tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232208372012-02-17T04:39:39.496+02:00Off-the-Wall Poetry PerformingA space for poetry Mondays at "A Touch of Madness" pub & restaurant in Observatory, Kalk Bay Books on the 4th Wednesday of the month in Kalk Bay, 2nd Wednesday of the month at Daily Grind in Fishhoek, and first Monday at Espresso dot kom in Kommetjie, Cape Town. Hear poetry read and recited by the famous and the infamous, known and unknown, the beautiful and the electric, women and men, locals and aliens, black and white, come cry, come laugh, come be yourself.Hughnoreply@blogger.comBlogger581100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-7809392787953953912011-06-07T13:27:00.000+02:002011-06-07T13:27:31.757+02:00OTW TOM - Jonty Driver May 2011Jonty DriverJonty Driver featured poet at Touch of Madness in Observatory a suburb of Cape Town, in the Western Cape, South Africa
Jonty Driver
Off-The-Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10459564072628496062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-9592358904950062912011-06-07T13:16:00.000+02:002011-06-07T13:16:34.829+02:00Ian Mc Cullum Poetry GigHughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-13796398435974494392011-06-07T12:38:00.000+02:002011-06-07T12:38:13.276+02:00Michael Cope featured poet Off-the_Wall June 2011Michael Cope was featured poet at Off-the-Wall at Espresso dot Kom in Kommetjie
Sonjahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333991312940927808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-58094241668315466852011-04-14T11:16:00.000+02:002011-04-14T11:16:05.038+02:00Hugh Hodge at Daily Grind, Fishhoek
Hugh Hodge; Poet, Editor of New ContrastHugh Hodge was featured poet on the 13th of April 2011. He read some of his sms poetry, but most of the poems where other people's poems. This poetry gig was at Daily Grind in Fishhoek. It was the first session at the Daily Grind Coffee Shop.
Sonja Wilker took the photographs
Sonjahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333991312940927808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-36327629866318266362011-04-14T10:36:00.000+02:002011-04-14T10:36:46.944+02:00Dan Wylie featured poet in Kommetjie
Dan Wylie poet and authorDan entertained us with his poetry on Monday the 4th of April 2011. We usually have our poetry Gigs at Espresso dot com in Kommetjie on the first Monday of every month at 7 p.m. Hugh Hodge organises the gigs and MC's the poetry gigs in the Southern Peninsula. We also have a gig at Kalk Bay books once a month and at Daily Grind Coffee shop in Fishhoek once a month.
We Sonjahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333991312940927808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-76722371524919313722010-12-03T12:54:00.000+02:002010-12-03T13:00:29.850+02:00Off the Wall Touch of Madness - Evan DaviesEvan Davies The first On a whalebone... is from 1985<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:Off-The-Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10459564072628496062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-62833886828722263592010-12-01T23:16:00.000+02:002011-04-11T19:43:06.346+02:00Off the Wall - Jana van Niekerk
Jana van Niekerk reading her poetry at Kalk Bay BooksOff-The-Wallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10459564072628496062noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-2210740820948020322010-11-16T10:11:00.000+02:002011-04-11T19:42:28.698+02:00OTW Lewis Watling at 91Sonjahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333991312940927808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-38587385951651102882010-10-15T20:02:00.000+02:002010-10-15T20:51:10.755+02:00Patricia Schonstein - OTW at Kalk Bay - Oct 2010
Patricia Schonstein, our Featured Poet at Kalk Bay Books on 13th October, 2010.She read a beautiful extract from her book "The Master's Ruse" about whales and the way they see us. The write-up for the book is as follows: Set in a future time when the sea is biologically dead, in a country governed by a regime opposed to literature, The Master's Ruse is a surrealist narrative of an egeing Sonjahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333991312940927808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-8196389934254373522009-02-18T08:50:00.004+02:002009-02-18T11:10:32.321+02:00Jonty Driver poetry gig at "Off the Wall" Jonty Driver was the featured poet for the evening and entertained us with some lovely poems. Open mike was, as usual a mixed bag, in the best sense of the word, and after all it is is just a matter of opinion anyway. What appeals to one, doesn't to others, and so on. A most enjoyable evening thanks to each and everyone's contribution, connection, and attendance.See web album for some pics Sonjahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333991312940927808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-2137390913182849112008-05-10T12:31:00.000+02:002008-05-10T12:35:49.834+02:00Swithin FryEdgeOn the tight-rope,holding hands,taking turns to unhinge,nearly toppling, nearly tumbling,dancing along the line,you in a tutu,me in tights and boots, you stop – pirouette – I stop – sing an aria – you climb onto my shoulders,I hold your lovely ankles,the wind gathers, ‘Do we care?’ we laugh and bawl at the get-together crowd,you slither back down,in the middle,the very middle of a muddle,we Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-46358003704205614862007-11-24T08:49:00.000+02:002008-12-11T13:08:35.842+02:00Barbara and JacquesSonjahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06333991312940927808noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-41153712514538980732007-08-15T10:43:00.001+02:002011-04-11T19:41:41.579+02:00Paul Mason - 9 April 2007PAUL MASON FEATURED POET AT 'OFF THE WALL' 9 April 2007
For Eduard Burle, and for Silke Heiss
TWO LITTLE DICKIE BIRDS
A Wreath of Sixty-five roses*
Pale and thin,
White, delicate-veined
With bunched stalks –
They droop in the sun.
