National Eisteddfod Academy
English Solo Verse Speaking
Extracts from the Di Konokono Festival Syllabi 2002 – 2003 & National Eisteddfod Academy Prospectus 2005
Copyright Protected
Introduction
This selection was compiled from the Syllabus of the Di Konokone Festival as used by the National Eisteddfod Academy from 2000 – 2003, as well as the 2005 Prospectus of the National Eisteddfod Academy. The purpose of this extract is to provide teachers and learners without access to the necessary material, with some examples of poetry for choral verse speaking and solo verse speaking amidst the challenges of Covid-19 and the lockdown situation.
These poems can be used as examples of own choice poetry for learners to prepare themselves for participation in the National Eisteddfod of South Africa© 2020. This material is copyright protected and may only be used by educators and participants for this purpose.
The Magic of the Arts will surely uplift your spirit and provide you with joy and pleasure in these challenging times! Enjoy!
Dr. Francois van den Berg CEO National Eisteddfod Academy 3 April 2020
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Contents
Introduction 2
ENGLISH SOLO VERSE SPEAKING 4 PRE-SCHOOL/GRADE 0 : BOYS/GIRLS 4 GRADE 1 : BOYS/GIRLS 5 GRADE 2 : BOYS/GIRLS 6 GRADE 3 : BOYS/GIRLS 8 GRADE 4 : BOYS/GIRLS 10 GRADE 5 : BOYS/GIRLS 12 GRADE 6: BOYS/GIRLS 14 GRADE 7 : BOYS/GIRLS 17 GRADE 8 : BOYS/GIRLS 19 GRADE 9 : BOYS/GIRLS 22 GRADE 10 : BOYS/GIRLS 24 GRADE 11 : BOYS/GIRLS 27 GRADE 12 : BOYS/GIRLS 30 GRADE 12 : BOYS / GIRLS 32 OPEN SECTION : MEN/LADIES 34
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ENGLISH SOLO VERSE SPEAKING
Extracts from the Di Konokono Festival Syllabi 2002 – 2003 & National Eisteddfod Academy Prospectus 2005
PRE-SCHOOL/GRADE 0 : BOYS/GIRLS Said, “Pray, which leg moves after which?” This raised her doubts to such a pitch, The Tickle Rhyme She fell exhausted in the ditch “Who’s that tickling my back?” said the wall. Not knowing how to run. “Me,” said a small Caterpillar. “I’m learning To crawl.” When I’m an astronaut Ian Serraillier When I’m myself,
It’s “1, 2, 3,”
I count
As I’ve been taught. My nose But in my It doesn’t breathe; Space suit— It doesn’t smell; “3, 2, 1,” It doesn’t feel Says the astronaut. So very well. Leland B. Jacobs The Instructor Publications, Inc I am discouraged With my nose: The only thing it Mix a pancake Does is blows. Mix a pancake, Dorothy Aldis Stir a pancake, From: Everything and Anything Pop it in the pan. Fry the pancake, Toss the pancake, When I’m an astronaut Catch it if you can. When I’m myself, Christian Rossetti It’s “1, 2, 3,” I count As I’ve been taught. My cat But in my My cat is named Tiger Space suit— Because he has stripes. “3, 2, 1,” When he’s mad he cries, “GRRRRR!” Says the astronaut. When he scratches I say, “Yipes!” Leland B. Jacobs Mary Sierra Brodland The Instructor Publications, Inc
Today I saw a little worm Extract from:”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005 Today I saw a little worm Wriggling on his belly. PRE-SCHOOL/GRADE 0 : BOYS / GIRLS Perhaps he’d like to come inside And see what’s on the Telly. The puzzled centipede A centipede was happy – quite! Until a toad in fun
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Tiger Butterfly so yellow, I’m a tiger You were once a caterpillar, Striped with fur Wiggly, wiggly fellow. Don’t come near Lilian Schulz From: Childcraft Or I might Grrr Don’t come near Or I might growl Don’t come near Little Black Bug Or I might Little black bug, BITE! Little black bug, M. Hoberman Where have you been? I’ve been under the rug, Said little black bug. Bug-ug-ug-ug. THE SCORPION Little green fly, The Scorpion is as black as soot, Little green fly, He dearly loves to bite; Where have you been? He is a most unpleasant brute I’ve been way up high, To find in bed at night. Said little green fly. Hilaire Belloc Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Little old mouse, Little old mouse, Where have you been? THE FLEA I’ve been all through the house, I’m itchy! I’m itchy! Said little old mouse. What can it