Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

Through the eyes of the public

Enlarge poem

Mama,
When I grow up,
I want to be a terrorist.
Steer verbal airplanes into deaf twin towers,
Trample on sunshine dictionaries and thesaurus flowers
In the terminology of going green.
Said,
I want to be a mean machine,
Steam religious convicts with iron,
Dine like judas at your last suppers-heathens
Claiming
To be the Messiah.
What if I told you God is an imperialist,
That he colonized my fleshly desires,
Thus inaugurated as Governor of Realms Empire,
I wish to wire my psyche
To be an assassin of kingdoms with a small letter k
Say,
I want to march into heavenly banks, claim “my inheritance”
Since I was told I’m an heir to the Throne.
I want to orchestrate juvenile crime scenes
Script productions of angels gyrating uninterruptedly around
You’re Majesty
Instead of your Honour,
i am honoured to be a servant
To you Son-capital S.
Mama,
I want to wash pride’s feet
Meet joy, introduce him to peace, converse with love
Think about kindness, daydream about dreams
Being accompanied to fruition by visions and see her escort
My will to God’s destiny
And together walk down the aisle of lifetime fidelity
Because
He’s been faithful to me already,
When i hadn’t even said “i do”
I want to kidnap despair and ask for hope as ransom
Hold addictions hostage
Until addictions delivers me
What if I told you, I am xenophobic?
I wish to click feathers as pens
Laugh as romantics
Become immigrants- setting them alight,
Laugh even harder as foreign tongues burn in retaliation
I want to dispute existentialism as reconciliation
To creation
I want to be controversy- vacuuming the dirt under your carpets
Yes sir,
I even want to be the unbearable stink under your armpits.
Mama,
I want to siege warfare
Be instrumental colleges,
Have you schooled, intellectually fine-tuned
Wearing validity uniforms
Have you abide by purpose, not luck, purpose code of conducts.
Duct tape your mouths, so your voices are mere crosses on ballot sheets
And have you ostracised for wanting change.
Mama,
I want reality expansions and fantasy contractions
Rebelling in the listeners’ subconscious mansion.
I want to be a medical sergeant
Release warrants that’ll permit me
To scribble infirmity all over your well being
Prescribe you sleeping pills under false diagnoses
Paralyse your fighting spirit like multiple-sclerosis,
Ultimately pin your life down to a wheelchair,
Have you drive off a cliff somewhere, under the conviction in your ears
That NO ONE cares.
Let me not mention the tabernacles and sanctuaries
I aspire to be
Laying my altar, where the truth won’t falter
But spirits and principles will collide.
I want to be innocent nursery rhymes,
Of jack and Jill and Mary had a little lamb,
Or alternatively be that rhyme where, children clip hands and spin around in circles,
In the name of a plague.
And
In the same breath
I want to be magnetic attractions, nuclear bombs
Tested on masses
To prove whole, scientific fractions.
I wish to sanction light bulbs to expose witchcraft.
Carve a plus sign wooden tree with a naked figure,
Bleeding incongruously,
And sing,
Not to any particular harmony.
As Calvary tides sweep worldly sand castles
But let intercession footprints remain
Be captivated at sea as waves engulfing rocks
Waltz and cha-cha in praise.
Mama,
On the horizon I was surprised to find,
Tiny boats stay afloat and titanic ships sink!
And in the midst of it all,
I want to be a valiant peter stepping out
To meet Him…

Koleka Putuma

Featured Poem:

