How I Wish I Was A Child
I took my children out one night,
They shouted out, what's that,
I said that thing that just flew by,
Well that is called a Bat.
A Bat they said's for baseball,
They think I'm telling lies,
They said it's used to hit a ball,
It's not a thing that flies.
I tried to say it's similar,
To an Aeroplane or a Bird,
They love to soar across the sky,
But they're saying that's absurd.
I then tried to explain myself,
To make them understand,
That I would never lie to them,
There was nothing underhand.
I said it came out late at night,
To hunt for tiny Bugs,
It didn't need to use its eyes,
They said, do you think we're Mugs.
I told them Bats used sonar,
Like Dolphins in the sea,
They send a sound when it bounces back,
That's where their food will be.
They said Dad you're talking nonsense,
Bats are made of wood,
We don't believe a word you say,
But we truly wish we could.
You tell us tall tales all the time,
With the truth you're very sparse,
We know they're made up in your head,
Your stories are all a farce.
I then tried to convince them,
That what I was saying was true,
But I'm fighting a losing battle,
What more can I do.
There really is no hope for me,
I've tried everything I know,
But my children just won't listen,
I think I'd better go.
If only I were young again,
Then I wouldn't feel so riled,
I would know what they were thinking,
‘' How I Wish I Was A Child''
Related quotes
Definitions As An Intention To Describe
Definitions as an intention to describe,
Can be so confining to the mind.
Case in point...
Having to 'some' a meaning.
But...
To those probing their observations,
Making little sense to make sensible...
A reason to find a rhyme.
I remember when I heard the term,
'Baseball' used.
And when I went to my first game,
I was not overwhelmed with excitement.
I couldn't get the 'bat' out of my head.
'Why isn't this game called 'Batball'...
Instead of baseball? '
I kept thinking of that.
Without the bat,
There wouldn't be any baseball played.
Unlike basket...ball.
I can understand that.
Foot...ball,
Okay...
I'm sold.
Base...ball?
And all that the bases do,
Is just lay there?
Home...plate?
That's not a home...base?
And the hitting of a 'homerun'...
That's out of the field of play?
Whoever created this game,
Is a genius.
The terms used as they are applied,
Makes absolutely no sense.
I can understand,
Why it's one of the most favorite sports.
Like golf!
When a player hits that ball,
That might endanger onlookers...
A shouting of 'fore' is heard.
Fore...what?
If one is hit...
Be-fore the word is heard,
That's it.
And even after 'fore'...
What difference does it make?
The other day...
I watched a player of 'baseball' lose his bat.
It went flying into the stadium...
To hit someone in the head.
No one warned the 'victim' at all.
No one shouted...
'Watch 'that'.
It's a flying bat.'
Hmmm...
Flying bats?
At a baseball game?
Where the selling of hot...dogs,
And pea...nuts with beer...
Is a tradition.
And someone wishes to keep the writing of poetry,
To restrictions?
By whose definition?
And when does prose not become poetry?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost In You
All they know,
Is when we fight,
They never see us in the loving times,
What do they know,
They don't know a thing
And they don't know,
How the laughter flies,
Only the stories most of made up lies,
What do they know,
They don't know a thing
How can you understand a love so stong
When you've never shared that with someone
And when all the lies are dead and gone,
We'll still be here,
We'll prove them wrong
'Cause they don't feel,
Your touch at night,
The way your hair falls in the morning light,
What do they know,
They don't know a thing
*instrumental*
How can you understand a love so stong
When you've never shared that with someone
And when all the lies are dead and gone,
We'll still be here,
We'll prove them wrong
'Cause all they know
Is how to criticize,
They'll never take a chance in their own lives
What do they know,
They don't know a thing
And all I know,
Is they don't know a thing.
song performed by by Westlife
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The words of a child
When we were small
my younger brother and I
had to stay with the Von Hörsten’s
during the day,
when my mother went to work
and we had to play outside
and was threatened
that we would get dresses
when we wanted
to come into the house,
but this staying
ended dramatically
in my sixth year.
One night my mother wanted to know
how it is going
with out daily visitation,
whereupon I told her
that every thing was well
and my brother said
that I eat my food very slowly.
