Tag Archives: poetry

DARK CHILD


There she is
Eyes moist and fierce
Like rolling thunder
or a mad wilderbeest
There she is
Her thoughts sinking and bare
Stand aback, they shriek
and freak in great despair
She’s tiny and strange
A little deranged
Her mind is a-whirl
In super craze and frantic swirl
She scrapes the ground for something to be found
And sniffs the air
but finds nothing there
She’s in a box all shut and sealed
She kicks and sheds tears on
flesh un-healed
They stare and tap her solitary trap
Make no attempts to loosen the strap
The little deranged girl with the mind in a-whirl
Shuts her dark eyes and finally
sleeps in a tight curl.

Yes, there she will stay
all night and all day.
She’s a dark morbid child they say.
It’s just better this way.

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SHEEP


WE ARE SHEEP

WE GRAZE AND BRAISE

WE TURN OUR NOSE, UP AND AWAY

WE FOLLOW THE HERD

IT’S SLIGHTLY ABSURD

HOW WE LOOK THE SAME

FEEL THE SAME

WALK THE SAME

BLAME THE SAME

OUR SHEEPNESS’ IS ACUTE

WE DON’T TALK, WE’RE MUTE

WE SLEEP IN THE SUN

AND SNORE IN THE DARK

WE FEED OF THE EARTH

AND LICK THE DRY DIRT

WE ARE LED TO THE WATER

WE GET FAT AND FED

AND THEN WE ARE LED TO THE SLAUGHTER

LIFE’S NOT TOO SERIOUS

OUR FEELINGS AREN’T TOO DEEP

WHAT DO YOU EXPECT

WE’RE ALL JUST SHEEP

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IF I COULD


If i could smile and lick your eye

i’d do it till the day i die

your blood is mine

i stir with wine

you’re my love and fierce desire

i’ll take you apart the way you are

and fix you up to be my star

i’d run my hands down your shackled spine

i’d turn and twist to make it mine

if i could do these things to keep you

i’d be relentless, tireless and true

you know i have, i would, i should

do anything to keep you

if i could.

 

{annie raman}

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SORRYNESS


SORRYNESS

I’m sorry for making you cry

I’m sorry for the big wet tear in your eye

I’m sorry for my dirty words

For the flailing arms, just coz I know it hurts

I’m sorry for my demands

Reprimands

And heavy commands

You are my weakness so I throw you my strength

I never gave in, I’d never relent

I’m sorry for my attempted demise

It was not wise and I remember the fear in your eyes

My love made you cower

I ruled you with power

I never said sorry

But forever,

You’re my precious

My lover

My flower.

[annie raman]

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CREATIVE NATION


Here’s a spit of ‘poetry’ i composed for our magazine. Feel free to visit and follow the magazine blog-site www.starvedbooks.wordpress.com and like our facebook page which you will find a panel for on the blog!Image

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TURMOIL THAT STINKS


You feel the day,

A troubling breeze, pass away

The pace of hours, minutes, seconds

Travel at a speed, your attention beckons

The blur of dust from the rolling day

Remember the moments you keep away

The turmoil of time that ticks in your ear

The stench of the day wont disappear

It wont last, this day they say

so take a breath, just rest, just lay.

This turmoil it stinks!

Now it’s over, it’s gone

with a sigh of relief he thinks.

[annie raman]

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During the South African apartheid period lived the complex troubled soul of young Ingrid Jonker. A poet she was, but also a carefree spirit in turmoil. This turmoil turned her thoughts into the words she is remembered for. Although she wrote in afrikaans, her work has been translated craftily into english and then some.

Amidst her acclaimed love affair with the older man Jack Cope, she dabbled in many other lovers, had the abortion of Jack’s love child, traveled the world, witnessed the murderous legacy of apartheid events, struggled to be a mother to her young daughter Simone and still managed to document her thoughts in poetry that became published, which turned her relationship with her politician father Abraham Jonker from already frail to him disowning her.

Ingrid commited suicide on the night of 19 July 1965 on the Three Anchor Bay beach in Cape Town…

Nelson Mandela read her poem, “Die kind (wat doodgeskiet is deur soldate by Nyanga)” (“The child (who was shot dead by soldiers at Nyanga)”), in Afrikaans, during his address at the opening of the first democratic parliament on May 24, 1994. This was but one of her many well known works. She is also honored by the Ingrid Jonker Prize insituted by her friends for the best written afrikaans or english poetry.

And what better way to truly go down in history than to have a movie made depicting your life. Black Butterflies is a Dutch production that portrays Ingrid Jonker as she was known to be.

“The Child”  by Ingrid Jonker
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Afrika ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart

The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Afrika ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride

The child is not dead not at Langa nor at Nyanga
not at Orlando nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain

The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa

the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a pass

Her poetry rightly provoking, is what thorws her into South African history and there she will remain.

INGRID JONKER LIVES ON

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