Woman

Enlarge poem

This is her narrative,
Sketching comparative analysis
That cannot be defined by the architect of her hips or backside
These words a microscope into her body smile and mind
Aligned with the testament of time
That by breath, dust and rib- from Adam
A masterpiece unfathomable was fashioned and formed
Beyond conventional norms of society’s
Stating-
All they were destined to be
Are
Child bearers,
Victims,
Punching bags,
Secretaries,
All things derogatory,
Burden carriers,
Wives
And a mere shadows of the xy chromosome.
I said a lineage of greatness is born
Women who have stood on the front lines of battlefields
Yielded their present for the future of others,
Mothers of inspiration, civil rights movements,
Preachers, prophetesses, goddesses, and nothing less
Than bravery,
Affectionate and gifted hands
Unafraid to be transparent in lifting up their vulnerability
To be seen, to be heard,
To be living monuments in historical chapters
As their resilience and virtue
Combine to project a relentless spirit and boldness
Confined in the stride of her walk
Her talk oozes proverbs
The universe is but a herd
Flocking to her breasts
To suckle the milk that strengthens
Young ones
Ones,
Become two,
To become mass pedigrees of masterpieces unsold
More precious than Gold
Woman-
You ought to be told that you are indescribable and ridiculously exquisite
This pen visits the passages and corridors
Of your silent pain and wars
To find you
Undefeated
Unscarred
And
Victorious
Let your notorious cellulite map out the geography to a sight called
Flawless
Your fat will be the pillow of consolation
That more women may embrace their imperfections that are but perfections
In the eyes of “loving yourself regardless’
Your bones are the rock where men will be grounded
Your dreams founded and accomplished
And your skeleton relished
In the undisputable truth that YOU
WOMAN
Are Phenomenal

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (20)
  • Pride (12)
  • Optimism (5)
  • Anger (10)
  • Delight (5)
  • Inspiration (18)
  • Reflection (11)
  • Captivation (8)
  • Peace (2)
  • Amusement (1)
  • Sorrow (8)
  • Vigour (4)
  • Hope (8)
  • Sadness (8)
  • Fear (4)
  • Jubilation (3)

Comments

Your email address will not be published.

Biography

Performance poet,  Koleka Putuma, is based in Cape Town and currently pursuing a degree in Theatre and Performance at the University of Cape Town. She  facilitates and hosta writing and dialogue workshops at schools, community projects and interfaith programs in and around Cape Town.

She has headlined at SliPnet’s Inzync Poetry Sessions, JamThat Session and at Off The Wall. She is a resident poet of the collective Lingua Franca. In 2012 she took second place in the Cape Town leg of the Drama for Life Lover + Another National Performance Poetry Slam Competition and represented the city at the national finals.

Her work has travelled to Scotland and New York.

 

Koleka Putuma

Biography

Performance poet,  Koleka Putuma, is based in Cape Town and currently pursuing a degree in Theatre and Performance at the University of Cape Town. She  facilitates and hosta writing and dialogue workshops at schools, community projects and interfaith programs in and around Cape Town.

She has headlined at SliPnet’s Inzync Poetry Sessions, JamThat Session and at Off The Wall. She is a resident poet of the collective Lingua Franca. In 2012 she took second place in the Cape Town leg of the Drama for Life Lover + Another National Performance Poetry Slam Competition and represented the city at the national finals.

Her work has travelled to Scotland and New York.

 