The diseased fruit of a mismarriage.
Or was it the season?
The climate? The ground
"Sixty-five roses, how quaint",
she murmurs,
"for an illness".
I draw into theHughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-14014775137858144382007-05-15T10:50:00.000+02:002007-05-15T10:51:16.443+02:00Kechil Kirkham - May 14, 2007Half MigrationHalf the globe, the swallow flieshalf asleep and half awake,one upwing on,one downwing off.As I think of you,one heartbeat on,one heartbeat off.When the swallow and I touchdown in Englandseeking greenfields in May,I will have half thought of you,half slept of you,half waked of you.And you, like a fly, will have swallowed me whole.Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-70040539499046119092007-05-06T10:06:00.000+02:002011-04-11T19:40:35.748+02:00Sharon Geffen - 2007The Shout
How would Munch have brushed it
The floating howl of the mouth
The bared snarl of the hot foaming teeth
Scenting victory the head ducks and swerves
The shout pulsates and spears
Shards into the unsuspecting soul.
24 April 2006
***
My eyes do shine, my lips glow red
I look inside the mirror's eye
And peer in vain for who I was
And is it now too late to be?
Or do I glimpse a page, a Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1164787476355943272006-11-29T10:02:00.000+02:002006-11-29T10:04:46.726+02:00Kechil Kirkham most recentlyMurder on the Mountain I crushed the orchid that held the last droplet of my blood.Stamped on by a left foot insistent on its right.See how its petals now splattered with mudlie like a dead man shot in the roadhow its delicate leaves ooze greenthrough broken cell wallsits proud stem snappedthat entrancing fragrance, rare and sublimehovering in the air like a filigree ghost.That was the zenith of Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1156914534424818372006-08-30T07:01:00.000+02:002007-12-19T17:25:56.179+02:00Kechil Kirkham Featured August 28, 2006The World Before ManSince no-one was around to chart the progress of the sunAs it stoked its way across the heavens each day,Following the ecliptic, obeying the Grids of declination and ascension,The meridian and azimuth firmly in their place,I like to picture it taking a break on Sundays,Jazzing across the skyOr maybe picking up a little Cuban SalsaObeying the rhythms of a less military tune.AndHughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1149161426831206302006-06-01T13:27:00.000+02:002011-04-11T19:39:37.195+02:002006 - Gerrard ChaikenTHE ROOM WITHIN
by Gerrard Harris Chaiken
There is a room
Inside me.
Inside me,
Another shelters.
What do you see?
I am the window
To the room
Inside you.
Will you look at me?
I am the room
Inside you.
Will you open the door?
You are my room.
G’S POEM TO BE CONTINUED
by Gerrard Harris Chaiken
These are the spaces between the lines,
And the spaces between the spaces,
Here the wind of the Hughnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1147781493992406252006-05-16T14:05:00.000+02:002011-04-11T19:38:54.446+02:002006 - Ilana SlomowitzBLINDNESS AND LIGHT
By Ilana Slomowitz
Blindness and light meet
Colours of confused clarity
Holding the void in its fragility
While touching nothingness
As the illusions becomes reality
Blindness and light meet
The solid the stable and the concrete
The guaranteed, the dependable and the predictable
The desire for a magic formula that works
Like ever changing quicksilver
Through fingers it slips Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1147766994510417852006-05-16T10:09:00.000+02:002011-04-11T19:38:16.141+02:002006 - Astrid Dillon"Crossmaglen Days"
By Astrid Dillon
We walked in the old country
where North meets South at Crossmaglen...
