Tag Archive: relationship

my poem below has been published in an anthology of poems by Myesha Jenkins. 

The launch of the book takes place in Johannesburg on Sunday May 28 at The Orbit.

the following poem of mine appears in the book …

Old Sof’town*


In old Sof’town,

the jazz struck chords,

the jazz lived, it exploded,

out of the cramped homes,

rolling along the streets,

of old Kofifi,

in tune to countless blazing heartbeats.

In old Sof’town,

Bra’ Hugh breathed music, Sis’ Dolly too,

and Bra’ Wally penned poems that still ring true.

In old Sof’town,

Father Trevor preached

equality and justice,

for all, black and white and brown,

and all shades, every hue,

even as oppression battered the people,

black & blue.

In old Sof’town,

the fires of resistance raged,

‘we will not move’ was the refrain,

even as the fascists tore down Sof’town,

with volleys of leaden rain.

In old Sof’town,

the people were herded,

like cattle,

sent to Meadowlands,

far away and cold and bleak,

as the seeds of resistance,

sprouted and flourished,

for the coming battle.

In old Sof’town,

the bulldozers razed homes,

splitting the flesh of a community apart,

only to raise a monument of shame,

and ‘Triomf’ was its ghastly name.


In Jozi today,

we remember those days,

and those nights of pain,

that stung our souls.

like bleak winter rain.

Yes, we remember old Sof’town,

as we struggle onward,

to reclaim our deepest heritage,

and build anew,

a country of all hues and shades,

of black and of white and of brown.

And yes, we will always remember,

and yes, we will never forget,

the price that was paid,

by the valiant sons and daughters,

of old Sof’town,

those vibrant African shades and hues,

of black,

of white,

of brown.

* Sophiatown was also called ‘Sof’town’ and ‘Kofifi’



our shared shore 

​our shared shore.


awaiting the coming in of the tide,

scurrying into the empty shells in which we hide,

safe for now from the flood that spews coarse lies,

sharing our breaths as the waves ebb and rise.


ah! but to know the intricate bond that seals us from what may be in store,

to be free to cast off the many masks we wore,

free at long last!

free to grasp the peace and love of our shared shore.

time to hope …

time to

still the exhausted mind,

time to 

lay famished emotions to rest,

time to 

salve the wounds of the day,

time to 

reserve the tears we weep,

time to 

let detritus of day sleep,

time to

dream of even the faintest light,
time to halt hope’s threatening flight.

time to hope …


​alone in the throng,

sifting through the detritus of torn yesterdays,

thoughts weave,

ever searching,

to belong.

a gentler way

​through mists of many a forgotten yesterday,

the never-ending longing sighs for a vanished past.

what becomes of new tomorrows?

what remains of inert today?

while we remain shackled by nostalgia,


ever searching,

for that other, hopefully gentler way.

​faded afternoons

silhouetted fragmented shades,

mingle deep in folds of thought.

dreams wander,

soaring above melancholy,

as afternoon fades.

masks …


clawing at my face,

slipping beneath the facade,
tugging, tearing, flailing,
stripping off the veneer,

exposing the fragmented decay,


under this mask I wear today.

groping for another layer,

embroidered on my thin skin,
peeling, rotting, searing,
shaving away the truths,

entwined in a jagged kiss,


the vacuum of an emotional abyss.

from myself yet again,

bound for nothingness,
desolate, cold, empty,
lost on barren pathways,

bruising my heart as I tread,


at the horrors that lie ahead

Hardly a Poem

Splinters embedded under my skin,

each memory a shard of stinging glass,

I see that I see it all now,

the infinite regrets meandering,

down foggy alleys of yesteryear,

as decades and moments come to pass.

Wearing my many masks as I cascade,

leafing through my conscious betrayals,

of gentle hearts once treasured,

now left to decay, in the empty cold.

Seeing my treasures turned to stone,

while wearing the blues like a convenient coat,

untrue to most, I stand accused,

in the dock, the fragments of my past,

are all that I am able to hold.

Where do I go from here,

as I stand ashamed, rooted to this spot,

my sins are countless, my excuses fickle,

the lies have been many,

and all the untruths have already been told.

Was it not just a fortnight ago,

when I was younger than I am now,

you loved me completely, you told me so,

while I slithered inside my thick skin,

shutting you out,

and embraced comforting desolation into my fold.

Now the momentary tears have all been shed,

the wounds of time too, have silently bled,

and all beseeching prayers have been said.

I stagger on, my reflection a mirage,

my heart and soul battered black and blue,

still, grasping onto the tendrils of hope,

if not, then I am truly dead.


monday reading beckoning



weekend reading





be my valentine ... ?

Valentines Day Redux … … …


that time of year once more,

the expectations to do this, buy that,

begin to tickle and murmuringly gnaw.

should there be roses, and if so could they all be red,

or fragrant petals strewn all across the bed,

with some catnip on the side, pretty please and with sugar,
and dollops of whipped cream,

for that,
I do know,

would be my cat’s Valentines Day dream … … …



sunday evening 31 January 2016




apologies if already shared 🌻🐹






the queen


monday reading




some poetry for the cat 🙂






she looks forward to weekend reading ...



what to re-read, she ponders


her reference material




✌ 👍 ✊

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