I told her
that I do not like cabbage
and that we have to eat everything
or get a hiding
if something is left
on our plates.
My mother said that vegetables
are good and necessary to eat
and I accepted it like that,
but it wasn’t the end
of the story.
As a innocent child
my brother told this incident
to one of the Von Hörsten boys
who told it to his dad.
I played in the hillock above their house
when all of the Von Hörsten boys suddenly
came running out of the farmhouse
and went in all directions
calling for me,
but I could immediately see
that there was big trouble
from the way
that they were shouting and searching.
So I stayed were I was
and wondered about what was going on
and what terrible thing
I had done unknowing?
The much older and bigger boys
sneaked up that hill
and jumped on me
from behind
and grabbed me
and I was carried
right up to their dad.
Uncle Hendrik was a man
that didn’t take nonsense
from anyone
and wanted to know from me,
why I did not want to eat
his wife’s food
and why I am saying
that her food tastes awful?
So I said that it isn’t true
and he shouted
that I must stop lying
and jagged me closer
on my neck
with the hook of his walking stick
and hit me with it.
Stuttering I couldn’t get words
to explain
the circumstances
and then he shouted
talk man talk
and stop thinking
what to lie about
while he was still hitting me.
So I said
that I didn’t like cabbage
and got another hiding
and was said to be silent
or to talk the truth.
So I said that God is my witness
and that a day would come
that his words would also dry up
and be totally in confusion.
Like a dog I was chased away
with a footsack shouted at me
and fled away from
his walking stick
to our house.
The Von Hörsten’s called my mother
and told her about every thing
and she knew
from where my trouble came
and for a whole month
my brother had to eat cabbage,
because he talked
out of the house
and never again
we stayed over with the Von Hörsten’s.
l’Envoi
Many years later
when I was at University
I saw uncle Hendrik Von Hörsten
on the campus
and we greeted each other
and spoke normally
about the things happening in the country
and about our families,
but when he walked away
other students spoke to him
and the once known writer
spoke back in jabbering language
as if he didn’t know
what to say
and was totally confused.
It was said
that he had Alzheimer’s,
but until today I wonder
about the power
coming from
the words of a child.
[Reference: The word uncle used here out of respect and local custom and not to point out family relationship.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only The Children
We keep hurting each other when words cant be easily said
No understanding or reason, just fear and confusion instead
We need hope for the future, and the young need a chance to survive
No one knows the pain thats felt by the innocent, theyre
Fighting to stay alive, can no one see the tears in their eyes
Chorus:
Only the children, only the children cry, only the children
Why do those who have plenty ignore those with nothing at all
Why must the ones just beginning, stand with their backs to the wall
They keep asking for answers and we keep on telling them lies
They only want to understand what they feel inside
The hunger that tears them apart
Its the one thing theyve known from the start
Chorus - (only the children cry)
(instrumental break)
Chorus repeats ...
song performed by by Toto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Secret Sonar Romances
bats are back
their fruit trees in fruit
night feast flight
flit flit flutter flight
fruit passion consumed
in tree dance flight
season past season
come dance our night
under shades of moon
I click my fingers
a few bats flit flight
fly up circle come
fly past my face
a few feet away
flit flight greetings
they like the audience
sonar image my face
thought whisper greet
ink veil night magic
moon crescent night magic
arch phases paint magic
dark building backdrops
stand tall solid frame trees
in background night prayers
silhouette shadow salutes
sky heaven altar glorious
heart stirs in night shades
friend bats flutter flight
disappearing back into trees
feast feed ripe flower fruits
friend bats I know
your ways of disappearing
friend bats I know
your night vision trails
your night vision paths
your night cycle dances
flowers fade into rebirth
organic petal forget me nots
out of sight out of mind
love is bat night flight born
bats my rest break companions
we share night flight visions
this realm of darkness
our mind flight mansions
our secret sonar romances
Dedicated to Miroslava Odalovic who shared a few of my nights with conversation between ritual night writing songs of creativity.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Too Late
It was like yesterday when we was walking on the park.
