. And, it is fun until you can't run from what's inside you.You blamed me because"who else could it be that put this child inside of me?" I took the blame but, I wasn't even sure if I was the only one who, had, tasted the fruit of Eve's own Eden because the serpent tempted me to. But, I took the blame. And Mars isn't far enough to explain the lengths I would have gone to, to save you. But. you didn't tell me you were going to jump.

02/10/2012

Name Change!!

I decided to take a break from the poetry posting for a bit to let you guys know what's going on. SO, what will happen, is that I will RENAME the blog to "Zandakar's Weekly Blog" this is because I can't look after this thing every day and I decided to post poetry every week for you guys to enjoy. This does not mean, however, that you can just up and leave things to the last minute. Still feel free to comment during the week! Also, comments are not restricted to comments, you can also comment questions about whatever, and If your question is answerable, it shall be answered!! I will, however, post a poem for you guys today! and then the next poem I post will be next week. Happy reading!!

The Ocean

Well... here I am again... Not by my own hand though. This poem was requested by a friend of mine. One of the only poems that I have written that actually rhyme. Its a bit longer than usual, but hey. Here goes.

I walked along the sandy beach, on a warm summers day. The sand was warm, the sun was hot, but the ocean, it was grey. I looked at this peculiar thing, and tilted my head back. To my suprise, the midday sky was an evil shade of black. Where is the blue of sky and sea? Where did it disappear? I searched the sand along the beach, but the blue was nowhere near. I searched and searched to no avail but little did i know. The colour blue had covered me and i was blue head to toe. I asked myself why i was covered in the colour blue. But then it clicked, it wasn't a trick, I was blue because of you. The fact that you had left me here alone without a face. Made the ocean lose its colour blue, and turned it into grey. Because you took my heart from me and never gave it back. When you left me lonely here, i turned the sky to black. Thats how much i needed you, thats how much i cared. I took the oceans colour, and poured it on my head. Eventually my head gave in. And a brand new heart grew back. The ocean changed from grey to blue and the sky was no longer black. The ocean will never turn to grey, and nor the sky turn black. Because of how you stole my heart and never gave it back.

10/04/2010

Receipt

Since i'm in a "post everything now" mood. Here's another one... Last one for today. promise

Receipt, piece of paper folded between his two fingers mimicking the cigarette in his other hand. Smoke. Smoke. Smoke. Smoke rings circling his mouth like vultures eating away at the scraps of his life. The receipt. Black ink on white page, what page ink stained fingers search for a plot. Turn, turn, around again. Like a lost ballerina on the edge of a knife. Tip toe to the edge, she jumps, slumps over the blunt edge. Dead. Turn, turn, turn, turn, turn, turn, and turn again away from yellowed teeth and burned tongue of lies and smoke and dragons breath of fire. burn the receipt, but the white page keep letters and numbers and close. but never re-open.

09/01/2013

Random

So i was doing a bit of spring cleaning ( in the middle of summer) and I chanced upon a file with a lot of old stuff in it. And, inside, I found this poem I wrote when I was 14. I have no recollection of writing this poem, but, nonetheless I hope you enjoy it. Again, a very short poem.

When it calls your name, you cannot refuse it. Held between your life and that of those you love. Possessing your every nerve, capturing your heart. To be sent to your own demise, so others may not perish. The beast is everywhere, yet no-one can see it. It only shows in your actions, it comes to you daily, and it infects you, makes you a different person. To cry for a loved one or to make a loved one cry, seeping through adrenaline, it is but a humble decision. It is called sacrifice.

06/10/2008

The Saint-Soldier

Another poem for you guys... Its fairly recent; just under a week old. I wrote this one when I was supposed to stop writing for a bit (strange right?) I hope you guys enjoy it :)

