Monday, 30 April 2012

The end of NaPo

The end of the 30 days is here.
My 30 days of committed poetry writing...
Over.

When I started this, I thought I'd go through it.. Easily. Writing poems day by day.
See, I've always loved poetry. Writing poems is an escape from the ugliness and insensitivity of the world... and boy, was this not the right month in which to write poems daily?
A lot has happened this past month: from fall outs with supposed friends, rekindling of relationships, growth in other friendships and eye openers about life. This month, along with the poetry, has been a huge eye opener..
We are selfish beings, living in a selfish world, consumed in our own selfishness...

I've been using my poetry as an escape from this world, but I've come to realise that maybe being consumed in my writing, was me running away from the world's troubles,, ie. Me being selfish. Me only considering myself and how I feel and what I thing.... Me being a selfish little whore. *(okay, no need to be harsh on yourself Arlana)... - Back to my point: maybe it's time I took a break from writing; maybe it's time I lock up the computer and hide my journal, step out of my room and express myself in the real world; express myself without creating metaphors and similes expecting people to deconstruct them and make sense of them to my degree... - Maybe it's time I looked away from my problems for a second and realise that everyone has something going on. That girl hooking up with with the handful of "swagged" out guys is having a hard time emotionally. She's alone and broken, and searching for companionship. The girl that's getting drunk every weekend has problems at home, in school and socially that she wants to forget. It's better than throwing back a handful of pills and driving herself into a 12 hour comatose state of sleep. See, we all have something going on, but as human being, we tend to just look on the surface and take things for what they appear to be before we even try to understand what's happening beneath all that. This is what humanity has come.... this is what the human race has been brought down to... And I hate it.

I know that we're all going through something and it takes too much time to stop and help someone else carry their baggage. But, having someone help you makes your baggage lighter, you'll reach your destination faster and if the process is repeated the final product can be reached faster. So, instead of perching ourselves behind poems, behind the internet and behind journals, maybe it's time we stepped out and faced what's really going on and try to deal with it.

I'm  glad for the month that was, but I'm striving for change in the month that is. You should too.

It's all light love and finer things. :D
xx Arlana PS

NaPoWriMo: Day 30

I remember my first kiss,
On the swings of a pre-grade play yard,
As nun's stood in surveillance
With whips in hand and smiles on their faces.
The air was fragranced,
With whiffs of fresh lemon zest,
And birds perched on the Jackaranda's sang,
As purple flowers rained down with the wind.

I remember my first love,
On the cement stairs of a convent school
As nun's in white robes watched,
And God's son hung from the roof.
The air was warm and golden,
With a scent of sherbet floating
And pre teen girls and boys seated;
On a graphite stone wall.

I remember my first time
On the white cotton sheets of a bed
As a rosary hung well in sight
And Mary's blessed hands clasped praying for me.
The air was warm and heavy
With a scent of musk masculinity
And clothes wildly torn laying on the floor
As my chest eased in and out; back arching in arousal.

Written by: Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Sunday, 29 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 29

Miss Lacey Ackleberry,
Told stories of a life very
Intriguing of a girl with English pun,
Living in a city most metropolitan.

Neither well behaved nor naughty
Her air remained most haughty.
Though the gentlemen assumed the act,
The Ackleberry name stayed intact.

Saturday, 28 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 28

   Not to cry aloud;

When you want to cry
But so hard you try
Not to.

Salt lakes build up wells;
Eye lids start to swell,
cry aloud.

Your whole face pulls down
Mouth a lopsided frown,
sit alone

There is a sunbeam inside,
A happy gleam you hide,.
And smile. 

Friday, 27 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 27

It was a very simple image
of black and white
of three odd faces
that lacked two eyes.
Masked men with hands,
A woman or two,
With one finger up
Pointed to the roof.

The art work wasn't there,
or lacked to appear.
But blank eyes told a story
that I couldn't hear.
"Fear not the darkness'
Said a man in a robe,
With a scarf on his head
And his tongue in his throat.

More sinister was the being
Or the thing, I should say
With a smile to its cheeks
And skin like the day;
Missing eyes stared at me
In a peculiar way
Sending chills through the shadows
And the morning away.