But in the end she left me in the dark.
At night where on sunny days I never feel so bright.
I guess I was too late to get you back.
I was so dumb I wish our sweet love could last like stride gum.
I was too late to fix the mistake that I break.
I was too late like a baby duck trying to keep up with his family on a lake.
I was too late to get the last cake.
I made a promise that I thought I wouldn't break.
I try my best to try not to make you cry for my sake.
All this pain I couldn't take and I want you back because you was treasure.
And I didn't mean to let our love fall off like a feather.
I want to be able to make you feel better like good weather.
And keep you safe like shelter.
It kills me to not get you back because every girl I see is not like you.
To me you was something special now that I realize.
You kept me up from my lows to my highs.
I didn't really see it, I was so blind.
And now im losing time.
As I'm sinking in sand I just wish I had a chance to hold your hand again.
It been a week and I haven't speak a word
Your voice is so beautiful as a singing bird.
I love the way you had my phone buzzing like a hummingbird.
I wish I gave you something better that you deserved.
But I was too late.
poem by Anteaus Berryhill
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Morning Night And Day
One time didn't do it
Two times didn't feel quite right
I didn't know where i was going
I just knew that i would be alright
I woke up in a druken haze
The sun shone to my window?
I said that i'd never do it again
What kind of fool do you think i am?
It happens
It always seems to happen
Morning night and day
I just want some action
Give me satisfaction
Send me to my?
Morning night and day
I had a good time late last night
I didn't think it would ever end
I walked home in a broad day light
Couldn't get a cab at half past five
One drink wouldn't do it
Two drinks are far too much
I didn't know what i was doing
I ate the floor and a pile of dust
It happens
It always seems to happen
Morning night and day
I just want some action
Give me satisfaction
Send me to my?
Morning night and day
So if you think that it won't get you
Well think again friend 'cause it's not true
In my case, it was not my fault
Other people made that call
One time didn't do it
Two times didn't feel quite right
It happens
It always seems to happen
No matter what i say
Morning night and day
I just want some action
Need some satisfaction
Before it gets too late
Send me to my?
Morning night and day
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lonely Child
Lonely child in the night.
Under heaven's golden lights.
I heard you cry near a stream.
Where maidens sing and sleep and dream.
Lonely child have no fear, the lord will dry your heart-
sick tears.
The night is young, a blue jay flies and whispers softly
please don't cry.
The lord above is free to roam he will help you from his
throne.
The lord loves you true and dear.
He only laughs he never swears.
Lonely child please don't run, beneath the sky, moon or sun.
You parents love you yes they do.
The clouds have dimmed, but no one knew.
Lonely child a lion prowls.
This lion is special he'd dare not bite.
He only hunts game in the wild never children o' lonely child.
Lonely child go back home, cross the deserts
where buffalo roamed.
The lord will lead you safe and clear.
So don't you cry nor shed a tear.
You parents miss your loving touch.
Your loving hugs and summer blush.
They miss the way you'd smile and grin.
You think they wouldn't you're only ten?
Lonely child in the night.
Your parents searched day and night.
For a child in the wild.
Their only son you lonely child.
Lonely child don't you cry.
And don't you dare tell a lie, on the lion in the wild.
He'd never hurt you lonely child.
Your parents love you very much.
So let them feel your loving touch.
Lonely child in the night.
A little dove flew, in fright.
I know you love your parents so.
So run and tell them let them know.
Let them know how you feel.
Let them know your love is real.
Lonely child run or fly.
Soar the heavens and the skies.
Soar the rivers and the streams.
Your smile will make the moonlight, beam.
Lonely child in the night, an angel, there's no need for fright.
poem by Shawn Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lonely Child
Lonely child in the night.
Under heaven's golden lights.
I heard you cry near a stream.
Where maidens sing and sleep and dream.
Lonely child have no fear, the lord will dry your heart-
sick tears.
The night is young, a blue jay flies and whispers softly
please don't cry.
The lord above is free to roam he will help you from his
throne.
The lord loves you true and dear.
He only laughs he never swears.
Lonely child please don't run, beneath the sky, moon or sun.
You parents love you yes they do.