be? Squaek-eak-eak-eak-eak. Is it my hair? Margaret Wise Brown From: Childcraft Or is it me? Or is it the flea Who has bitten my knee! Joanne Hendle Dark In the dark, dark wood, there was a dark, dark house, And in that dark, dark house, there was a dark, dark BAD MOOD DAY room, Keep away And in that dark, dark room, there was a dark, dark It’s a bad mood day, shelf, I could make a noise, And on that dark, dark shelf, there was a dark, dark Break my toys. box, I could be very bad, And in that dark, dark box, there was a . . . GHOST! Anon Make mum sad. Brimax Books LTD, Newmarket, England I could smash a mug Spill the milk jug It’s a bad mood day. A bad bad day. Extract from:”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005” A.Earl GRADE 1 : BOYS / GIRLS ______COLOUR CODE Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002 [an extract from] GRADE 1 : BOYS/GIRLS When she’s crumpy, Fuzzy wuzzy, creepy crawly Wrong side of the bed, Fuzzy wuzzy, creepy crawly Our teacher wears red. Caterpillar funny, You will be a butterfly When she’s dreamy, When the days are sunny. Too good to be true,
Our teacher wears blue. Winging, flinging, dancing, springing Page | 5
She smiles when I smile, When she’s at home, And frowns – so do I; Singing at the sink, And sometimes she seems Our teacher wears frilly, silly, To be going to cry. straight-from-the-skating-rink, Twinkly, crinkly, who-cares-what- I see her each morning people-think, And at the end of the day. PINK!!! But oh, how I wish Clare Bevan She would come out and play. Penny Wise
ELEPHANTS DOWN TO EARTH I climbed a tree, Elephants I got too high. My dad said I could are’nt any more important Touch the sky. than insects But I fell down, but I’m on the side And bumped my head. of elephants So I think I’’ll stick To the ground instead. unless one of them tries Tony Bradman to crawl up my leg John Newlove Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002
GRADE 2 : BOYS/GIRLS MUD Mud is very nice to feel The Price of Debauchery All squishy-squash between the toes! My mother said, “There are no joys I'd rather wade in wiggly mud In ever kissing silly boys. Than smell a yellow rose. Just one small kiss and one small squeeze Can land you with some foul disease.” Nobody else but the rosebush knows How nice mud feels “But Mum, d’you mean from just a kiss?” Between the toes. Polly Chase Boyden “You know quite well my meaning, miss.”
Last week when coming home from school I clean forgot Mum’s golden rule. BEING TALKED ABOUT I let Tom Young, that handsome louse, I hate it when old people say: Steal one small kiss behind my house. “He gets taller every day!” I want to shout out, “Ow!” Oh, woe is me! I’ve paid the price! when they say. “Such a big boy now!” I should have listened to advice. It really gets in my hair My mum was right one hundredfold! when they talk about me as if I wasn’t I’ve caught Tom’s horrid running cold! Roald Dahl there! Gavin Ewart
Dinosaur Who’s that knocking at my door? REFLECTION Can it be I look in the mirror a dinosaur? And what do I see? I see a little girl Dinosaurs Who is looking at me. are huge and grand leaving footprints on the land Page | 6
Cats As big as anything Cats sleep, can be. Anywhere, I hope he isn’t Any table, after me! Any chair,
I hope he isn’t Top of piano, looking out Window-ledge, for juicy children In the middle, left about . . . On the edge, Open drawer, Or nosing round Empty shoe, to find a treat Anybody’s of something extra Lap will do, nice to eat. Fitted in a Cardboard box, I hope he hasn’t In the cupboard come to stay. Dinosaur! With your frocks Please go away! Anywhere! Jean Kenward They don’t care! Cats sleep Anywhere. Eleanor Farjeon Boys and Girls come out to play! Boys and girls come out to play, The moon does shine as bright as day. Leave your supper and leave your sleep, WHEN THERE’S A FIRE IN THE JUNGLE And join your friends out in the street. When there’s a fire in the jungle, Come with a whoop and come with a call, They call the Elephant Brigade, Come with good will or not at all. Who race with their trunks full of water, Up the ladder and down the wall, To the place that has to be sprayed. A half-penny loaf will serve us all; But if the fire is a big one, You find milk and I’ll find flour, It happens as often as not, And we’ll have a pudding in half-an-hour. That the elephants drink all the water, Anon Publisher: Brown Watson,England To stop themselves getting too hot. Martin Honeysett
