Peter Tosh (October 19, 1944 – September 11, 1987) was the guitarist in the original Wailing Wailers, a pioneer reggae musician, and a trailblazer for the Rastafari movement. Born Wins… Read More

"Born Paulette Williams in Trenton, New Jersey to Paul T. Williams (namesake), a surgeon, and Eloise Williams, a psychiatric social worker and educator. The oldest of four children of an upp… Read More

We are now at https://poefrika2.blogspot.com, and we can't wait to see you there Read More

Dear Facebook,My name is Rethabile Masilo. I am a poet and a language instructor from Lesotho, although today I live in France, with a prior five-year scholarly stint in the USA, at Maryvill… Read More

And when on the streets of this town you see skulls,lifeless with age, you’ll know how long this secrethas been going on. You’ll always know the meaning of it, after you hear the… Read More

Having read them far more than any other troubadourhas made me their child, learning their language whose gist I quickly lapped up with my tongue,so that now when I hear my people sing I kno… Read More

Perhaps I know better how not to write poetry than how to write poetry. In the end it amounts to the same thing, but for now, I probably have more experience writing bad poetry than good. An… Read More

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I was fifteen, but I remember the events of 16 June 1976 like it was last week. Black kids rose against the Apartheid state in South Africa, and refused Afrikaans as a medium of instruction… Read More

—for Gary CorseriSome years ago I was dazed by a poem on Nelson Mandela.My surprise did not come from the fact that the poem was well-crafted, well-paced, brisk as a walker through a p… Read More

By light of lamp we study the pieces, strewn, cut printson the floor of our room. We want to unite them the waywe pine for the chance to bring the edges of the world together. But until we f… Read More

This park where I am lying now with my eyes sealed is quiet. I feel close to the roots of its plant life so much that I sometimes hear them speaking, their low murmurslike the sound of whale… Read More

—for George FloydThese latest happenings have not driven me away,But have reinforced the behaviour of my people in meAnd broken it up into multiple parts that are now me.Because of the… Read More

I find this chair—in a forest—to which rays direct light,a chair to the back of which a crow-coloured gamp is fastened,like a big bat landing, even as whispers keep sayingshe is… Read More

Nikki Giovanni was born today in Knoxville, Tennessee, in 1943. I went to school in Maryville, a few kilometres from Knoxville. Wikipedia says that "on April 17, 2007, at the Virginia Tech C… Read More

He sat next to me on a bench in the dark and said, “you must live.” The wail of a saxophone told me againwhy I was here tonight, far from the buzz of the city. I stole a glance a… Read More

“5-If I could give just one piece of advice about writing a love poem I would remind the writer that love is about the lover not the beloved. It’s about how you feel not how he r… Read More

This would be our father’s last time to the home of his birth.Near the road’s edges a monitor flicks its tongue at us, licks its lips, then twists from side to side to cross the… Read More

When Chauvin, the manual worker, needs a boulder to move,he makes his knee a fulcrum and heaves, till something gives.He says it’s simple physics. “Give me a place to stand,&rdqu&hell…Read More

Here is why this body I swear to you byis filled with fluids of nature: when at night I start across the fields to carry it to you, darkness throws a sort of light before me and I step in it… Read More

We met at a bar downtown, one night during an eclipse, she inA red dress out of an Addonizio poem and me in work fatigues I used to wear when I worked at the factory, where we were makingFac… Read More

At mid-street kneels the one we flow around, who parts us like a sarsen boulder in a river.We will never know where she comes from, and not because she doesn’t speak our language but b… Read More

I have walked the roads of people’s lives, turning my headSideways sometimes to read the words of their asphalt,Till the destinations were their deaths, and I had known them, And insid… Read More

This set of teeth ate the centuries that kept inside what ought not to leave a mouth,to hurt or cripplepeople with words.One day whenI am not careful,In the midst of life,The words I carryWi… Read More

It is important to statethat this is not a dream, much less askylight for bats to fly in and out of,it is a porn site, an advertisement for virgin air, uncontaminated by language, it is a re… Read More

—for TokolohoWhen I get back from dying, there’s furniture under my dust, the whole household despairing of life the way cells imprison the Troy Davises and still grin steel, whi… Read More