The clouds have dimmed, but no one knew.
Lonely child a lion prowls.
This lion is special he'd dare not bite.
He only hunts game in the wild never children o' lonely child.
Lonely child go back home, cross the deserts
where buffalo roamed.
The lord will lead you safe and clear.
So don't you cry nor shed a tear.
You parents miss your loving touch.
Your loving hugs and summer blush.
They miss the way you'd smile and grin.
You think they wouldn't you're only ten?
Lonely child in the night.
Your parents searched day and night.
For a child in the wild.
Their only son you lonely child.
Lonely child don't you cry.
And don't you dare tell a lie, on the lion in the wild.
He'd never hurt you lonely child.
Your parents love you very much.
So let them feel your loving touch.
Lonely child in the night.
A little dove flew, in fright.
I know you love your parents so.
So run and tell them let them know.
Let them know how you feel.
Let them know your love is real.
Lonely child run or fly.
Soar the heavens and the skies.
Soar the rivers and the streams.
Your smile will make the moonlight, beam.
poem by Shaan Sidhu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A night like this
say goodbye on a night like this
if it's the last thing we ever do
you never looked as lost as this
sometimes it doesn't even look like you
it goes dark
it goes darker still
please stay
but i watch you like i'm made of stone
as you walk away
i'm coming to find you if it takes me all night
a witch hunt for another girl
for always and ever is always for you
your trust
the most gorgeously stupid thing i ever cut in the world
so say hello on a day like today
say it every time you move
the way that you look at me now
makes me wish i was you
it goes deep
it goes deeper still
this touch
and the smile and the shake of your head
i'm coming to find you if it takes me all night
can't stand here like this anymore
for always and ever is always for you
i want it to be perfect
like before
oh
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins from The Aeroplane Flies High
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Millie And Billie
Billie I wonder why are we insane
Will we ever get better
Will we stay the same
Billie I'm worried
Millie don't worry
No one knows our pain
Being in love is crazy not alone that way
I know you're worried today
God made love crazy so he wouldn't feel alone
He was thinking of us he was thinking of us
God made love crazy so he wouldn't feel so alone
Billie my mind seems to wander
To events of a night long ago
Driving alone with our guilt well concealed
In the trunk of your '68 Olds
Millie our world's an asylum
And our minds like you say ain't that straight
But you know and I know our passion's
Not deformed it's true to say
We'll love our lifetime
God made love crazy so he wouldn't feel alone
He was thinking of us he was thinking of us
God made love crazy so he wouldn't feel so alone
Billie I dream of our children
They're frightening and gruesome and sad
And I don't want them growing inside me
They're no price for the love that we have
Oh Millie oh Billie criminally insane
Oh Millie oh Billie
Oh Billie it's fresh in my memory
The night that it had to be done
You with your pick axe and scissors
And you with your shovel and gun
And I liked your late husband Donald
But such torture his memory brings
All sliced up and sealed tight in baggies
Guess love makes you do funny things
Oh Millie oh Billie criminally insane
Oh Millie oh Billie
song performed by by Alice Cooper from From The Inside
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Night
She was there at the bar, she heard my guitar
She was long and tall, she was the queen of them all
Last night, thinking about last night
Last night, thinking about last night
She was dark and discreet, she was light on her feet
We went up to her room and she lowered the boom
Last night, thinking about last night
Last night, thinking about last night
Down below they danced and sang in the street
While up above the walls were steaming with heat
Last night, thinking about last night
Last night, thinking about last night
I was feeling no pain, feeling good in my brain
I looked in her eyes, they were full of surprise
Last night, talking about last night
Last night, talking about last night
I asked her to marry me she smiled and pulled out a knife
The partys just beginning she said, its your money or you life
Last night, talking about last night
Last night, talking about last night
Now Im back at the bar, she went a little too far
She done me wrong, all I got is this song
Last night, thinking about last night
Last night, thinking about last night
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bad Pretty Girl
I am the pretty one,
the one the girls hate
and the boys pant for
and I stand aloof because
there is no room for me to be
who I am.
All I get is people reacting
to how I look
and I see them whisper
'She's so stuck up.'
