Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

Slave

Enlarge poem

Life of compression and oppression
I was downtrodden
Labour at no coin
I offered my office
To his tenth planet I bow
People attain innovation and correction
I thought it was a part time clutch
But later I was maltreated
My destination was smashed

Scientists haven’t found this planet
I extracted it
First it was misnouned as an art
Later they tell; there is the tenth planet
Here is the tenth planet
In my world it displaced interior architecture
Once I held a pencil as my future filler
I tried to make lines
To me it came and summoned, “stop”
” Time to adhere to me”

Here is the planet
Body of addiction
It follows in acrostic stanza
Perseverance my limitation
Owned and yet Accepting
End I know not
Trying and crying
Reverence for my destination
Yell, yearn, and yelp for hunk

You pester me
Yet here I am still abiding by you
Breathing hyperboles, paradoxes and parodies
I am like an ill-treated woman
A pecking bag
Is hard to jerk back
I think I adore you
But to you I am a screwdriver

I offer you the best
Yet is hard to appreciate Why?
Why do this to me?
You consumed my trance
Now I am from the scratch
Will you consume again?
I don’t believe it
You are wicked you arouser
Slave of emotions
Serf of paintings
I roar what you summon
I scrawl what you command

Always there when you need me
Now I long for my feather in my cap
Grant it to me
Six years I assembled for you
Yet naught is on my palm
Naught is on my palm

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Ponatshegelo Katlholo

Featured Poem:

Nothing is Perfect

Enlarge poem

Buildings were built straight
Today they are crooked
Love used to shine bright
At the moment it is a gloom
Faces used to smile
Now they are senile
Torment is striking
Breath of opposites

Families were erected
Marriage called and labelled
Yet illegitimate sons and daughters still live
They are from the blood of the married
Big man thought he has ten out of ten of the traces
To his surprise on two thirds of the blood is his
The rest of the remnants belong to another big man somewhere
There used to be laws in the houses
At the moment parents are jokes
Mama, papa, Pearl and Parks share the same bottle
Later on, later on, later on the bottle goes down to daddyës waist
daddy visit Pearlës pants and bra;
A browse for utility from his own blood
A browse for utility from his own blood
Her blouse is already on the floor
ìDaddy! Daddy! donít touch her there,î Parks screaming from behind
Parenthood is a jokester
What a yoke

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
Look!
We used to hear of democracy
Hypocrisy has taken control
It took the crown to its palm
Nothing is calm
I thought they will be my mouth
A promise; their promise; as void as it is
They just brim their gigantic bellies
Bellies disobedient to physics
When a rubber stretches, it has to stop somewhere
They consume yet they reach no elastic limit
Whatís perfect then when laws of creation are disobeyed?

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
They used to know the most high
Today they grant his decree spine
They see it fine
They are malicious
Promoting evil-doing; sexual immorality, wickedness, evil-minded as they are
Back-biters, haters of god, violent, disobedient to their parents, inventors of darkness
Bo Baba Mogae were afraid of losing the seat
Now that they are out, they are pricking the successor
BoBaba Ian Khama legalise that and that
The order came from David Cameron
May be from where the order came is where the fodder comes
I donít want to see it

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
Post your sight to the past
Post your sight to the past
Nations used to make their own laws
Today as the clock ticks and ticks and ticks, especially in the black slate
We post our sight to where the sun set
Dying dreams
Why not abide by the conscience of where the sun rises
Some me are superstars
Superpowers I mean to say
Others are mediocrity I guess

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
In this world of Bushes and Camerons
Blairs and liars
African leaders are like puppets listening to all the worse from the ìworstî and abiding by that
Some are tried in the international court
Others cannot put their feet there
For some their fingertips vibrate and vibrate and vibrate,
Craving to administer the so-called justice
Nothing is fair
Nobody cares

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
They used to kiss
Now they hissssssss!
No word to spit
Some say the lord knows
They are pierced
Children are also overlooked
Own-blood granted the backs; absent fathers
All in the name of new love: what a blindfold
Divine love slaughtered

Nothing is perfect
All has changed
Love to hate
Sweet to sour
Joy to tears
Safety altered to fear
Security consumed
Rights no more
Bullets are just pricking
The president signing for the pellets to strike

We used to choose the leaders
We used to choose the leaders
At the moment they are stuck with glue to the seats
Every election a lineage of a song
I was cheated
I thought things will go my way
Your way, our way
What they did is turn their backs onto us

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
I have loved them, I love them
As sisters, not some tools or fools
They have embraced some joke yesters
Those who just put to the taste buds
Then they vanish into the thin air;
Strength of the fat pocket
I wished to stay; divine love
So nothing is perfect

What was good is now bad
Love is now enmity
Friendship- rivalry
Morality altered to immorality
Royalty slaughtered by dynamicity of culture
Slogans interpreted wrongly
Fleshes running away from light
Embracing plight
Nothing s perfect
Not at all.