I.R.A no-man's land, now dismantled.
We walked there,
treading on the memories
of a People in conflict about religion and belief.
Treading on the bones of the past,
across the green fileds in our Wellington boots.
The scuffs and sods of black Celtic soil
beneath our feet...
where other feetHughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1144415195827654172006-04-07T15:06:00.000+02:002011-04-11T19:37:26.777+02:002006 - Linda NtswakiGOD HAVE MERCY ON AFRICA
By Linda Ntswaki
God, have mercy on Africa
She embraced visitors
Opened her loins, her shores and her soils
They trampled on her with metal stud heels
They have exhausted their humility
And got past being nice to one another
God have mercy on mother Africa
Ripped and torn apart
Stripped naked and deformed her figure
Her beauty scarred
Abused, suffocated
And chained Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1144143515241822062006-04-04T11:37:00.000+02:002011-04-11T19:36:33.277+02:002006 - Mike CopeHot
By Mike Cope
Hot Saturday early evening out with Dave
looking for some girl in the city bowl,
lost in a tangle of sloping streets,
popping VW Beetle, slowing down
around corners to read the signs.
In a garden a fire, some people braaiing,
we’ll ask them if they know the way,
the street. We click-rattle the old
gate-latch open, and when we reach
the stoep an old man in a gown
staggers, eyes Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1144141982406267402006-04-04T11:12:00.000+02:002011-04-11T19:35:33.945+02:002006 - Kechil KirkhamPsychotherapy
By Kechil Kirkham
To be self-aware
Makes no sense
When the image in the mirror is three-dimensional
Only through visual illusion,
And when I hear my own voice,
It is through a filter of my own distortion.
But tell me,
If I have sex with myself,
Which is it – the id, or the superego
That comes first?
About Words
By Kechil Kirkham
Yesterday’s words spill out over my shoulder
In Hughnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1143445713250911512006-03-27T09:46:00.000+02:002011-04-11T19:33:49.527+02:002005 - Barbara FairheadPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.
THE MATRIX
By Barbara Fairhead
This year I took a fatal step out of the matrix:
and with the turning of my face,
shattered the remnants of that constricting mould.
I took a step out of the house that has grown me:
That house of orthodoxy which, however elegant its desire
to protect its own - ultimately Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1142318910141880082006-03-14T08:45:00.000+02:002006-03-15T03:55:28.056+02:002005 - Andries SamuelPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.‘nor marvel if a thought should weigh a star’(after e.e.cummings)by andries samuellike a blunt barbed arrowi lie spentupon my pillowsoftly dyingarms and legs akimbooutward flexedface down sidewayssoftly flyinghurtling with no velocityor speeding intonull gravity – destinationsoftly drawingand here i must Hughnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141907945647677532006-03-09T14:34:00.000+02:002006-03-14T08:58:31.860+02:002005 - Jonty DriverPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.Walking to the Paradise GardensBy Jonty Driveri.m.Griffiths and Victoria Mxenge“No government can forgive.“No commission can forgive.“Only I can forgive. And I’m not ready yet.” A witness at the Truth & Reconciliation Commission You let men ride over our headsWe went through fire and waterBut you Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141906276381607372006-03-09T14:10:00.000+02:002006-12-14T08:28:17.500+02:002006 - Sandy WettonPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.RE-AWAKENING – on the 12th of April 2006By Sandy WettonGood-looking man, windblownstriding the dunes.No dog or companion,comfortably – alone.Features, the rock-hewnplains of the aesthetic.Frame, long, broad, muscledand athletic.Eagle sharp eyesclear blueof the palest huelike low sun winter skieson just such Hughnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141906006374844612006-03-09T14:06:00.000+02:002006-08-15T11:52:20.393+02:002006 - Ian McCallumPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.FIERCEBy Ian McCallumI like the word, fierce –the way it aligns itself withnakedness and solitude:a fierce nakedness ...a fierce solitude ...And I like the way it holdsthe word, fire.I like the word, fire –the way it ignitesthe cutting edge of poetryrefusing to be nothing less thana fiery edge …a fiery Hughnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141901961988442712006-03-09T12:51:00.000+02:002006-03-09T12:59:22.013+02:002006 - Helen MoffetPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.Helen Moffet was Feature Poet Off-the-Wall 6 February 2006Here's her reading...Tonight is a lot of firsts. This is my first poetry reading, and I’m going to read to you poems that represent first instances. In April 2004, I wrote two poems that were harbingers. Between mid-Oct 2004 and mid-March 