In rips and rags
The baby stood tallest,
In the dim of the light
She seemed the smallest.
Smirk on her face;
The most devious grin
Her eyes gave away,
The most bloodcurdling sin.

Thus picture or portrait
The intent was there
For an infamous artist
No life to spare.
Twas a very simple image
Which eyes he removed
So the victim could not witness
And proclaim the news.

Written by: Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Thursday, 26 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 26

A beautiful, black woman,
Rocks back and forth in a wooden chair,
Perched in a small cottage
Of a seaside town
Where the wind was cold and wise.

Her grey hair grew out,
And tucked remained in a scarf,
Her brown eyes faded,
Her brown skin wrinkled,
And the blue skies were seen in her eyes.

The morning was chilly,
And the sun lit the path golden
As muscle men carried,
A white casket down an isle
To the shadows of an oak tree in it's depth.

Laid in cool sand,
with flowers as a blanket
We laid her to rest,
With God,
With Love,
with Life.

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 25

  Negro Sun

Sun and softness
Dark ones of Africa
Black slaves
Working in the hot sun,
Hide and are hidden

Sweet as purple dew
All the corners that are left.
Them cool green leaves.
No flowers from the store,
I've been a slave.


 Compilation taken from Langston Hughes "selected poems".



Tuesday, 24 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 24

Men only listen to voices,
Which sing songs of humor,
Or live to liven up dull choices
Then write memoirs of rumor.



Lipogram: refrain from using the letter "a"




 



Monday, 23 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 23


A sun scorched, coal tree
With summer squeezed lemonade
Bares the winter breeze.

Sunday, 22 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 22

Thorns thick
Prick
me.
Stickily.
Like fine hairs on a Delphinium King Arthur.
Licking
tightly;
my skin.
Lapping
Purple dust on my thigh.
Oh fine plant, of fine hairs,
which:
Prick
me.
Stickily. 

Saturday, 21 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 21

Love
And War;
A danger zone

Like
Green hills;
Paths are unknown.

Let
Lakes lope;
I cry alone.

Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Friday, 20 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 20

A baby can weep for mom's chest,
At 16 she can cry from a broken heart,
but a tear won't be spilled when
Daddy lays his hand across Mom's face.

Make a jailbird of a man selling white powder,
Imprison a boy for selling Uncle's Bob's green,
but cuff not a violent man,
who's lips kiss Jack Daniels and reek.

Thursday, 19 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 19

Reluctant, shy breezes are screeching everywhere
    Around the shrubs of full green and damp
    The ants look boiled about the ground
And not many miles on this carriage to pull.
Yet the breeze and sun no longer me spare,
     Nor the ants at my feet,
     Or the golden burners that dim on low
Or the length from here to there:
For I have not enough friendliness
     That in these Haciendas I have lacked
Of nothing more than dark hair'd timid joy
     And the hate for violent Margeret escalated
Or repulsive Mernah's emerald robe
     And sinful Mossle De-throwned

Written by Arlana Panduleni Shikongo
Inspired by Keat's Poetical works: Sonnet IX  

Wednesday, 18 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 18

She ran through the sty,
Of a shiny pig's litter
In a dress as pale as the sky,
and corsette that didn't fit her.

The rain did not mean much
Nor the puddles it collected,
Or the dirt her skin would touch
Or the mine man it affected. . 

Tuesday, 17 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 17

  For thine Blackberry

Dear Blackberry,

A very odd berry, you are
But love you less I can't.
Rather a lemon berry, than a cherry berry,
Or a purple lemon,
with a hit of lime,
or salt,
or vodka.

Oh berry black,
with delicate keys,
delightful to caress,
when typing,
"Laurent Desire" street,
Or "house number 3"
or 32meters, left.

Blackberry,
Juicy berry,
Story telling, HalleBerry;
Found myself today, singing out loud
your name, 
You say I'm crazy,
If I'm crazy for you.

Oh Crazy Berry,
Juicy Berry,
Ready Berry
Very merry,,

for
my sweet Blackberry.

Monday, 16 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 16

The sting of wet salt,
Swimming in a sea
Of already concentrated lakes and wells.
Streaming water over the edge,
recreating Victoria's Falls.

The blurred silhouette,
Of my lover, I presume,
Against the morning's rise,
or the sun's set.
or the Golden Gate's.

