My Ancestors' Dream

I stand as my ancestors dream,

four limbed and crowned with rubies of enlightenment and diamonds of individual tone.

I stand bathed in their tears and sweat and lotioned in their beauty.

I am their endless prayers mumbled and some wailed to Someone behind a moon

radiating the twinkles in their eyes,

unanswered in their lifetime.

I am born of a freedom swarmed by swallows slicing the air with their edged wings.

I am words to songs conceived by illiterate minds and submissive hearts,

 to men and women whose electrifying voices survived through generations

to finally give my life a song to sing.

To those who have witnessed the earth in it's virgin youth and fed on it's purity,

the sun in it's young delight and tamed it's playful beams.

Those who ploughed and planted well wishes of wealth and good health in the ever rich soil

with scarred memories as hands for the welfare

of the remnant of their existance in a time of freedom.

The dreams that will never meet and shake hands with their dreamers.

I am wings for them to soar beyond the only skies they ever knew.

I am their hope and truth and though they are forever silenced I am their every word.

I couldn't go to sleep without a bit of her. This poem is originally titled Tarkovsky (The Second Stop Is Jupiter). Patti Smith The Boy The Beast and The Butterfly Poetry Project Marathon .

The Dancer

I was invited to a midnight dance for two

though, as the latter, my dismay would be the

melody for the affair.

See, it wasn't my heart that he'd danced away with

(though I would've preferred he would)

it was my dignity, twirling around with it en pionte,

graceful and enchanting

I'd forgotten it was my ability to speak up

against being disrespected that he was taking from me.

Oh, he didn't need no tune for this one, no,

my shocked silence was as rhythmic as he pleased.

I danced clumsily to catch up with him,

to resist what was left of my regality

but my kwasa and dombolo fused together

were not swift enough.

A dance I would've missed for a night with poetry and

a lover's goodnight that wasn't even there.

I curse the heart for its ability to convince

without making an ounce of sense-

meeting a stranger at that time of the night, nogal?

If only those Facebook messages could've

read and replied to themselves, though lonely,

my dignity would still be undamaged.

My insecurities refused to let him strip me

while french-kissing the sense out of my ears

and that just pissed him off.

I felt my flab swallow itself as he rubbed his audacity over it.

On my way home this poem yelled profanities at him

 asking me," You just gonna let him get away with that?"

After almost writing it down it made it clear to me that

 there was not gonna be any sweet metaphors for him

or enough that described how stupid I'd been.

The street lights looked on

with their sympathy, a sunlight they couldn't sufficiently afford me

when I needed my shadow to applaud me on the part of myself

I didn't give away that night.

Patti Smith: Fire of Unknown Origin

I think I might have just found a new love, Patti Smith.

The Sad Boy

It took him a life time to become the person that he was meant to be; 
happy, sad, uncertain and confident.
Who he was had came a long way, tip-toeing over fact, 
opinion and judgment of what it meant to be different from everyone else. 
The way of life was him seeing himself in everyone else and everyone else in him.
 A shared reflection.
The reality, however, was that the sibling bonds that God used to keep His people in common prayer-love unconditional, had long dissolved and seeped into drains
The bruises and scratches on his memory made it forget the vision of his happy self, 
it had learnt rather to never trust life or anything that held it.
The loyalty of his sadness had made him long for it more than the charms of happiness.
 He carried a damaged smile confronting the sunlight,
 which had been everyone's hope but his deception; having felt more danger and harm under its gaze.
The shadowy moon had clothed his heavily bleeding dignity with the night and had become a friend and comfort.
He has seen more ghosts in his life,
 begging to live again,afresh, but their deaths were fully registered by murderous tongues.
He has held hands with his happy self, a clear conscience; no longing, no anger, questions or vengeance,
 and hugged him tightly as they cried together over what time didn't afford them,
 a chance, a clear smile, a dry pillow, a good heart,
 an unintended laugh between life. 
He cried as he remembered his life, what it was to never be.