2005, nearlyHughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141900954001332272006-03-09T12:41:00.000+02:002006-03-09T12:44:36.820+02:002005 - Karen LeighPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.originBy Karen Leighrumi says"with every word you break my heart.you see my story written in blood on my face,why do you ignore it?do you have a heart of stone?"who would have thought the thread was red?the red trail of my hot need which leads to your doorthe red leaf which carpets which Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141900183568991722006-03-09T12:29:00.000+02:002006-03-16T16:18:44.803+02:002006 - Geoffrey HaresnapePLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.NANOOKBy Geoffrey Haresnape They packaged him at London Zoowith full professional care:his destination was New Yorkfor exhibition there.His claws were out like iron hooks,and he was filled with rage:He cuffed and slashed with frontal blows,but could not break his cage.At the Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141831536366128002006-03-08T17:24:00.000+02:002006-03-08T17:28:05.543+02:002005 - Mike CopePLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.They will turn awayBy Mike CopeThey will turn away from us, and whenthey turn, intending to pursue somethingor moving with desire and yearning, thenwe will see their backs diminishing.They will not look back, or they will glanceand still turnnot from us, but tosomething clear and better, to a dancewith Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141828427081622862006-03-08T16:32:00.000+02:002006-03-08T16:36:11.546+02:002005 - Gus FergusonPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.LOVE POEMBy Gus FergusonWill my soul have memory of mewhen it returns as chimpor chartered accountant?Will it, by my death, have feltliberated or abandoned?Might it, at least, feelan ephemeral yearningfor you, your fragranceand your wonderful laugh.Published inIn the Country of the Heart (Jacana)Snail-loveByHughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141820753685244442006-03-08T14:16:00.000+02:002006-03-08T14:25:53.696+02:002005 - Mark EspinPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.LETTER IN DECEMBER By Mark Espin The echo of versatile tongues bursts across the vista of hills Arrogant young men in fashionable attire hold séances with terror, detail their accomplishments with the pornography of dead eyes and sun themselves in the glory of fraternal love; an extenuating circumstance in Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141656275536846882006-03-06T16:43:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:44:35.540+02:002005 - Winslow SchalkwykPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.Too Many Times By Winslow SchalkwykToo many timesI am crippled by my indecisions,Inhibitions and restrictionsAnd I find myself unable to see The beauty of the path before meToo many timesFear clouds my perceptionAnd leads to the resurrectionOf habits I thought were forgottenAnd my being seems anchored to a Hughnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141656062895331662006-03-06T16:40:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:41:02.896+02:002005 - Sibo GabadaPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.LIBABENI LINGACHONI ILANGA!By Sibongiseni GabadaLibambe, libambe lingachoni ilanga……walibamba umama ilanga…Mothers of the nation, sisters in faith,Daughters of Africa, healers of painFor every man acknowledge as a hero,Stands behind him an unsung heroineBafazi of Africa libambeni lingachoni ilangaWomen Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141655973399758952006-03-06T16:38:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:39:33.403+02:002005 - Primrose MrwebiPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.You love me!By Primrose MrwebiThis time, it is an awkward intangible feeling,Somehow uneasy, Every time the words come out your Mouth they touch something in me,I ask myself how come now and why you?Does it matter where these words come from?Should it?Would these reactions be the same if the wordscame from Hughnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141655852365038402006-03-06T16:37:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:37:32.366+02:002005 - Lynne HarrisPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.THE ENDBy Lynne HarrisYou come from the wings of a dark stageWhere neverworlds and nightmares hide, beyondMy sight and understanding, but still rageBurns when I see some sad truth behind your eyes,Past lies, and all the writing on this page.I feel strange. As though I am inside,Or side by side an unfamiliarHughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141655773864903452006-03-06T16:35:00.000+02:002006-09-12T10:44:08.706+02:002005 - Lucille GreeffPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.Eucalyptus WitchBy Lucille GreeffThe virago stretches herself talltowards the sky.Her stature like the majesticMountain Ash knows no match;a defiant pride manifested in the singularly independentway her