Cast a shadow in my memory,
Foggy as the distanced lagoon
Like the view of the land,
through teary eyes,
or a fogged monocle.

Sunday, 15 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 15

     Deity

Sanctity,
and prayer,
and kneeling,
and hymns to a God
more mighty, almighty.
And forgiving,
Of the heart
Of love
By angels on my shoulder.

A highway,
From apprehension
To atheism,
Lit by conspiracy
and a Pope's disgrace.

Author: Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Saturday, 14 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 14

            Sonnet I

But he loves me not,
Or so he says and claims;
But moments, though few, will not be forgot
Like the laughs, the kiss, and sweet names.

"Why don't you love me, sweet James?"
Why deny a flame so heated?
A portrait perfect for golden frames;
An image of King and Queen on a golden shrine seated. 

No longer will the salty tears be repeated,
In due course you will utter, "I love you".
Love like this, my dear, cannot be meted
And so, in death even, we'll start anew.

A flame of love so fierce,
Like a dagger, you, my heart did pierce.

Written by: Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Friday, 13 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 13

     Fragrant Stench


The steam swayed off her hair the fragrant stench,
Of bath oils, and stones, and leaves with fragrant stench.

Wind gushing in through open gapped tunnel holes
Stinging her eyes like the bitters of a fragrant stench

Water bubbling in the basins of her poignant eyes
Cry she did like eyes watering of onion's fragrant stench

Large corpse sleeping in silent gloom next to her;
Seeping through pores its ended fragrant stench.

Cover the face of body with cotton cloth
Smother the reek of the dead's fragrant stench.

Before I depart with my black skin to further lands,
Away I carry the wretched cloth with the fragrant stench.

Arlana Alone, will not in the darkness stride
As I carry death of love and it's fragrant stench.

Thursday, 12 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 12


     Paisaje
   Age Pays


La tarde equivocada
Let art equal advocate

se vistió de frío.
Say wish to you the free road

Detrás de los cristales,
The trays day loss crystals

turbios, todos los niños,
Turbulent, to-do's, loose Nine - O's

ven convertirse en pájaros
When convert, is there, a pair of j's, or, o's

un árbol amarillo
and marbel; Am I real or no? 

La tarde está tendida
Let art extend "La Vida"

a lo largo del río.
A low, large. Dial Rio

Y un rubor de manzana
Wine, rubber; the monsoon - HEY. 

tiembla en los tejadillos.
Tumble and leave deja deal-with-lows


Original Author: Federico García Lorca
Original Language: Spanish
Done by: Arlana Panduleni Shikongo


 

Wednesday, 11 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 11

     Her Tulips


My round nose brushed her tulips,
My hands stroked her smooth hips.
As a world beyond knowing unwrapped,
Emotion releasing unmapped,
And the succulent sap secreted,
And her sweet taste my tongue greeted;
While her body turned in moaning,
and her cries reached out in groaning.
Her female musk swathed around me,
and her back arched abruptly
Before her mouth blew out a final cry,
and on her bare chest my head did lie.

Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Tuesday, 10 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 10

But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
So let me sow, 
And tomorrow reap.

But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
So kiss me goodnight in the morning, 
Before you depart for the seas deep. .  

But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
So break my heart now,
And spare yourself witness weep. 

First two lines lifted from: Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Arlana Panduleni Shikongo 


Monday, 9 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 9

   Be-wed me Death

Red roses lay flourishing in her palms,
Crimson blood dripping down to a bible, open at psalms.
Vivid blue eyes stare empty at the ancient pillars of the church,
On her pallid bridal gown a black crow is perched.

Surprise to my eyes, her stone cold corpse broken,
Emotions shaken; of the rest won't be spoken.
Jesus looks down on her from his pedestal, a cross,
Blood trickling from his thorn crown as a tear for his loss.

Just a moment, a minute, a second it was,
Before bride and groom declared, "I does".
Golden loops on fingers lighting up the room;
Before walked in a loving criminal with a gun, shooting "BOOM!"

Sunday, 8 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 8

The green grass stood prickly,
(This sounds a little cliche),
Saw a squirrel, so smile I cheekily,
As it pawed and trotted away.

The oak tree rained acorns,
(My words seem disdain).
The clunk on head hit like a thorn,
but was mummed by the choo choo of train.