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ponatshegelo

Nothing is Perfect by Ponatshegelo Katlholo

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Botswana

Biography

On stage he is known as Mista Poke. At 24, he is the youngest member of the Poetavango Collective. Mista Poke was born and bred in the village of Maun, Botswana. He studied accounting and business management.

Mista Poke wrote his first poem when he was 16 years old. His main influence came from listening to the music and poetry of the South African Mzwakhe Mbuli. He is a fanatic of African indigenous ways of life, and when he writes his poetry, his pan-African views and inclinations can be seen. He also writes heavily on socio-political issues.

Mista Poke is a spirited and energetic performer with a voice a highly commanding voice. He has performed in various public activities in his home town of Maun. He also performed at all Poetavango shows including the international poetry festivals.

Ponatshegelo Katlholo

ponatshegelo
ponatshegelo

Botswana

Biography

On stage he is known as Mista Poke. At 24, he is the youngest member of the Poetavango Collective. Mista Poke was born and bred in the village of Maun, Botswana. He studied accounting and business management.

Mista Poke wrote his first poem when he was 16 years old. His main influence came from listening to the music and poetry of the South African Mzwakhe Mbuli. He is a fanatic of African indigenous ways of life, and when he writes his poetry, his pan-African views and inclinations can be seen. He also writes heavily on socio-political issues.

Mista Poke is a spirited and energetic performer with a voice a highly commanding voice. He has performed in various public activities in his home town of Maun. He also performed at all Poetavango shows including the international poetry festivals.

Slave

Enlarge poem

Life of compression and oppression
I was downtrodden
Labour at no coin
I offered my office
To his tenth planet I bow
People attain innovation and correction
I thought it was a part time clutch
But later I was maltreated
My destination was smashed

Scientists haven’t found this planet
I extracted it
First it was misnouned as an art
Later they tell; there is the tenth planet
Here is the tenth planet
In my world it displaced interior architecture
Once I held a pencil as my future filler
I tried to make lines
To me it came and summoned, “stop”
” Time to adhere to me”

Here is the planet
Body of addiction
It follows in acrostic stanza
Perseverance my limitation
Owned and yet Accepting
End I know not
Trying and crying
Reverence for my destination
Yell, yearn, and yelp for hunk

You pester me
Yet here I am still abiding by you
Breathing hyperboles, paradoxes and parodies
I am like an ill-treated woman
A pecking bag
Is hard to jerk back
I think I adore you
But to you I am a screwdriver

I offer you the best
Yet is hard to appreciate Why?
Why do this to me?
You consumed my trance
Now I am from the scratch
Will you consume again?
I don’t believe it
You are wicked you arouser
Slave of emotions
Serf of paintings
I roar what you summon
I scrawl what you command

Always there when you need me
Now I long for my feather in my cap
Grant it to me
Six years I assembled for you
Yet naught is on my palm
Naught is on my palm

Featured Poem:

Nothing is Perfect

Enlarge poem

Buildings were built straight
Today they are crooked
Love used to shine bright
At the moment it is a gloom
Faces used to smile
Now they are senile
Torment is striking
Breath of opposites

Families were erected
Marriage called and labelled
Yet illegitimate sons and daughters still live
They are from the blood of the married
Big man thought he has ten out of ten of the traces
To his surprise on two thirds of the blood is his
The rest of the remnants belong to another big man somewhere
There used to be laws in the houses
At the moment parents are jokes
Mama, papa, Pearl and Parks share the same bottle
Later on, later on, later on the bottle goes down to daddyës waist
daddy visit Pearlës pants and bra;
A browse for utility from his own blood
A browse for utility from his own blood
Her blouse is already on the floor
ìDaddy! Daddy! donít touch her there,î Parks screaming from behind
Parenthood is a jokester
What a yoke

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
Look!
We used to hear of democracy
Hypocrisy has taken control
It took the crown to its palm
Nothing is calm
I thought they will be my mouth
A promise; their promise; as void as it is
They just brim their gigantic bellies
Bellies disobedient to physics
When a rubber stretches, it has to stop somewhere
They consume yet they reach no elastic limit
Whatís perfect then when laws of creation are disobeyed?