shoulder blades are always reaching for each other.She labels her emotionslike the potions and plantsthat Hughnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141655679453897332006-03-06T16:34:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:34:39.456+02:002005 - Ian NdimandePLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.TAKE ME AND MAKE MEBy IS NdimandeTake me and make me your prisoner for your wish is my command. Take me and make me your Guard because no harm shall come to you. So take me and make me. Take me and make me your arms to touch you in a very special way Take me and make me your legs to carry you wherever you Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141655602860455092006-03-06T16:32:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:33:22.863+02:002005 - Ilana SlomowitzPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.On Scarborough BeachBy Ilana SlomowitzPounding waves against the rocks,White foamy froth-like shaving cream about is blown.And the spray, like a shower gently drops.Nostrils filled with pungent smell,Left behind by high tide’s swell Ropey seaweed lying bareBlack and wizen by the salt air.Snake-like shapes inHughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141655421622599992006-03-06T16:29:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:31:53.903+02:002005 - Geoffrey HaresnapePLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.THE THREE SISTERS an ecumenical balladBy Geoffrey HaresnapeBoth Gertrude and Priscilla wereMass-goers day by day.Their youngest sibling, Marianne,had gone another way.For Marianne had met a manwith big mustachios.He said that Roman Catholicswere not the ones he chose.The sisters had a lot to sayabout her Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141655268022552902006-03-06T16:27:00.000+02:002006-05-23T15:47:31.566+02:002005 - Freda FreemanPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.DEAR TEACHERBy Freda FreemanDo not despair, when teachinglessons in the open airto wriggling childrenwaiting to escape at break, for fizzy drinks and fancy foodsinvented by the Devil.Your pupils all grow up, and one day far away,when they chance to find a pale pink oxalis nestledin the grass, a slender Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141655148760903792006-03-06T16:24:00.000+02:002006-05-18T16:22:16.186+02:002005 - HA HodgePLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.GracelessBy HA HodgeFrom the beginning, in suckled infancyof dream, when I knew neither younor the secret you will reveal,but knew, as if of a state of grace,of a perfect poolwelling out of blue mountainsholding me in its embrace.Longing comes secretly (Gorecki’s 3rd).Song infusing me until,as melody lifts, Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141654491270870702006-03-06T16:14:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:14:51.273+02:002005 - Chris ThurmanPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.BOOTS: A FRONTLINE REVERYBy Chris ThurmanFrom under how many inadequate superfluous blanketson how many casualty trucks heavily loadedhave how many dead soldiers’ rottentender feet sun-starved crept pale-soled into the too-late thawing air? –I wonder. The amateur historian newsfools’ photographs will Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141654398313741712006-03-06T16:12:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:13:18.316+02:002005 - Annabelle WienandPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.All afternoonBy Annabelle WienandAll afternoon I lay flat borrowed clothescut out patternsfrom the week’s newspapers.Apart from headlinesphotographs in city morguesconfirm that people have died.Reading the fine printnear a future side seamI am corrected.These covered bodies lie in Iraqwhile others die in Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141654231336177402006-03-06T16:09:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:10:31.353+02:002005 - Aneta ShawPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.Aanhou-rek-siesaDeur Aneta ShawJy is ‘n moordenaarjy steel die leweuit iemand se lyf uitiemand in my hartMet jou ysterkloueom haar hakkelende harten kruipende tentakelswat verdrinkte niere omvouMond geseëlteen lewensbrood maak van haar maag‘n uitgeholde gatjy steel haar vrouweeswarm kontoere lank verdwenenieHughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141652849026476942006-03-06T15:43:00.000+02:002006-03-06T15:47:29.026+02:002005 - Tania van SchalkwykPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.FrescoBy Tania van SchalkwykThe sky said wait.Normally fierce blue and hot with a big round sun-this morning it was the grey silk lining of a kimono, swishing past the edge of a door - the wing of a humming bird brought still and spread out to its complete span behind the glass of a museum wall.It hung likeHughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141652598988563742006-03-06T15:41:00.000+02:002006-03-06T15:43:19.006+02:002005 - Sandy WettonPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.BEREFTBy sandy WettonBereft, was a word that held no special meaning,‘till you left.