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