They worked in a factory, then were missing,Snitched on by a rat, a saying our parents foundTo talk about a slaying. It always made me think Of hunting dogs—noses scattered to the grou… Read More

X marks a spot on the chest of a man where a bullet burned in. An X on top of a head marks the bodyon which a helicopter bringing America lands,red as blood that refuses to quit, but stays a… Read More

Please just let me turn down this volume in my head,so I can sit back, place my hands behind my headlike a hammock around an ailing body—though where shall I go from here? Where does o… Read More

President-elect Barack Obama has a lot of writers excited about the next four years. He'll have a poet at his inauguration. He's said he's going to have more poetry readings at the White Hou… Read More

Coffee calms me like the voice of my mother seeking me among a crowd, and she is nice and alarmed, calling me by both names she gave me, soft as when she did the first time. And she is dark… Read More

Don't tell the readers what they already know about life.Don't assume you're the only one in the world who suffers.Some of the greatest poems in the language are sonnets and poems not many l… Read More

How many dreams, since I said you were dead, have you counted?In how many of them could you make the journey without falling in love, your patience breached at the seams?The times I thought… Read More

I am a child learning how to steal a boat,and steer it from Boston back to Anyama,in the black of a night whose gleamis fearful of letting its flashlight be seen,the way escapees shut eyes a… Read More

He knew it. What he had to do. The only thing left to him under the present circumstances. He would have to shrink his lover. There was nothing else for it. And then he would put her in amat… Read More

—for MaaparankoeWild eggs of the ostrich lie about like skulls. At night, when no one is looking, and Lesotho pauses to yawn… rub its eyes with its fists, the killer and his men… Read More

The lead singer was Lahliwe, my mother, and Tukie and Tonogo were the backup singers. They sang Utloa sefefo samoea. We were their small congregation, we clapped our hands, our grandmother h… Read More

En un ataúd hecho por un misionero hace mucho envié tu verso bajo el lago,lo exilé allí, lo vi sumergirse y ahogarse.Luego erigí una hoguera de hoja de hig… Read More

A boy at the piazza dances, his thin legswound around each other like ropeas he twirls, till his body unwinds.A dark-faced woman passes, clay pot on her head, baby on her back, ingredients o… Read More

Why panic, when pondering what is ahead,like before a birthday as a child when already you knew the gift wasn’t what you wanted? The older I get, the more the weatherman weepsover futu… Read More

A duck glides across the surface of a pondand leaves an avenue for its children to follow.It has a locomotive you do not see, as with postureand a head on its necklaced, blue and green neck… Read More

We are a path seasons walk down,that’s what a world wants, to find a way to break the mundane.Everyone who is unborn and is bornis torn off to live in a casket underneath, flesh for fu… Read More

The rough, half-quarter daysof money’s ministry hound us, and we seek the way outof a stock market deadinside broken thermometres. People run for the shelterof homes built on the dome… Read More

At the edge of my yard sits the end of a pathwhere I came face-to-face with dawn, creeping on feetfairies prance with from blade to blade of grass,when they greet the world with their kind o… Read More

The quick, their headless counterparts,unforgiving gods watching bodiesextend the black fundamental substanceused to make roads in and out of here,a carpet of bodies around white peoplein a… Read More

The sword of daybreaksnips the shroudof the night from the sky,and the morningpeeps through the blanketslike a baby risingfrom its cotto listen to thepeal of the bell.Arise! Arise!All Worker… Read More

I saw in the distance a godsucking life from a straw, suckingthe instant; then she dartedto where, behind a bush,pygmies pumped air into a big ball,chuckling and slapping smeared hands on it… Read More

—Para mi tío, NthahaEstá muerto; en Oort, los dioses lo saben.Cuando las noticias salen de las salas de prensaanguilas, del fondo del Egeo,rayaban con cintas a la superfi… Read More

There was once a woman from CamelotWhose purpose in life was to come a lot;When asked why that was soShe answered, "I don't know...If I don't come, I mean, I should do wot?" Read More

There are so many islands!As many islands as the stars at nighton that branched tree from which meteors are shakenlike falling fruit...[more...]I have read this part (called "After the Storm… Read More

