Africa Poems
Lepanto
by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
White founts falling in the Courts of the sun,
And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run;
There is laughter like the fountains in that face of all men feared,
It stirs the forest darkness, the darkness of his beard;
It curls the blood-red crescent, the crescent of his lips;
For the inmost sea of all the earth is shaken with his ships.
They have dared the white republics up the capes of Italy,
They have dashed the Adriatic round the Lion of the Sea,
And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss,
And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross.
......
So Fine
by Kwanza Reid
Black Woman so fine
you intoxicate like a vintage wine
Your innocent beauty
Brings peace of mind
I get visions in the air
About braids and flowers in your hair
And your mold from the dirt
......
Heritage
by Countee Cullen
What is Africa to me:
Copper sun or scarlet sea,
Jungle star or jungle track,
Strong bronzed men, or regal black
Women from whose loins I sprang
When the birds of Eden sang?
One three centuries removed
From the scenes his fathers loved,
Spicy grove, cinnamon tree,
What is Africa to me?
......
You Can'T Have It All
by Barbara Ras
But you can have the fig tree and its fat leaves like clown hands
gloved with green. You can have the touch of a single eleven-year-old finger
on your cheek, waking you at one a.m. to say the hamster is back.
You can have the purr of the cat and the soulful look
of the black dog, the look that says, If I could I would bite
every sorrow until it fled, and when it is August,
you can have it August and abundantly so. You can have love,
though often it will be mysterious, like the white foam
that bubbles up at the top of the bean pot over the red kidneys
until you realize foam's twin is blood.
......
Sun-Drenched Safari
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
The scenery was magnificent, and the morning was slightly hot,
Our land cruiser was windowless, and sitting in a lovely spot.
The giraffes were splendid, and much bigger than I'd expected,
One could hardly gaze at the vast savanna and not be affected!
They moved with an elegance of grace, through a sea of green,
Offering years of happy memories, of sunshine's golden sheen.
For I had taken many pictures, and I would soon take many more,
......
It's about time
by Khayelihle Bongiswa Gamedze
IT'S ABOUT TIME
Let us talk to the birds visiting us in summer,
Let us talk to the afternoon shadow,
Let us raise our pets to our level,
Let us raise our decibels...
It's about time.
Let us talk to the palarysing heat in the air,
Let us pick our items from the rubbish heap,
......
At the Golden Dawn of Understanding
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
It was late in gorgeous springtime, and I was teaching my class,
A lesson in African history, and the events of time's hourglass.
My fourth graders were very attentive, as I recounted the glory,
Of tales such as Mansa Musa's, maybe the richest man in history!
Sultan of Mali was Mansa Musa, during the far off Middle Ages,
The world's largest gold producers maybe, say the history sages.
When Mali consisted of 400 cities, he was a patron of the arts.
......
Sun-Drenched Safari
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
The scenery was magnificent, and the morning was slightly hot,
Our land cruiser was windowless, and sitting in a lovely spot.
The giraffes were splendid, and much bigger than I'd expected,
One could hardly gaze at the vast savanna and not be affected!
They moved with an elegance of grace, through a sea of green,
Offering years of happy memories, of sunshine's golden sheen.
For I had taken many pictures, and I would soon take many more,
......
To the Beat of Beauty
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
the sound never dies
through spans of changeless splendor
africa dances
Optical illusions.
by Rukudzo Kachambgwa
There's a glass wall at my workplace
Which makes things that are going forward, seem like they are going backwards.
I've since stopped bickering about how black can be white and black at the same time
though i've got to admit,
That window does remind me of a time when i would say:
Sekuru, "how come the same air that you blow on your hands to keep them warm, just so happens to be the same air that you blow on your porridge to keep it cool?"
In truth i was just a boy when i stopped pondering on that question. But sekuru always said:
"that our problems care little about what motivates their interogators."
And now i find myself stuck, looking at the glass window, and thinking about the same old problems again.