A poem he wrote while serving his sentence for homosexuality. The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde : The Poetry Foundation

The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde : The Poetry Foundation

I would regard any Anna Nalick (a word genius by me) song timeless. She just has her unique unmatched way of bringing out the raw poetry in a song. A song is said to be a poem with a melody, a rhyme but song production has this altered on countless songs. Let this particular tune and a personal favorite of mine take your heart through a rollercouster ride of emotions.P.S The live version makes you feel like you're actually at a poetry session. Just Breathe - Anna Nalick [Lyrics]

This is miss Lelethu PoeticSoul Mahambehlala a Port Elizabeth born poetess whose poetry I was introduced to by the Lentswe- Stimulationg the nation Project on SABC 2 in the early 2000's. From the first poem I heard of her's with a final line that said, "Woman, what will it take to keep you down?" she became some kind of inspiration. Enjoy PoeticSoul-Poetry(she came to me in my sleep)

They died with their eyes open: An ode to the class of '76.°°°

They died with their eyes open, dry, wide, 
  with a fog of an absent life, forgotten.

Man whose shadows perished with their souls but whose purpose kept their eyes lit, 
 burning beautifully inside the depths of forever. 
Tracks of their last tears led to were their cries buried, silenced in infinity. 

The terror that dried over their faces of ends so adrupt; 
 a cancellation of dreams, tomorrows, promises and conversations screaming to be spoken, lived.
Of songs longing to be sung and dances begging to be portrayed with these laid limbs.

They died with their eyes open to keep their vision alive. 
They found us in our slumber and owned our dreams.
With our own eyes shut we saw THEIR dreams, heard their riots and felt their rage. 
Echoes of a thumping revolution haunting the grounds they marched.

Their bodies lay dry and deserted, visions of daisies once blooming with youth now fallen and over. They died with their eyes open watching over our future and delivering it safely in our stride.

Look them in their eyes with a promise as appreciation and give them a serene rest. Salute!

(Your Name Here, honey)

I wrote a poem titled with your name because,

for God knows how long I have found myself sitting

just a few rows behind you in lecture halls admiring the curling of your left ear,

you would turn around and wink whenever the "coast was clear".

I kept every one of our conversations alive by blowing them

from ashes to small flames at the vulnerability of my memory

and even though you would be paying me complements about a new clean shave

it still felt like love in casual clothing.

That was almost winter and mid-autumn ago but

you still insist that I don’t tell my friends about us because you’re “not ready.”

I still had to lie to them and say I’d tried this new deodorant

because I had my favourite shirt stained in your cologne(d) sweat. 

No one knows I know that you leave me text messages

that are accompanied by a number of blowing-kiss-emoticons and a heart beat.

No one else knows that you like to cuddle with your arm around my neck and

no one else knows I know that you speak about cartoon characters in your sleep because

it would be such a shame for anyone to know that you happen to text me messages

the same as those you send to your girlfriend,

and I lick them up because the vanilla ice cream melting between

every word is far too irresistible in my dry summers day life.

You would rather have me as a romantic secret than play

with my fingers before your friends like you do in front of my two teddy bears.

As much as my heart is stringed to some portion of yours you still find no

guilt in wearing me out when we are alone and aimlessly tossing me next to the

washing basket like a pair of old jeans that had strangely gotten themselves dirty when someone else is around.

God knows you want to put your head on my lap and have me caress your skin until you start snoring.

You want to stay up all night with me and have mine as your second or last goodnight of your evening

depending on whether your girl went to bed earlier because of an early class the next day.

You want to listen to my lame jokes and laugh, though for a few seconds your eyes would squint

like a child’s and the next day you’d pay me no attention at all.

Now as much as my presence might have made your closet the place to be

I need the memory of my lover without being haunted by any sense of guilt or a weaved head and boobs,

allow me to parade these streets with your invisible tag hanging from my chest and a smile.

I need my memory free of the doubts you think you have about us but with the times you’d kiss me

all the way to the back of my neck, behind my consciousness because you had to run (she'd called and asked to see you).

Do not make me feel contrasted with a female for I lack whatever that’s keeping her a vivid memory in your mind.

I love you so much it’s dug holes in my pockets but I would rather

love you from the back of the class or whenever I hear your laugh between your friend’s.

Now with this poem I refuse to be your help in your sexual endeavours any longer.