I am not.
I am lonely and superior to them
that make these kinds of comments.
So all day I have to take the stares
and the mini-hatreds
just because I am pretty.
I like being pretty
it comes easy to me;
takes no effort.
My hair is beautiful and I don't have to do anything to it.
My skin is good. Thank God, no zits
My figure is good
but I get the comments when I walk through-
the Neanderthals always make comments-
and I cannot help it if my parents are rich.
So I am trapped behind this wall.
I don't have to study hard to get good grades;
this school is easy.
I don't have to work hard for anything.
Things just come to me.
But it has made a prison for me
and because I don't have to get smart
or work hard-
I can get by on my looks.
My teachers like me-
one too much,
so in the end I am doing what I hate
others do-
seeing me only in terms of how I look
and I realize I am doing the same thing to myself.
I am my looks. I am trapped.
So when boys try to talk to me I clam up
because I think there is only one thing they want.
And most of the time I am right. They do-just want
one thing.
Other's of them just want to say I am their girl friend
even if that is not true just so they can brag to their friends.
Some of them lie and claim they had you, or you
are lesbian just because you don't like them.
I am the pretty girl and most times that is pretty sad.
So I don't talk to anyone except other pretty girls.
They understand. They have the pretty girl thing too.
So we stand around sometimes and think we are superior
but we also think secretly we might be inferior and lonely too
and who is going to feel sorry for the pretty girl? Nobody that's who.
So I dated the football guy who was pretty too. It seemed he would
understand-handsome and pretty, the same thing I thought.
Boy was I wrong. He was his mothers' boy and only liked me
because he thought there was prestige in it. And I did it for
the same reason. We both were boring when alone and tried to
look like the super couple when people were around.
I was bored and truth be told I was also boring.
I had nothing to say and all's he wanted to talk about was football
and sex.
I told him no.
And then he latched onto my best friend, well I called her my best friend, but
we were not really friends. We just sorta hung out together.
My real best friend was Alma for a while. She was the ugly sidekick
pretty girls seem to attract. All she wanted to do was be with me. She did
everything I asked her to, sometimes without me even asking. I began to think that just maybe being pretty was being superior. People like Alma
made it easy to think that. She seemed to think I was superior.
I used to lie to her about all the boys coming on to me and things they said and she believed those lies. I felt I had to tell the stories because the stories seemed to mean so much to her. Besides telling her the phony stories gave me a fantasy life to make up for my real one.
We were a good pair of friends for a while until Alma told me one day about her love. Her love for me. And I realized she was not talking about friend love.
That's another thing, you get come ons from both genders and some like Alma turn into stalkers. She lied and told her friend that we had been together. A total lie.
That is why high school is prison camp for the pretty girl.
I broke down one day while talking to Geek Billy who came over to my house to fix my computer. He was rad-geek and shorter than me and I never really considered him a real person or anything so I was talking like he was not even there. I was saying 'why me, why does everyone hate me? '
He started yammering that he didn't hate me, and put his arm around me. I looked up and saw that he was not trying to jump my bones, he really was trying to comfort me like he understood and all that. It was laughable you know. I was so above him and everything but he seemed that day like a real person to me for just a tiny minute.
He left and I lay on my bed and wrote into my diary-'Geek boy loves me.'
I wrote: 'I am the pretty girl no one likes because I am above them.'
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heart Broken
You wish upon a star
Your a child left behind
You fall in love with everyone
you break your heart without a doubt
Crying sorrow and letting fly
Upon a star you leave it all
You wish for better every night
You wish for love to come all night
Were made believe that its all fine
Were made believe about true love
child child hear me out
Your all grown up and stand up right
Child Child listen right
Your lost in mind your never right
Fairy tales and love is wrong
Stars upon the skys are all but tales
Child act your age and learn this right
Love is fake and crazy tales
poem by Kimberly Picazo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I am the Pretty Girl-Chapter One
Pretty Hurts
I am the pretty one,
the one the girls hate
and the boys pant for
and I stand aloof because
there is no room for me to be
who I am.
All I get is people reacting
to how I look
and I see them whisper
'She's so stuck up.'