The train tracks tat-tat,
(Nonsensical lyrics I sprout);
Breeze hits my shoulder with a vicious pat,
As the sound concoction carries me out.

Now in blue sky, green park and sallow sun i sit,
(Ray's reflection blinding my eye),
While border-collar puppies suckle a tit,
And the wind brushed my skirt from my thigh.

Saturday, 7 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 7

   Crimson

The under-laying shade to her skin,
With ginger hair, so fine and thin.
Did not very much match her blue eyes,
The red on her pale cheeks, a thick disguise.

Her maw more similar to a burgundy tint,
But the traces of red were slightly a hint,
Of the red that ran through her stiffened stone veins,
for the dales in which her country fought pains.

Oh land of vines,
Oh land of wines,
Why let the ginger fight,
So the Red Nile can further glisten in the light?

The under-laying shade to her skin,
With ginger hair, so fine and thin.
With red lip, red hair, red eye,
Red veins, red blood, red thigh.




So let him reign on land for him, son,
She was the woman we called Crimson.


NaPoWriMo: Day 6

 For the Blue Bird

Blue bird pray
That the green aura of the amazon stays,
After fumes and gas and acid rain linger,
Let the undergrowth of your habitat remain ginger.
Let the violet rays of the sun beam through,
After earth changes course from old to anew,
That your wings in fresh breeze may sway,
Oh blue bird pray.

Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Thursday, 5 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 5

    Happens

Sometimes,
something happens and you know:
it's meant to be
you're meant to feel.
The tears, they're meant to heal
The wounds happiness leaves you with,
when it slips away.
Like grains of sand
falling over foot printed paths
to hide what was.
But there are moments so great,
beyond what you've ever felt
or ever thought you could feel
for someone different.
These memories are,
imprinted onto your soul;
passing from body to body
over the year by years.
A memory that keeps
for a lifetime.
That makes a face smile
and two eyes cry,
and a broken heart break,
make it shatter,
like glass.


Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Wednesday, 4 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 4

The black man a'runnin with the sweat down his face,
See the black man a'runnin with the sweat down his face,
'Cause the white man tryna catch him fast in his chase.

Sand stones prod the skin when the wrath of them hits,
I say, Sand stones prod the skin when the wrath of them hits.
Now my black man, crying in a corner sits.

Take up my rifle to shoot shells at these men,
I'm gon' take up my rifle to shoot shells at these men.
Independent black woman, myself I can fend.

The blood lay warm under these cold white sheets
Conceal the bodies of white men under cold white sheets,
I gon' let the blood run down and bathe my bare feets.

Trepidation have me sittin' under in a tavern,
Can you see me and trepidation under in this a tavern?
While my black man ashes to dust in this cheap ash urn.

Bar man pour that whiskey straight onto the ice,
I cry, 'Bar man pour that whiskey straight onto the ice'
Say, the stench and burn for my loneliness will suffice.


Arlana Panduleni Shikongo
                                                                           


Prompt: The traditional blues song is the 12-bar blues, in which all the lyrics basically boil down to any number of three line stanzas in which two lines are more or less repeated, followed by a third line.

Tuesday, 3 April 2012

The Past Few weeks/days

Firstly, I'm glad to be a part of NaPo. The thing is; I'm alot more motivated because I really enjoy poetry, and when I write it, the words and ideas just flow, unlike NaNo (I get writer's block).
...Yes, so, so far it's been great. I haven't needed prompts yet but I'm sure that I'll make use of them at some point. Today's poem was inspired by the prompt to write an Epithalamium. I decided to just write about something close to a wedding scene instead. :) I feel like it went well.
Whenever I write a poem I think about what I need to add, so that, if someone possibly publishes a collection of my poems long after my death, students like myself can find something in there to analyse and question and perhaps learn a little bit of me with every poem. I think I've learned to incorporate this sufficiently.

On a more personal note; life seems to have changed since i turned 17. I feel like the world carries a different air, and I carry a different ambiance. I feel slightly more matured. Not much has changed: there is still the 7th grade type of drama dragging along my side, there is still my isolation at home, however, I feel like I've somewhat learned to drift well in this forlorn setting. The statement, "Headphones in, World out" makes a lot more sense now. I feel like music is the only thing that has really been keeping me going over the last few weeks. Emotionally, these weeks have been hard. Hahha. Yeah, I found out a lot I didn't really want to know, I've been fighting with a friend. Urghhh. Friend fights.. silly. Perhaps I should get into a bit more detail about this.

