Tag Archives: Wordsmith Wednesday

Glimlag

Niks beweeg nie, my hart hardloop asof dit wil weghardloop.

Trane begin te vloei en ek begin glimlag. Ek is dankbaar!

Ek haal asem as of dit die laaste keer is! In ‘n wêreld waar mens aan soeveel dinge moet dink voor jy by jou huis kan uit stap… is ek net dankbaar vir klein dinge. 

Asem , ń glimlag en nog ń kans om op te staan in die oggend. 

Die Here ken my hart en hoor my gebede. 

My glimlag is ń simbool van hoe dankbaar ek is. 

My geloof word nie in die donker tye verswak nie, maar versterk met die wete dat dit ń seisoen is en my glimlag weer sal terugkeer.

My glimlag is ń simbool van hoe dankbaar ek is.

Candace Conradie

Just imagine love like

Just imagine love like…​
Fresh flowers on the first day of spring, watching them bloom and knowing that they do it all in praise of you. Each one better than the next, hoping you’d grab them by the stem and bring them closer to your chest.

Just imagine love like…​
Poetry so deep you get immersed in every verse and then remember that you inspired every word’s birth.
Every space, comma, exclamation mark is drawn in awe of you.
Period.

Just imagine love like…
A warm summer breeze touching your skin with that sweet, gentle caress that only air gives. A fresh breath of life flowing over every part of you, around you and inside you. Touching the very heart of you.

Just imagine love like…​
The birth of a new dawn, after the cold, dark night when everything gets reborn. Out of the silent blackness grows beauty beyond what’s told, the kind that only the purest of eyes can behold.

Just imagine love like…​
Her everlasting, never-dreary, riveting, intense, cant-keep-silent about personality. Making you want to get on top of Lion’s Head and shout out loud and in that moment all is still and all is real and though she’s in the kitchen making coffee your words are carried by that dawn breeze and she can feel your gentle whisper on the back of her neck.

Just imagine love like…​
Art in its purest form. Every brush stroke and melody, every dance move that’s born. Every second arabesque and all the demi plie’s, that leaves us on our tippie toes with arms outstretched and raised.

Dead… A Life

I speak to and of the dead… They remind the devil of my debts.

I speak to myself, a dead man in a life, a lie whispers you once had life.

I speak of myself in a manner of disgust, once discussed, now forgotten.

The dead speak to and of me, through me… Their unfulfilled desires pressed upon me.

A living land, the beaten are damned, Gods plans?
Folly to those who seek the comfort of the shadows, my man.

My man, my woman, my seed… Awake from your dream, for all you know is sleep.

by Ryan Koen

Wednesdays’ Child

To be a better me
I need to set me free

To be a leader, a dreamer
An innovator, a believer

With my head in the clouds
My feet firmly on the ground
To wear my heart on my sleeve
For my words to never leave

To be a realist, an opportunist
Myself to the fullest

No restrictions, no limitations
Strengthening relations with no expectations

To steer clear of the drama, bullshit and petty
No need for unnecessary negativity to make my life messy

To not conform to norms
To play be my own rules
And set my own standards
To avoid all shitstorms
To not be made a fool
And outsmart all bandits

To be a better me
I need to set me free.

by Scarlette Phoenix

I Rise

My mind drift into the dark oblivion
Space and time is mine like every breath I take in
Granted by the hand of the most high
I reach my hand into the sky and form a clenched fist
I scream out, but my voice is a mere tremble
A high pitched sound, like the crash of a drummer’s symbol
This symbolizes the start after the first end,
Before I can move on from my path, I gotta first mend
Using ink like glue spilled from the tip of my first pen
The first ten – steps are always the hardest
Its easy being a rapper, its harder when you’re an artist
Coz you critique your own work more than they ever can,
Like sometimes you forget the fact that you’re a mere man
A mere plan can – set into action the wheels of change – if you just
Pick up yourself and
Wipe off the dust and
Take the first step of ten and try to build momentum – coz the moment you slack, you might stop and look back and start to miss the hole you were stuck in. Like, back in the day I would get down and pray for solutions to problems that were older than I am.

by BK TheRealist

Ode to my twin sisters

Growing up I got to know you as the big twin sisters that always stank when I came by.