These images are sleep given to poets,images of mouths turned out and spittingblitz; this is a raw tongue finding texturein light where the poet talks with heaven,the pain of the four season… Read More

I will not listen to you anymore, giverof life who is giving her own life back,but is not giving up anything, nor wayto anyone. We are going to extol you,a thing that is enough to make us th… Read More

Now the flowers are all foldedAnd the dark is going by. The evening is arising…It is time to rest.When I am sleepingI find my pillow full of dreams. They are all new dreams:No one tol… Read More

for Khotsofalangi want to talk to you about peoplewho should call you unclelet's huddleagainst these bulletslet us move awaybut always pastthe hour of sleep,come to me when you findthe middl… Read More

"The following piece was written in 2006, since when it has been languishing on the author’s blog. It was revived and read by the author at the celebration of JM Coetzee’s eighti… Read More

Back... off its knees now before the crux,now on a stage at this altar of a shrine,is my pirouette to the world,my unrelenting whirl, whirl, whirl.It is for death to become art that we live… Read More

The image is more than an idea. It is a vortex or cluster of fused ideas and is endowed with energy.Ezra Pound Read More

Brother of the blowflyAnd godhead, you work magicOver battlefields,In slabs of bad porkAnd flophouses. Yes, youGo to the root of all things.You are sound & mathematical.Jesus, Christ, yo… Read More

Jimmy Harrison loves school and his favorite subject is snack time! But when a new boy, Kevin, joins his class, he begins to bully Jimmy and the rest of the children. What’s worse, he… Read More

are squirming with wormsthat take the placeof forensic investigators.They seek the shortestand most efficient wayof exposing bone.To those unacquaintedwith the languageof final repose,the wo… Read More

The hole the full moon leaves leadsfrom our side there, carrying lifeto that other place like a trainacross France, everyone and everyloving thing, books from shelvesand the goblet of youth… Read More

Why I could hear clubbing noiseswhere the baby seal had disappeared—yet no bleating—I do not know. Perhaps the bull was trying to make a stand against those trying to kill it. Pe… Read More

You sleep well, dreaming of sea gullsand lost love. The tundra you’d walk.Or desert, the world, rock, scrub,rock, scrub. Dawn, the bright sun.And the woman who stumbles to the cliff-ed… Read More

The darkness of our father means light,overwhelming with welcome; he coloursmorning, evening and night with negritude. When our eyes meet we break clear outfrom fear, like prey at flight's e… Read More

I have lodged my flagpole at the heart of this territoryHere I am, far from my peopleNow learning to dance on one footAnd disremember my bipedal customThe red earth of my homeHasn't left my… Read More

Billy Collins Read More

Of all the boys on that rockwith their oil-polished stones,above our old house in Qoaling,taunting each other’s manhoodlike a bear must taunt an eagle,he was the best, always a moveahe… Read More

Ishmael Scott Reed (February 22, 1938) is an American poet, essayist and novelist. Reed is one of the best-known African-American writers of his generation, and along with Amiri Baraka is on… Read More

by Dennis ScottThat August the birds kept away from the village, afraid:people were hungry.The phoenix hid at the sun’s center and stared downat the Banker’s house,which was plum… Read More

The day when from this earth we raisea skull, pull it out with wheel and axleand wood pulley, will be soon. We'll know no one is coming, the way they knew but ploughed on; perhaps this pain… Read More

Every day when I greet age at my door, and it drags itself behind me,its breath of tobacco penetrates my curtainand the seats along the curve of my hut, and I feel old again. On the street o… Read More

violence, as a pain shared between men,it has been said time and time again,to be a manone must save face at all times,it was pain that drove defenceagainst a loss of power, to think how cle… Read More

A moon nears us,autumn at the polesof its dawn,let's us know it isamong our thoughts,autumn with its dyingand its promiseof a beginning. It watches us from the sky.On the grass where we lies… Read More

The old mantells us howto single outthe characterof his lone eyewith the lightof its evening,its last peachwhich no onecan reach, justbefore it falls.He speaks to usas if he seesround corner… Read More

It's my pole, when I go to workand especially when I return, trailing the anger of that place behind me,a skunk in a dark black suit and a light-white shirt. It’s my pole,the grease on… Read More

