BARREN FIELDS

BARREN FEILDS

Why is it

that when you sit

down for your meals

you don't think

about all those empty stomachs

in the villages

which your henchmen

tease with bags of mealie meal

so that they buy your cards

and shout your slogans

in order to get their hands on them

to feed their families

that have been let down

by the sometimes treacherous sky

and their barren fields

end

WHERE WILL THEY BE ON X-MAS DAY?

WHERE WILL THEY BE ON X-MAS DAY

As our children
stare wide eyed
at glass cases of sweets
that their poor father's
can no longer afford to buy for them
to sweeten their Xmas days -
where will the shefs* be on that day?

As mother's patch old clothes
that their children can cover their buttocks
and their husbands their crotches
between their perforated trouser legs -

as cockroaches threaten mutiny
inside bare cupboards
faced by the beautifu face of hunger
in houses where once voices laughed
on sunny Xmas days -
where will the shefs be on that day
with their looted public funds

end
*shef - party big shots

CIVIL SLAVE

CIVIL SLAVE

In the morning they look blessed
the purple carpets of North End streets
the sun soft on the fallen blossoms
their scent gentle to the heart
as cars zip past on Athlone Avenue
workers off to work
kids skipping to school

I am the civil servant

Trudging to work
Collar frayed
Socks holed
Underwear torn
Shoe heels slanted
stomach empty
dreaming of the rice and chicken
the gleaming cutlery, the wine
that graces state house banquets

THEY ARE COMING

THEY ARE COMING

Gogo watches in fear
through a rent in the curtain
as the kids boil down the street -
a minute ago a terrified woman ran past
bleeding and dress torn
yelling THEY ARE COMING!

in an instant the streets were empty
not even a wind
only the yelling kids
cadres of national sovereignity
weilding dread
in upraised little fists
as that man on their t-shirts


pain cramps her stomach
she fears for her only son
she told him not to go -
and the day he went
he told her she will see

he is leading the toyi toyi towards her home
sweating faces set
teeth bared
feet pumping

GO WARRIORS GO!

GO WARRIORS GO!


As in colonial times
the country is still ruled by a few crooks up there
Whilst the common man
Like the fools they have willingly let themselves be reduced to
Vainly waits for the national soccer team
to win at least one international match
and re-elevate their flagging spirits

end

ALL OUR COWARDS

ALL OUR COWARDS

Tyranny still snarls
It's fangs are vicious comets
Yellow Green Bombers that stone at change
As what should be cowers in fear
In the bosoms of all our cowards

***

POLITICAL WRITING

The only reason that can make a writer stay divorced from political writing is either allegiance to the ruling ruling party of the day, or plain old cowardice. One simply cannot choose 'light' themes when there are 'heavier' ones around - that would be insincerity to oneself and the artistic calling.


Chris

SEVENTH STREET ALCHEMY REVISITED

As brothers and sisters fail to replace torn underwear and socks, as they till the streets everday to work and back because of this despicable economic meltdown, what are we, as a politically suppressed people, doing about it?

Owenu
Chris

WRITING SERIOUSLY

A few years back, after I had been writing seriosuly for fifteen or so years, I had what I term as an awakening. All along I had been writing comical township bottle store anecdotes which seemed to amuse publishers and readers alike. Then, one day, when the home political situation got thuggish, I realised that all the independent press had been muzzled - so who was going to let the world know?

The artist of course!

Chris