You drew so much attention, from even those who flew by

You stood by, all these years and watched me grow from a small boy

To the man I came to be, officially apart of me

Never longed to see to see the two of you,

But everyone who did, knew

What you stood for and what you presence meant for us.

You became ill, rapidly deteriorating

We promised to heal you, but you became tired of waiting

You sealed your own fates, started throwing down your guards

That’s when we realized, you could no longer hold your pose, it was too hard.

Even when we thought of surgery, you just saw the end, and

Even though we tried to comfort you, you knew we could not mend

What was broken was inside of you. A place we couldn’t tend to.

Finally we realized. There was nothing we could do

After taking you for granted, we now have to say goodbye to you.

Called in some experts, to see how we will do this,

Make it quick and painless, to help everyone through this.

They put you through some random tests and stuck some tubing through you

On Sunday during first mass, it stirred me how they blew

I saw the weather changing and the difference in the sky line.

This morning I went pass the place, where you used to stay.

I felt a stirring in my soul, just watching as you lay.

They buried you inside yourselves, right next to each other.

Now watching you, I’m missing you…

Take care okay

Your Brother

 “This was my response to the demolishing of the Athlone Cooling Towers

BK TheRealist
Images courtesy of https://www.6000.co.za/

To Love and Let Go

When I love
I love hard
Because on my sleeve
I wear my heart

From the moment
I’ve decided you’re the one
My heart opens up
And my walls come crashing down

When things get shaky
And our bond begins to break
I reach deep within and pray
We overcome the troubles of this quake

But should things fall apart
I’ll pack up my feelings neatly
and quietly leave to mend my broken heart

How I choose to heal
Is to block out what I feel
To numb myself down
So in tears I don’t drown

With each passing day
I rebuild my walls
Each stronger than the last
Each one cushioning my fall

The higher I go
The clearer I see
I was a fool to let you in
But that’s all on me

I live and I learn
and with time I become wise
Learning from my broken heart
Not giving it to you twice

Now I’m in my castle
Sitting on my throne
Fixing my crown
Proud of how much I’ve grown

With words you could tear me down
And bring me to my knees
But now they fall on deaf ears
Because you I no longer need to appease

Now you’re the one begging and pleading
For an ounce of attention
Because no one else can give you
My brand of affection

But my emotions for you
Are long gone and forgotten
Dead and buried
Memories erased and rewritten

by Scarlette Phoenix

What have we become

Our conversation has turned to
Yes, no, maybe
Okay, alright, yeah.
It used to be sentences,
paragraphs of I can’t get enough of you.
Now we sit together and talk, but
nothings being said.

How was your day?
What are you doing?
How do you feel?
All has answers that’s really just one word.
Sometimes just one letter.
K

Is this what social media and messaging applications has reduced us to?
Turning us into humans that interact with other humans without any human interaction.

We forget people’s phone numbers because we never call.
We take it down and send a text, but lately that’s all, I mean lately that’s it.
In fact, we rarely ask for phone numbers these days.
It’s more,
“Give me your WhatsApp number or your bbm pin.”
“What’s your Twitter handle? I’ll tweet you and we can keep in touch.”

That works for a while, but
how long does it last?
Weeks?
Months?
Years?
For some, maybe.

by BK TheRealist

Tick Tock

Chip on my shoulder
A harsh reality I candidly wished as a youth to be older
Thought process
Age brings freedom
My childhood I looked upon like a demon, I confess
Removing this curse I used nap times as cunning plans
Saw time move swiftly until a ring and a baby met my hands
Tricked by time, the clock steady moving
This once fetus now taking first steps
Time still proving
That fast or slow it no longer ticks for me
An older man approaches, I greet, our lips move simultaneously
Insanity, this familiar copy cat
He claims he knows me and what am I scoffing at
Chip on my shoulder
A harsh reality I candidly wish for my youth as I’m older

by Timsus