On a Friday night out, celebrating my birthday, a friend confronted me and made a statement that well... offended me. Being the person I am, my first response was, well, anger. So, I tugged her on the jacket and sprouted some hurtful words. Indeed I did, and I'm not proud. I did apologize, ofcourse... however, I did not apologize for what I said because I still stand by every word I said. I apologized for the violent act.
Anyway.. Seems she's not talking to me. It's hurtful, yes, however, I kind of don't care. I sort of feel as though there is a more mature way to go about everything and if this is how she chooses to deal with the situation then perhaps it is better we keep our distance? ... I'm really looking to surround myself with positive, more mature people. I mean, my friends are mature, definitely. It's just that I sometimes feel as though they act like children, purposely. I do too (what a hypocrite), which is why I want to be around more mature people, so some of it can rub off on me.

Anywhoo. - This is getting way to personal now.
A short briefing on life at the moment:
I got the lead role in a small production, I'm excited and nervous and stressed, all at the same time. There's tons to be done and learned in a very short span of time.
I've started exercising more regularly now and my body feels great. Yes, I am tired and aching, however, the release of 'happy hormones' as I call them, has been good on me.
I love my new camera. I can't help but take pictures all day of everything. My flickr is finally continuosly active which is majorly exciting. I'm excited to share my passion.
On the downside, the workload in school has been piling up and I've been slacking. I have a ton to do and a ton to catch up (and writing this right now is wasting my time :/) .. but I'm confident that I can do it all.
I chose an overseas summer vacation over a new phone for my birthday. So now I'm sitting with this tiny phone, which I hate, which at this very moment (for the last 5 days actually) has refused to send texts. Now I'm even more lonely than before.

As you can see, I'm more uplifted and spirited lately. I haven't cried in awhile, even while Taylor Swift was playing while I took my bath. I'm proud.

Things are pretty dandy at the moment. Let's see what tomorrow blows over... - Leaves change.

PS ;)



NaPoWriMo: Day 3


   Of Veils and Nuptials 

Neatly the strands are caught up
In a doughnut shaped figure
At the top of the cranium
Of a woman whose face hides
unidentifiable, under a veil. 
                               
Tightly the lips of a pale figure
Are pressed,
covered in red muck 
That mannequins apply to find
Male figures and a veil. 

Golden shines the halo around her finger
Symbolising a bended knee and a movie scene,
Of rolling hills, and fresh air, and serenity
And smiles, and laughs, and cries
Of a moment veiled in awe.

Eagerly chimes a voice
Across the Basilica
Alive with proud relatives,
Of the mannequin who stands and cries
“Yesss!!”, hidden under a veil. 

Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Monday, 2 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 2


 Let Run Rain

Let run rain
On a dewey day,
When the sun strains skin
With ultraviolet ray. 

Let run rain
On the glowey Sabbatum  noon,
When the posies sway in the breeze,
As the butterflies emerge the cacoon.

Let run rain
On a moonlit night,
when the clouds scatter far
As the jet’s surface reflects light. 

Let run rain,
on the face of the pained,
When ardour is broken,
As a heart is drained.


Arlana Panduleni Shikongo

Sunday, 1 April 2012

NaPoWriMo: Day 1

     I am a sinner

Can a sinner hear the church bells?
The calling of men clad in cloak.
Who sprout prayers of a God,
a manifestation of human requisite for vindication.

Can a sinner touch the blessed water?
The holy liquid
Blessed by the kiss of a Messiah
Who hides behind a fabricated religion.

Can a sinner kneel before the crucifix,
and pray to the sculpture of the corpus
of an entity much higher,
than the universe in its enormity.

I beg to differ, before thine Christ.
For I am a sinner with no belief,
In a manifestation of mankind.

So let the Pope sprinkle me with the Holy Water,
and let my knees run bloody before His corpus,
and let the church bells try to carry me to the light.

I am a sinner.
I cannot hear the church bells,
I cannot touch the blessed water,
I cannot kneel before the crucifix.
I am a sinner.


Arlana Panduleni Shikongo