I am not.
I am lonely and superior to them
that make these kinds of comments.
So all day I have to take the stares
and the mini-hatreds
just because I am pretty.
I like being pretty
it comes easy to me;
takes no effort.
My hair is beautiful and I don't have to do anything to it.
My skin is good. Thank God, no zits
My figure is good
but I get the comments when I walk through-
the Neanderthals always make comments-
and I cannot help it if my parents are rich.
So I am trapped behind this wall.
I don't have to study hard to get good grades;
this school is easy.
I don't have to work hard for anything.
Things just come to me.
But, it has made a prison for me
and because I don't have to get smart
or work hard-
I can get by on my looks,
my teachers like me-
one too much;
so in the end I am doing what I hate
others do-
seeing me only in terms of how I look-
and I realize I am doing the same thing to myself.
I am my looks.
I am trapped.
So when boys try to talk to me I clam up
because I think there is only one thing they want.
And most of the time I am right.
They do-just want
one thing.
Other's of them just want to say I am their girl friend
even if that is not true just so they can brag to their friends.
Some of them lie and claim they had you,
or you
are lesbian
just because you don't like them.
I am the pretty girl and most times that is pretty sad.
So I don't talk to anyone except other pretty girls.
They understand. They have the pretty girl thing too.
So we stand around sometimes and think we are superior
but we also think secretly we might be inferior and lonely too
and who is going to feel sorry for the pretty girl? Nobody that's who.
So I dated the football guy who was pretty too.
It seemed he would understand-handsome and pretty,
the same thing I thought.
Boy was I wrong. He was his mothers' boy
and only liked me
because he thought there was prestige in it.
And I did it for the same reason.
We both were boring when alone
and tried to look like the super couple
when people were around.
I was bored and truth be told I was also boring.
I had nothing to say
and all's he wanted to talk about was football
and sex.
I told him no.
And then he latched onto my best friend, well I called her my best friend, but
we were not really friends. We just sorta hung out together.
My real best friend was Alma for a while.
She was the ugly sidekick
pretty girls seem to attract.
All she wanted to do was be with me.
She did everything I asked her to,
sometimes without me even asking.
I began to think that just maybe being pretty was being superior.
People like Alma
made it easy to think that.
She seemed to think I was superior.
I used to lie to her about all the boys coming on to me
and things they said and she believed those lies.
I felt I had to tell the stories
because the stories seemed to mean so much to her.
Besides telling her the phony stories
gave me a fantasy life to make up for my real one.
We were a good pair of friends for a while
until Alma told me one day about her love;
Her love for me.
And I realized she was not talking about friend love.
That's another thing,
you get come on's from both genders
and some like Alma turn into stalkers.
She lied and told her friend that we had been together.
A total lie.
That is why high school is prison camp for the pretty girl.
I broke down one day while talking to Geek Billy
who came over to my house to fix my computer.
He was rad-geek and shorter than me
and I never really considered him a real person or anything
so I was talking like he was not even there.
I was saying why me, why does everyone hate me?
He started yammering that he didn't hate me,
and put his arm around me.
I looked up and saw that he was not trying to jump my bones,
he really was trying to comfort me
like he understood and all that.
It was laughable you know.
I was so above him and everything
but he seemed that day like a real person to me
for just a tiny minute.
He left and I lay on my bed
and wrote into my diary-
'Geek boy loves me.'
I wrote: 'I am the pretty girl no one likes
because I am above them.'
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Zimbabwean asks a question
O Great Spirit,
You who in Your form of the Chapungu,
the great eagle with sharper eye than any aeroplane,
watches over us and knows all things;
who even descends from your great circles of flight
over our beautiful land of stone and earth and tree
to show a child lost in the bush
the way back to the village and to home,
please show us, too, the way back home, to You.
You know I talk to you each day in my heart,
but today a man has asked me to speak some words
that many people may hear.