Regards, Your bearded and beautiful secret.

INVICTUS BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.                            

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] by E. E. Cummings : Poetry Magazine

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] by E. E. Cummings : Poetry Magazine

°°The Angels of The Sea°°

No one is more powerful than the sea though they dare walk it's surface.

Their fears breeze away and courage absorbs into their hearts like a divined rain that keeps the ocean

awake and lets the waves push and rise unlocking the heightened, misty ghosts that reach the clouds

in a storm.
They are empty bodies of light and good that watch over the ocean; it's creatures, sorrows and evils

Appeasing it's violent tides and moaning for the freedom of the souls it keeps captive

They guard it's beauty and play it's music, a serenity felt over land

The magic children

Children bathed in glitter, laughter, the human good

With bare feet that struck and raised the dust from it's ground,

the cheer of the wind and the happiness of untainted sunlight

Between the rapture of the earth and day they floated,

eyes shut in complete exuberance, tongues gagging in uncontrollable laughter,

avoiding the bruises on their elbows and knees,

the flea bites and the hungry bellies

The cracked wand drops and the magic dies

At once they turn into beautiful, colourful birds

that scatter atop and leave me empty skies

In the Devil's arms: An angel's confession

His lips burned like hot stones
His tongue was a honeycomb of a sweet strawberry syrup leaving a track of red dying skin across my neck

No deep breath could tranqualize this wave of sensation
 that burned his fire with mine in my body and not his
I've heard of his lies but I understood why no one recognised them on time
This was seduction on it's extreme
I could reply not to a hand willing to save me,
im zealous more of these arms that chain me so roughly and gently

He whispers in my ear in tongues i've never heard,
a whisper that sends my insides into a vibration that stills not to the reality of this whole embrace
My heart stops only to resonate with the smoke
that pushed through his coarse skinned nostrils,timely with his breath of flames.

He coiles his tail around me and sinks me more in his red hot chest,
oh so displaced yet like home is how it felt.
He pauses to look deep in my eyes,
lonely worlds I see,
and in a thousand voices he softly breaks,"I have suffered regret greater than the sin that binds me."

My heart breaks just in time to disrupt this rhythm we shared
 He sheds a tear of lava, it doesn't stain or corrode this brilliant robe im in
 Slowly I break free,"I could never break for you these chains,to you they belong".

My ascension leaves me to witness all hell burn up in this man's fury that disrupts with a 'noooooooo' that plays in my ears still.

The Umbra

Our home is where the suns arms can't reach

 where the moons sadness exist from the joy of the world

Born by caves and river banks

cleansed to purity by pebble and salt streams

waters that sing an eternal song

We are shadows of past living

no daylight can find us

What rivers won't take

and what oceans won't keep

We captured the breath of life

among the monsoons that blew

with the anxieties of the world

and stored them in gulps inside our lungs

We are our own misfortunes; bitter but thankful

We are the shame the night hides

 never to be found.

Picture: 

https://wouter28mm.wordpress.com/2013/12/15/time-helps/

Sweety

I have looked for you on every guy's shadow,

 found you on all their faces;  opened doors for me,

serenaded me with silly conversation. 

You, an embodied soul I've always wanted to reach out my hands to and touch

Whose kindness drew

me closer than it should have.

I have spent my moments painting you with the softest love,

the most inner petals of my heart.

I have dreamed you into reality with the sweet scented smokes treasured in my body.

I have woven you with the best web that my health could produce.

You have existed with me and in me through time, different faces and characters.

I have burnt you into fine world minerals; the gold,the silver and the bronze

and poured you into the souls my eyes have met.

I have sunken in the waves of your smile and breathed in your words

but not one of them was about your love for me.

Letters from the core scribed into the different tongues of the world, resounded with the mightiest horns to the valleys of thirsty minds by the orators nature has ever bloomed; Chinua Achebe, Gcina Mhlophe, Maya Angelou,Lascelles Abercrombie. Whispered to the four winds over the Nile, Mount Everest, the Victoria Falls and the seven seas. Guarded by the sun,the moon and its galaxy of stars. This is a compilation of poetry from all over the world. Your suggestions, criticism and complements are kindly welcomed.