It was the summer of 69 or autumn of 94, or some time in between when people knew who they were because they were who they thought they were, they were, A Lost cause, no cause for alarm, the alarms ringing to this rebellion of a saint-soldier who took more lives than he saved, he saved; Crtl+S then Alt+F4 he don't know what he altered it for. his own gain, his own mad peice of consciousness that would unconscoiusly take his mind on a trek and warp it to its own enterprise, voyage, deep into sapce NEIN!! no... This is not my place or space to complicate the perplexed look on your face, I chose to be a soldier but that deosn't mean I want to kill. I just wanted to be on the front lines to find a cure for this humanity, our insanity, the force of gravity we fight so hard to get off the ground but we have no idea how long its been around. Its a part of us... War, gravity. they all smell the same;  like everyday when we wake up... But, here this saint-soldier did not come to preach about war, he, came to tell them that he wasn't the one they were looking for. He was just a man. A boy... A soul who would take some sort of place in some other line. line up. Regiment, battalion, army. He couldn't see, for he had been blind since turning three, because his mind's eye had been sewn shut... He made a promise to himself to never write home. never tell them what was going on in his mind, because the war was his and his thoughts the front lines... And the saint-soldier would sharpen his weapon until it went blunt, and he'd sharpen it again, and again... Until he could sharpen it no more and it was as blunt as his tongue, as blunt as his thoughts, his opinions, his mind a battering ram. And then the stars came.. And then the stars came.. And they woke him from his slumber.And he found his mind's eye cut open and laid bare. The saint-soldier... The saint-soldier...

03/01/2013

A Bit Of Background

So, while I'm awake at this unsavoury hour I decided why not just give a little bit of background about  the whole poetry thing... Well... When I was about 8 or 9 years old, I loved reading. Reading was the most amazing thing in the world to me. It felt as if I was transported to another world and each new page had a new adventure, or a twist to the story. That's when I had an awesome idea. I thought I would write my own stories! I was fully prepared to sit down and write this 200 page novel that I had in my head! But... I ran out of ideas quickly, and it ended up being a novel of about 5 pages. Size 20 print no less. Thus, I was demoralised. I had no motivation to continue writing... Until, when i was 11, we were given a class assignment to write a poem of some kind... I can't remember the exact assignment, but it was to write a limerick or a haiku or something short, but with rules, and... From then on, I fell in love with poetry. I started writing rhyming verse because, to me at that time, that was what poetry was. Lines with rhymes. I wrote a few poems that year, and the very next year I changed schools. It was a totally different environment, and my poetry grew from there. I learned about the amazing power of free-verse poetry. It was almost liberating to be shown that poetry was not limited to words that rhyme, so even those stubborn lines that end with the word "orange" could find a place there. We looked through a few poems, but did no real in depth studying. To be very honest, I actually can't remember any of the poems I did there. At my next school however, I did manage to find a niche for my poetry. When I moved schools for the second time, I realised that my poetry was different. it was, sadder, more depressing than anyone else's poetry. It still is quite scary poetry, but I've learned to embrace that and I "hope" its very good, readable, enjoyable scary poetry. In class I used to be extremely bored with the very long poems, and so, as a result, most of my work is relatively short. About 10 lines or so. And although many people seem to want more from my poetry, saying that there's still so much more that could happen, I choose to keep them short nonetheless, and leave the possibilities up to the imagination.  And that's what I aim to do. Create a template for thought and creativity, and allow the reader to finish their own version of the story. And, that's all there is to it :)

The Pink Rose

Here's the first of many poems to come. I wrote this one today actually!! All the poems here are original works (unless otherwise stipulated) so enjoy =)

The pink rose, pinker than the sunset sky, fell, fell onto the ground. One petal, two, three. The pink rose on the floor in pieces, in petals. And the pink would turn to brown, and to grey, and to ash in the fire. And they smelled like pink, felt like pink as they slipped through his fingers into oblivion. The thorns would prick through the fire, prick through the fire. Red hot like spilled blood, like shed tears and wasted years, and the colour of love. But, young love. Pink, like the rose, like the petals that fell, and fall that by any other name would have smelled as sweet, burned as bright, and the thorns would still prick and make bleed.

08/01/2013

Initial Remarks

Well, here we are at the beginning of a new chapter... Things seem to be going alright so far. No major mishaps, no serious downward spiral thingies... AND my computer hasn't crashed yet!! Its good to have a break from everything once in a while... Anyway!! That's not why I'm here!! I'm here to tell you what this Blog is about. BASICALLY, its a little bit of everything (but at the same time, not so much). Once every so often, I'll post something, and i would like you people (everybody), if the feeling takes you, to feel free  comment on any of the posts... A lot of them will be poetry, others will be more political discussion as well as just talking about current events all over the world (Specifically in Africa, because... That's where I am... But I'm sure you already knew that!! ) And hopefully, we'll have a grand time trying to figure out what we want to do with the world, how we're going to do what we want to do with the world, and reading poetry =) That is all I have for now. BUT, expect a poem to come your way first thing soon!

Themba