Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry

Biography

Grahamstown

Enlarge poem

On the slopes the charred spines of the winter pines.
The town still in the valley below,
a pulse just visible in the soft hollows of a skull.
Lonely the forest road billowing sunset-red
for a girl on her bicycle, going home.
For her there can be no leaving, yet. Nothing to find.
Just a waiting as gradual as the evening train
shunting its heavy load free of the station.
Bed time, and the wind chime jangles.
Beyond the glass, a planet stark against the sky.
Restless, she turns under her covers at dawn,
hearing a truck shift down to its lowest gear.
The deep engine roar judders on the highway, departing.

Sarah Frost

Featured Poem:

Bellwood

Enlarge poem

She drives past bulls behind fences
to reach the cottages that
sit primly at the water’s edge.
Purple flowers decorate the dry hillside,
amethysts around a sun-burnt neck.
A pin oak extends delicately
towards the sky. Horses mull.
Earlier, on the open road, her car flanked a train
as it probed the landscape, like a man entering a woman.
On her stereo, Alanis Morisette’s lyrics blare
The words summon his face like an avatar:
sad clear eyes, thin-lipped mouth, jutting nose
swimming up in her mind like insistent fish.
Hours later, drunk, she leaves the birthday party,
to walk to where she will sleep that night
and lies on her bed, listening to the sounds of frogs
calling out across the water.
Laughter floats in through her open window,
like a half-drawn breath.
She remembers his words about her poems:
earnest, direct, removed.
Offering structure, a skeleton beneath flesh.
She scrawls in her notebook as a swimmer, fearful, under water
might search the opacity for a handhold, the roughness of rock.
She writes tentatively, as one standing up, walking to shore
might feel mud and soft lake moss beneath her feet, yielding.

How does this featured poem make you feel?

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

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Biography

Sarah Frost is 39 years old, married to David, and mother to a son and daughter. She works as an editor for Juta Legalbrief in Durban, South Africa.

She has been writing poetry for the past fourteen years. She has completed an MA in English Literature, and also a module on Creative Writing, through UKZN. She has been published in various SA journals, and also some in the US. Her first anthology, Conduit, was published by Modjaji Books in the first quarter of 2011.

Sarah Frost

Biography

Sarah Frost is 39 years old, married to David, and mother to a son and daughter. She works as an editor for Juta Legalbrief in Durban, South Africa.

She has been writing poetry for the past fourteen years. She has completed an MA in English Literature, and also a module on Creative Writing, through UKZN. She has been published in various SA journals, and also some in the US. Her first anthology, Conduit, was published by Modjaji Books in the first quarter of 2011.

Grahamstown

Enlarge poem

On the slopes the charred spines of the winter pines.
The town still in the valley below,
a pulse just visible in the soft hollows of a skull.
Lonely the forest road billowing sunset-red
for a girl on her bicycle, going home.
For her there can be no leaving, yet. Nothing to find.
Just a waiting as gradual as the evening train
shunting its heavy load free of the station.
Bed time, and the wind chime jangles.
Beyond the glass, a planet stark against the sky.
Restless, she turns under her covers at dawn,
hearing a truck shift down to its lowest gear.
The deep engine roar judders on the highway, departing.

Featured Poem:

Bellwood

Enlarge poem

She drives past bulls behind fences
to reach the cottages that
sit primly at the water’s edge.
Purple flowers decorate the dry hillside,
amethysts around a sun-burnt neck.
A pin oak extends delicately
towards the sky. Horses mull.
Earlier, on the open road, her car flanked a train
as it probed the landscape, like a man entering a woman.
On her stereo, Alanis Morisette’s lyrics blare
The words summon his face like an avatar:
sad clear eyes, thin-lipped mouth, jutting nose
swimming up in her mind like insistent fish.
Hours later, drunk, she leaves the birthday party,
to walk to where she will sleep that night
and lies on her bed, listening to the sounds of frogs
calling out across the water.
Laughter floats in through her open window,
like a half-drawn breath.
She remembers his words about her poems:
earnest, direct, removed.
Offering structure, a skeleton beneath flesh.
She scrawls in her notebook as a swimmer, fearful, under water
might search the opacity for a handhold, the roughness of rock.
She writes tentatively, as one standing up, walking to shore
might feel mud and soft lake moss beneath her feet, yielding.

How does this featured poem make you feel?

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

Grahamstown

Enlarge poem

On the slopes the charred spines of the winter pines.
The town still in the valley below,
a pulse just visible in the soft hollows of a skull.
Lonely the forest road billowing sunset-red
for a girl on her bicycle, going home.
For her there can be no leaving, yet. Nothing to find.
Just a waiting as gradual as the evening train
shunting its heavy load free of the station.
Bed time, and the wind chime jangles.
Beyond the glass, a planet stark against the sky.
Restless, she turns under her covers at dawn,
hearing a truck shift down to its lowest gear.
The deep engine roar judders on the highway, departing.

Comments

Your email address will not be published.