So I speak for Zimbabwe, and for the Africa
of which we are so proud:
for we in Africa are proud; and proud for You:
that in a mad and busy world, we have not forgotten
that every blade of grass and flower,
lizard, singing bird, lion, elephant,
are You in all your great disguises
and that all that we see around us
is You in the spirits of our ancestors
who listen to us and guide us;
and so we know that we must listen
to every creature to hear news of You...
and in the evening of each day
(which, we cannot now forget, may be our last)
as the men come home from work
and the women and children back from the fields,
and the smoke from the evening fires
rises above the huts,
and the smells of cooking fill the air,
we tell all our children round the fire
the truth about You
in all the tales our fathers and grandfathers have told us -
told to these children who have so recently come from You;
by those grandparents who will so soon come back to You;
they have so much to share and listen to,
about You!
And would you not agree, O Great Spirit,
that the smile of an African child
is the biggest thing you ever saw - or made?
It reminds every mother and father of Your smile,
and tells every grandparent what is in store for them...
So we rejoice to think, O Great Spirit,
that we are still your children,
and that You know what is best for us -
And so I ask you, especially today, O Great Spirit,
for all who may read this:
Are the spirits angry with us?
If they are, please tell me why?
And so, what can we do to stay close to You?
Many men have many answers to these questions
in the reasoning of men;
but nothing from men quite seems to 'do the trick';
so now, I'm simply asking You
to speak in Your own way;
since nothing from men quite seems to 'do the trick';
and, O Great Spirit,
Chapungu,
it is Your world, which we look after, and not ours...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Above a enemy camp
A mirage fighter jet flies past
like a angel going in advance
on the crusade.
There’s an enemy camp
going up in flames
and clouds of smoke
hanging ominous
over the place
while our aeroplane
flies to the right height.
With the sun
showing its head
over the horizon,
I fall like a bat
breaking through the airspace
and right around me
the sky is full
of other bats
that decent angry on the target
with fangs exposed downwards.
[Reference: Bats here refers to “parabats” as South African airborne soldiers were known.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Her Name Was Snow (children s story)
There is a story that not many children know
Of a young girl - her name was snow.
She would come down - you know not when
But she would become every child s friend.
Children would say that she was
“ as white- as white can be”.
And the suns reflections would dazzle me.
She could make herself “ a blanket on the ground”
Where children could roll and jump on her
And she would not make a sound.
Snow would only come in the winter months.
So that with her the children could play
She was very cold, but they loved her that way.
You could mold her like you would
A piece of clay, and that is the way
That she would stay.
You could make her as an igloo or
A very high wall, or roll her up and
Make her a ball.
There was so many things that you
Could make her to be.
but the thing that she wanted to be the most
Was a white sparkling ghost.
Where she could come when she liked
And the children could have a “snow” ball fight.
So children! When you don’t see snow
coming your way, then wish for her on Christmas day.
poem by Louis Rams
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Her Name Was Snow (childrens story)
)
There is a story that not many children know
Of a young girl - her name was snow.
She would come down - you know not when
But she would become every child s friend.
Children would say that she was
“ as white- as white can be”.
And the suns reflections would dazzle me.
She could make herself “ a blanket on the ground”
Where children could roll and jump on her
And she would not make a sound.
Snow would only come in the winter months.
So that with her the children could play
She was very cold, but they loved her that way.
You could mold her like you would
A piece of clay, and that is the way
That she would stay.
You could make her as an igloo or
A very high wall, or roll her up and
Make her a ball.
There was so many things that you
Could make her to be.
but the thing that she wanted to be the most
Was a white sparkling ghost.
Where she could come when she liked
And the children could have a “snow” ball fight.
So children! When you don’t see snow
coming your way, then wish for her on Christmas day.
poem by Louis Rams
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Bats
Bats, the lord of the night
Gives anyone a fright
It is a night spy
But really why?
Majestic mammals, I admire
The animal that links with a vampire
A aura of darkness surrounds it
Why do people believe this even a bit?
It has an inner beauty
Which is beyond morality
It is a creation of the grand
Why don't you understand?
An illusion throws people in a quantity
Into the realms between dreams and reality
It is part of the maltreated party
Can't you hear its plea?
Bats, bats, lord of the night
Gives anyone a fright
It is a night spy
But really why?
poem by Shanthosh Suganthan
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