This is the body from which it began many years ago,one sibling after another; flesh—from fleshthat has found its bed now at last, ina marbled room rendered silentby the white company… Read More

I want to tell you why, when alone in a dugout, feeling the war close in and clamour for your demise, it is not right to accept another scoop to the food on your plate, the cow, the piece of… Read More

And if we don't fightif we don't resistif we don't organize and unify andget the power to control our own livesThen we will wearthe exaggerated look of captivitythe stylized look of submissi… Read More

from john barbados: barbados @ geemail . org (name and address have been changed)to retjoun @ geemail . netdate: 24 November 2008 18:35subject: why africa is poormailed-by geemail.orgh… Read More

"Renowned US novelist John Updike has died at the age of 76, his publisher has announced. He had been suffering from lung cancer."[continue there...]I love his poemsJohn Updike Read More

She wanders through raptured streets in a world asleep, tracking time, dawn curled on the banks of her river to see Grove prepare an awakening she wills with her mood. Collars of sunflowers… Read More

With heaven in my hands,I slid towards my peeling door, towards bursting sunshine and second chances.I smelled the dawn and the dustthe gutters and the dying dogsthe donkeys and the brewing… Read More

What is chaos but ash once alive,a sun deserting its altogether dead day,as on noiseless feet a lioness standsagainst a sky that has no name?The continental voice proclaimsof all people you… Read More

There is no denyingall is perturbedon the back of Atlas who was asked by Zeusto carry a sack of grief.Fed from the bottom upthrough our tap-rootwe grew into the daysand years of the time.It… Read More

Dans ton envie de m'abattretu m'as nourri, toutes ces annéesj'attends ton coup pour vaincre mes craintes,toi, le bourreau, et ta muleta -- moi le taureau.Tu m'appelles, sans cesse tu… Read More

by Marylin HackerThey say the rules are: be forgotten, or proclaim myself.I’m reasonably tired of that game, myself.I watched some friends rush off, called by the wild,and stayed home… Read More

I have evidence of fire inside you, after the smoke has clearedbut embers glare stilllike a glow bug. I can only imagine how you unwrappedeach other's gift before I arrived,then wrapped your… Read More

on theway home Inoticeda cricketplayingin the park,and stoppedto see howit placedthe yellowbrass toits lips; Istood thereon the grassa while,wonderinghow flowerstint cloth,blend scent,scisso… Read More

In those times, she says, in Octobertenth month of the yearthe O in the ten would become an openinga funnel through which rain would pour.Those times evening refused to wait its turnbut woul… Read More

We alone can devalue goldby not caringif it falls or risesin the marketplace.Wherever there is goldthere is a chain, you know,and if your chainis goldso much the worsefor you.Feathers, shell… Read More

Horns, by Kwame DawesIn every crowd, there is the onewith horns, casually moving throughthe bodies... Body bereft, by Antjie Krogover my terrifiedbody my hand moves again up tomy breast... H… Read More

The one thing women don’t want to find in their stockings on Xmas morning is their husband.Joan Rivers What do you call a snowman with a six pack?An abdominal snowman. Why was Santa up… Read More

A bat inscribes words in the sky,flaps to its cave to hang upside down in itlike a dark growth forming,a black thought in the cup of a skull at night when slumber refuses to come,till blood… Read More

Horns, by Kwame DawesIn every crowd, there is the onewith horns, casually moving throughthe bodies... Body bereft, by Antjie Krogover my terrifiedbody my hand moves again up tomy breast... H… Read More

Steve Biko - Quotes, Movie & Death - Biography Read More

The semen coloured face of the mulatto child grewto a black-faced mind, dreads wriggling from its headlike Medusa snakes. Anybody who gazed at him knew there was trouble brewing behind his d… Read More

Donald James Woods, CBE (December 15, 1933 – August 19, 2001) was a South African journalist and anti-apartheid activist.As editor of the Daily Dispatch from 1965 to 1977, he befriende… Read More

You have seen the way light can become your face at the beginning of day when morning opens its door,and you step onto a stoep buffed with the soft, dry clothof life, the smell of Sunbeam in… Read More

"A man had his private parts tied with a piece of wire which was in turn made tighter by twisting it with a pair of pliers until he dropped dung like an animal."— from "Lesotho, an Afr… Read More

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