What's in a cup?

I dance in turmoil that seeps into my mind and fills me up butt leaves me wanting My mind is a hungry snake that minds not what you feed it  so long as it can carry something but I beg you  let me not carry this turmoil  but rather fill me with water with that which brings life if indeed you need to place me at all in this sacred land  which is a stranger to me because I do not want to destroy  what is beyond my reach and which can never be returned  to mother earth. Use me for something else but live without me as you did before when greed was not necessity when living purely is what made you truly rich.  We have but one earth one planet on which life exists for humankind and we are responsible for the generations to come, and not just for ourselves, not just for now.  if we do not believe there is a future,  we are more inclined to throw in the towel  and carpe diem  witho...

Vandal -by Nicole Meyer I once knew a man With beautiful blue eyes, With whom I fell in love. One day he confessed he’d been a vandal in his youth. I pictured him spray-painting walls And kicking down lamp posts in his neighborhood In order to destroy. I looked at him quizzically, In misunderstanding. Soon afterwards he broke my heart. He told me he wanted to take a break Just when I expected an I love you. He said he’d found me unattractive The night before last And his words slashed my heart. It was then that I saw the vandal in him. He’d spray-painted my heart And kicked down my trust. I could never look at him the same way again, The vandal who broke my heart. Written 22 November 16 

Memory Books What a wonderful idea Though sad as reality is There was an idea out there That sprang to life and made reality bearable For those children in Uganda whose mothers are infected with AIDS. This memory book which the infected mum writes with her child To prepare them for the mother’s death Has served a million if not more children By helping them cope with what the future holds. The book is filled with their roots, Their family, their stories, And in the years Where mom and dad are not around, It lets them remember the good and the bad, It gives them the roots to help them grow wings. It provides hope and solace, comfort and love. I can only commend those ladies Who taught other ladies to create a memory book for their children. There was one who did it from the start And another who could read and write but dared not And yet another who could not read and write and yet wanted to partake So she got her older so...

The Mulberry Tree By Nicole Meyer There is a mulberry tree on my way to work. When I pass it, I remember a time When I considered myself a good girl but wanted to be bad. I had detention. I cannot remember what I did to get there, But what followed was greater justification for me being there. There was a boy whom I did not know well. His name was Ingo Hallenbauer. He too was still at school. And somehow we decided to go up the hill To where the mulberry tree was. The mulberry tree was not on the school’s property but on private property. I was more afraid of a dangerous dog Than of the owners coming But we got over the small wall And what was at first just Picking fruit illegally Turned into a mulberry fight At least in my memory And we jumped back over with our school uniform on Speckled in mulberry juice, And ran down the hill Back to from where we’d come. It felt good to feel bad. Funny and fun. And I believ...

Humble By Nicole Meyer Imagine a wall On the left are numbers 1-50 On the right are numbers 51-100 To be cocky is to be close to a hundred To be arrogant just underneath But close enough to the wall And just on the right of the wall is humble To the left of the wall is self-pity, Even self-loathing, self-deprecation. Where I want to be is just over the wall To the right, Placed confidently there. What will it take? Cocky isn’t really cool And arrogant neither But woe to him Who's full of pity And self-hatred. He too falls short Of humility. Behind the half-way mark, Where your feet can push firmly against the wall To give you a strong start For the race ahead, That’s where I want to be. But my race must not make me arrogant or cocky But root me deeper in humility, So that my soul can grow up And blossom into What God wants me to be.

White African I am a White African I have seen the pendulum swing the other way And consider it normal That it should happen this way So I decide not to take offense When events become exclusively black And blacks talk of decolonising literature As though to say that only the black voice counts from now on And the white tongue must be still or lay dormant for a while Because the white man had his turn It’s the black man’s turn now I can understand the rationale Behind such thoughts But I do not agree And believe it is wrong To think in this vein Where individuality is stripped away And thoughts and feelings have worth Only by the colour from which they are conveyed. Why does it come into play? I am a White African, Born and bred in Joburg, An X-generation child Who saw Nelson Mandela released from prison And become our president Not understanding the logic of that Until I was old enough To visit our past and gain und...