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
They used to know the most high
Today they grant his decree spine
They see it fine
They are malicious
Promoting evil-doing; sexual immorality, wickedness, evil-minded as they are
Back-biters, haters of god, violent, disobedient to their parents, inventors of darkness
Bo Baba Mogae were afraid of losing the seat
Now that they are out, they are pricking the successor
BoBaba Ian Khama legalise that and that
The order came from David Cameron
May be from where the order came is where the fodder comes
I donít want to see it

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
Post your sight to the past
Post your sight to the past
Nations used to make their own laws
Today as the clock ticks and ticks and ticks, especially in the black slate
We post our sight to where the sun set
Dying dreams
Why not abide by the conscience of where the sun rises
Some me are superstars
Superpowers I mean to say
Others are mediocrity I guess

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
In this world of Bushes and Camerons
Blairs and liars
African leaders are like puppets listening to all the worse from the ìworstî and abiding by that
Some are tried in the international court
Others cannot put their feet there
For some their fingertips vibrate and vibrate and vibrate,
Craving to administer the so-called justice
Nothing is fair
Nobody cares

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
They used to kiss
Now they hissssssss!
No word to spit
Some say the lord knows
They are pierced
Children are also overlooked
Own-blood granted the backs; absent fathers
All in the name of new love: what a blindfold
Divine love slaughtered

Nothing is perfect
All has changed
Love to hate
Sweet to sour
Joy to tears
Safety altered to fear
Security consumed
Rights no more
Bullets are just pricking
The president signing for the pellets to strike

We used to choose the leaders
We used to choose the leaders
At the moment they are stuck with glue to the seats
Every election a lineage of a song
I was cheated
I thought things will go my way
Your way, our way
What they did is turn their backs onto us

Nothing is perfect
Nothing is perfect
I have loved them, I love them
As sisters, not some tools or fools
They have embraced some joke yesters
Those who just put to the taste buds
Then they vanish into the thin air;
Strength of the fat pocket
I wished to stay; divine love
So nothing is perfect

What was good is now bad
Love is now enmity
Friendship- rivalry
Morality altered to immorality
Royalty slaughtered by dynamicity of culture
Slogans interpreted wrongly
Fleshes running away from light
Embracing plight
Nothing s perfect
Not at all.

Nothing is Perfect by Ponatshegelo Katlholo

Download the audio file

How does this featured poem make you feel?

  • Amazement (1)
  • Pride (1)
  • Optimism (0)
  • Anger (1)
  • Delight (0)
  • Inspiration (0)
  • Reflection (3)
  • Captivation (0)
  • Peace (0)
  • Amusement (0)
  • Sorrow (0)
  • Vigour (0)
  • Hope (0)
  • Sadness (1)
  • Fear (0)
  • Jubilation (0)

Slave

Enlarge poem

Life of compression and oppression
I was downtrodden
Labour at no coin
I offered my office
To his tenth planet I bow
People attain innovation and correction
I thought it was a part time clutch
But later I was maltreated
My destination was smashed

Scientists haven’t found this planet
I extracted it
First it was misnouned as an art
Later they tell; there is the tenth planet
Here is the tenth planet
In my world it displaced interior architecture
Once I held a pencil as my future filler
I tried to make lines
To me it came and summoned, “stop”
” Time to adhere to me”

Here is the planet
Body of addiction
It follows in acrostic stanza
Perseverance my limitation
Owned and yet Accepting
End I know not
Trying and crying
Reverence for my destination
Yell, yearn, and yelp for hunk

You pester me
Yet here I am still abiding by you
Breathing hyperboles, paradoxes and parodies
I am like an ill-treated woman
A pecking bag
Is hard to jerk back
I think I adore you
But to you I am a screwdriver

I offer you the best
Yet is hard to appreciate Why?
Why do this to me?
You consumed my trance
Now I am from the scratch
Will you consume again?
I don’t believe it
You are wicked you arouser
Slave of emotions
Serf of paintings
I roar what you summon
I scrawl what you command

Always there when you need me
Now I long for my feather in my cap
Grant it to me
Six years I assembled for you
Yet naught is on my palm
Naught is on my palm

Comments

Your email address will not be published.