Through the eyes of the public

Enlarge poem

Mama,
When I grow up,
I want to be a terrorist.
Steer verbal airplanes into deaf twin towers,
Trample on sunshine dictionaries and thesaurus flowers
In the terminology of going green.
Said,
I want to be a mean machine,
Steam religious convicts with iron,
Dine like judas at your last suppers-heathens
Claiming
To be the Messiah.
What if I told you God is an imperialist,
That he colonized my fleshly desires,
Thus inaugurated as Governor of Realms Empire,
I wish to wire my psyche
To be an assassin of kingdoms with a small letter k
Say,
I want to march into heavenly banks, claim “my inheritance”
Since I was told I’m an heir to the Throne.
I want to orchestrate juvenile crime scenes
Script productions of angels gyrating uninterruptedly around
You’re Majesty
Instead of your Honour,
i am honoured to be a servant
To you Son-capital S.
Mama,
I want to wash pride’s feet
Meet joy, introduce him to peace, converse with love
Think about kindness, daydream about dreams
Being accompanied to fruition by visions and see her escort
My will to God’s destiny
And together walk down the aisle of lifetime fidelity
Because
He’s been faithful to me already,
When i hadn’t even said “i do”
I want to kidnap despair and ask for hope as ransom
Hold addictions hostage
Until addictions delivers me
What if I told you, I am xenophobic?
I wish to click feathers as pens
Laugh as romantics
Become immigrants- setting them alight,
Laugh even harder as foreign tongues burn in retaliation
I want to dispute existentialism as reconciliation
To creation
I want to be controversy- vacuuming the dirt under your carpets
Yes sir,
I even want to be the unbearable stink under your armpits.
Mama,
I want to siege warfare
Be instrumental colleges,
Have you schooled, intellectually fine-tuned
Wearing validity uniforms
Have you abide by purpose, not luck, purpose code of conducts.
Duct tape your mouths, so your voices are mere crosses on ballot sheets
And have you ostracised for wanting change.
Mama,
I want reality expansions and fantasy contractions
Rebelling in the listeners’ subconscious mansion.
I want to be a medical sergeant
Release warrants that’ll permit me
To scribble infirmity all over your well being
Prescribe you sleeping pills under false diagnoses
Paralyse your fighting spirit like multiple-sclerosis,
Ultimately pin your life down to a wheelchair,
Have you drive off a cliff somewhere, under the conviction in your ears
That NO ONE cares.
Let me not mention the tabernacles and sanctuaries
I aspire to be
Laying my altar, where the truth won’t falter
But spirits and principles will collide.
I want to be innocent nursery rhymes,
Of jack and Jill and Mary had a little lamb,
Or alternatively be that rhyme where, children clip hands and spin around in circles,
In the name of a plague.
And
In the same breath
I want to be magnetic attractions, nuclear bombs
Tested on masses
To prove whole, scientific fractions.
I wish to sanction light bulbs to expose witchcraft.
Carve a plus sign wooden tree with a naked figure,
Bleeding incongruously,
And sing,
Not to any particular harmony.
As Calvary tides sweep worldly sand castles
But let intercession footprints remain
Be captivated at sea as waves engulfing rocks
Waltz and cha-cha in praise.
Mama,
On the horizon I was surprised to find,
Tiny boats stay afloat and titanic ships sink!
And in the midst of it all,
I want to be a valiant peter stepping out
To meet Him…

Featured Poem:

Woman

Enlarge poem

This is her narrative,
Sketching comparative analysis
That cannot be defined by the architect of her hips or backside
These words a microscope into her body smile and mind
Aligned with the testament of time
That by breath, dust and rib- from Adam
A masterpiece unfathomable was fashioned and formed
Beyond conventional norms of society’s
Stating-
All they were destined to be
Are
Child bearers,
Victims,
Punching bags,
Secretaries,
All things derogatory,
Burden carriers,
Wives
And a mere shadows of the xy chromosome.
I said a lineage of greatness is born
Women who have stood on the front lines of battlefields
Yielded their present for the future of others,
Mothers of inspiration, civil rights movements,
Preachers, prophetesses, goddesses, and nothing less
Than bravery,
Affectionate and gifted hands
Unafraid to be transparent in lifting up their vulnerability
To be seen, to be heard,
To be living monuments in historical chapters
As their resilience and virtue
Combine to project a relentless spirit and boldness
Confined in the stride of her walk
Her talk oozes proverbs
The universe is but a herd
Flocking to her breasts
To suckle the milk that strengthens
Young ones
Ones,
Become two,
To become mass pedigrees of masterpieces unsold
More precious than Gold
Woman-
You ought to be told that you are indescribable and ridiculously exquisite
This pen visits the passages and corridors
Of your silent pain and wars
To find you
Undefeated
Unscarred
And
Victorious
Let your notorious cellulite map out the geography to a sight called
Flawless
Your fat will be the pillow of consolation
That more women may embrace their imperfections that are but perfections
In the eyes of “loving yourself regardless’
Your bones are the rock where men will be grounded
Your dreams founded and accomplished
And your skeleton relished
In the undisputable truth that YOU
WOMAN
Are Phenomenal