‘till your insubstantial self, drifted from the urn,to mingle with the foamof the steel gray channel on that most un-spring likeApril afternoon.And suddenly, bereftrhymed resoundingly with death.And came to signifya state of Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141649595696041672006-03-06T14:52:00.000+02:002006-03-06T14:53:15.696+02:002005 - Patricia SchonsteinPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.The fallen Christ figureMill Street intersection, Cape Town 2000By Patricia SchonsteinThe figure lies at the foot of the traffic lightsas though fallen from a cross.The arms, as if once nailed out, lie inwards, palms open, fingers outstretched.The head has dropped backwards and the knotted hair hangs matted Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141649400744342362006-03-06T14:49:00.000+02:002006-03-06T16:11:10.340+02:002005 - Nadia NelPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.MaDeur Nadia Nelhoe kon jy weettoe jy die dag soos'n oorryp vrug oopbars onder die Desembersonwat sou word van joubloederige bondeltjieproduk van jou hoophoe kon jy voorspeldat die kind so ver van die boom sou val?(jy't nog altyd verrassings gehaat)en tog...ek moet glimlagwant hier waar ek sit(kaftan om my Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141647489507133482006-03-06T14:13:00.000+02:002006-03-06T14:18:09.513+02:002005 - Methuli MbanjwaPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.Perfect balanceBy Methuli MbanjwaTurbulent flow of the wind causes stir on a free throw litterThis is life’s blow, is that why I’m bitter?Fair is there, but still is a deceiverNothing is fair if you don’t have flairForget I said anything about bad environmentRemember, I once said something about backgroundA Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141646824950956902006-03-06T14:04:00.000+02:002006-03-06T14:09:48.370+02:002005 - Khadija HeegerPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.Skin mattersBy Khadija HeegerI am captive in a mish mesh of skinTightened, held together by the infirmatiesOf skin intellect, skin wit, skin talk, skin designationSkin fragmentation, skin degenerationI am bound in the hue that makes you carve for me aPersonality, a mind, a heart, a disposition borne out of Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141640235150765232006-03-06T12:16:00.000+02:002006-03-27T09:54:03.313+02:002005 - Jacques CoetzeePLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.SHIPWRECKBy Jacques CoetzeeToday I assert nothing:No thing obeys my call.Today I am a shipwrecked sailorPanting on a beach in blinding sunlight,Bruised, battered, but alive:I am the shipwrecked lover of the worldPanting naked the shores of wonder-Without words, without a song to my name-Only a steep dirt Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141639817377772202006-03-06T12:06:00.000+02:002006-03-06T12:10:17.393+02:002005 - Gill GimbergPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.Bathroom schizophreniaBy Gill GimbergI experience a mini identity crisisevery time I brush my teethwith the purple toothbrush whichstands stiffly on its single legin the glass on the bathroom window-sill. The one which has“Kathy” printed on it - very boldly -in white. The one which standsnext to a similar Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141638518734235922006-03-06T11:47:00.000+02:002006-03-06T11:48:38.746+02:002005 - Dawn GarischPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.1982 - 2004by Dawn Garischbetween the years the layersbetween the layers of years you entered my life my lifetimemy life a tree of spring leavesbetween the layered leaves you drew mebetween chalkmarks and charcoal you drew me to you through youyou taught me how to enter love how to love how to love Hughnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141638441393722562006-03-06T11:46:00.000+02:002006-03-06T11:47:21.396+02:002005 - Akiedah MohamedPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.The Big Bangby Akiedah MohamedTears fell from a woman’s eyesAfter she is bitten by a serpentTongue and heart coiled, her woundFesters to the size of an apricot – grows biggerAnd bigger…becomes a sweet melon…panic!People notice, tempers flareShe is disgraced, shamedHer tribe chain her with an ankletBurdened Hughnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23220837.post-1141222700821075312006-03-01T15:42:00.001+02:002006-03-06T11:52:24.593+02:002005 - Gabeba BaderoonPLEASE NOTE: some poems have been published elsewhere. Where possible we acknowledge this.Cinnamonby Gabeba BaderoonI fall outsidethe warm stoleof history. Eyes run down my skinlike a single finger. I find you open as a tent.You are cinnamoncurved around me.War Triptych Silence, Glory, Loveby Gabeba BaderoonI. AccountingThe mother asked to stay.She looked at her silent child.I was waiting for Hughnoreply@blogger.com0