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (20)
  • Pride (12)
  • Optimism (5)
  • Anger (10)
  • Delight (5)
  • Inspiration (18)
  • Reflection (11)
  • Captivation (8)
  • Peace (2)
  • Amusement (1)
  • Sorrow (8)
  • Vigour (4)
  • Hope (8)
  • Sadness (8)
  • Fear (4)
  • Jubilation (3)

Through the eyes of the public

Enlarge poem

Mama,
When I grow up,
I want to be a terrorist.
Steer verbal airplanes into deaf twin towers,
Trample on sunshine dictionaries and thesaurus flowers
In the terminology of going green.
Said,
I want to be a mean machine,
Steam religious convicts with iron,
Dine like judas at your last suppers-heathens
Claiming
To be the Messiah.
What if I told you God is an imperialist,
That he colonized my fleshly desires,
Thus inaugurated as Governor of Realms Empire,
I wish to wire my psyche
To be an assassin of kingdoms with a small letter k
Say,
I want to march into heavenly banks, claim “my inheritance”
Since I was told I’m an heir to the Throne.
I want to orchestrate juvenile crime scenes
Script productions of angels gyrating uninterruptedly around
You’re Majesty
Instead of your Honour,
i am honoured to be a servant
To you Son-capital S.
Mama,
I want to wash pride’s feet
Meet joy, introduce him to peace, converse with love
Think about kindness, daydream about dreams
Being accompanied to fruition by visions and see her escort
My will to God’s destiny
And together walk down the aisle of lifetime fidelity
Because
He’s been faithful to me already,
When i hadn’t even said “i do”
I want to kidnap despair and ask for hope as ransom
Hold addictions hostage
Until addictions delivers me
What if I told you, I am xenophobic?
I wish to click feathers as pens
Laugh as romantics
Become immigrants- setting them alight,
Laugh even harder as foreign tongues burn in retaliation
I want to dispute existentialism as reconciliation
To creation
I want to be controversy- vacuuming the dirt under your carpets
Yes sir,
I even want to be the unbearable stink under your armpits.
Mama,
I want to siege warfare
Be instrumental colleges,
Have you schooled, intellectually fine-tuned
Wearing validity uniforms
Have you abide by purpose, not luck, purpose code of conducts.
Duct tape your mouths, so your voices are mere crosses on ballot sheets
And have you ostracised for wanting change.
Mama,
I want reality expansions and fantasy contractions
Rebelling in the listeners’ subconscious mansion.
I want to be a medical sergeant
Release warrants that’ll permit me
To scribble infirmity all over your well being
Prescribe you sleeping pills under false diagnoses
Paralyse your fighting spirit like multiple-sclerosis,
Ultimately pin your life down to a wheelchair,
Have you drive off a cliff somewhere, under the conviction in your ears
That NO ONE cares.
Let me not mention the tabernacles and sanctuaries
I aspire to be
Laying my altar, where the truth won’t falter
But spirits and principles will collide.
I want to be innocent nursery rhymes,
Of jack and Jill and Mary had a little lamb,
Or alternatively be that rhyme where, children clip hands and spin around in circles,
In the name of a plague.
And
In the same breath
I want to be magnetic attractions, nuclear bombs
Tested on masses
To prove whole, scientific fractions.
I wish to sanction light bulbs to expose witchcraft.
Carve a plus sign wooden tree with a naked figure,
Bleeding incongruously,
And sing,
Not to any particular harmony.
As Calvary tides sweep worldly sand castles
But let intercession footprints remain
Be captivated at sea as waves engulfing rocks
Waltz and cha-cha in praise.
Mama,
On the horizon I was surprised to find,
Tiny boats stay afloat and titanic ships sink!
And in the midst of it all,
I want to be a valiant peter stepping out
To meet Him…

Comments

Your email address will not be published.