Extract from: ”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005” MY NAME IS….. My name is Sluggery-wuggery GRADE 2 : BOYS / GIRLS My name is Worms-for-tea My name is Swallow-the-table-leg Until I saw the sea My name is Drink-the-Sea. Until I saw the sea I did not know My name is I-eat-saucepans that wind My name is I-like-snails could wrinkle water so. My name is Grand-piano-George My name is I ride whales I never knew My name is Jump-the-chimmey that sun My name is Bite-my-knee could splinter a whole sea of blue. My name is Jiggery-pokery And Riddle-me-ree, and ME. Nor Pauline Clarke did I know before, a sea breathes in and out upon a shore. AT NIGHT There are things in the garden That aren’t there by day. ……… Witches and Dragons And Bears come to play. Page | 7
They lurk in the bushes And stealthily creep Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002 All round the house, When they think I’m asleep! GRADE 3 : BOYS/GIRLS
There are things in the garden …. Alice I hear them at night, Alice hates her sister, And pull up the bedclothes, She loathes with all her might, And shut my eyes tight… For sisters are such know-it-alls, There are things in the garden Horrors full of spite. That nobody sees.
I KNOW that it’s the Things…. Alice hates her sister, ……… not the wind in the trees ! Her parents’ darling child; Jenny Dunbar STICKY LICKY The way they simper over her Drives poor Alice wild. In the summer,
When it’s sunny Alice hates her sister, Eating ice-cream At school it’s just the same, Can be funny. Little sister hangs around And spoils big sister’s games. Ice-cream melts And drips so fast Alice hates her sister, It’s quite hard She’d like to do her in; To make it last. She’s such a nasty piece of work It wouldn’t be a sin. It’s so lovely, Sweet and licky, Alice hates her sister . . . But when it drips, But wait – what’s going on? You get sticky. Little sister’s howling now, Something’s very wrong. I get ice-cream On my clothes, Alice hates her sister, In my hair But she hates a bully more, And up my nose. Which is why she bashes Billy, And lays him on the floor.
My dad says Alice hates her sister, I should eat less; Though the moral’s plain to see; Ice-cream plus me Little sister might be foul – Equals – mess! But still, she’s family. Tony Bradman Tony Bradman
WHY? Unfair Superman can fly. They say I’ve got my father’s nose Why can’t I? They say I’ve got his walk Popeye can swim. And there’s something about my grandad In the serious way I talk. But I’m not him. ‘And aren’t his legs jus like our Jack’s, Paddington’s a bear – Says smiling Auntie Rose It’s not fair! ‘He could bend them just like that Why should all the people on TV And touch his head with his toes.’ Have so much more fun than me? I’ve got Auntie Julia’s funny laugh If you didn’t know the answer, I’ve sister Betty’s lips you’d want to cry. And just like Sid on my mother’s side I do know the answer. They’re not real. I’m fond of fish and chips. I am. That’s why. Gyles Brandreth I have moods that remind them of Auntie Vi And my hair’s just like their Paul Page | 8
Sometimes when I look in the mirror Said the next little chicken I wonder if I’m me at all. With an odd little shrug, ‘I wish I could find But what I ask myself is this A fat little slug.’ Why does it have to be Said the third little chicken That it’s me who looks like them and not With a sharp little squeal Them that looks like me. ‘I wish I could find Gareth Owen Some nice yellow meal.’
Said the fourth little chicken The flattered flying-fish With a small sigh of grief, Said the shark to the flying-fish over the ‘I wish I could find phone: A little green leaf.’ “Will you join me tonight? I am dining alone. Let me order a nice little dinner for two! Said the fifth little chicken And come as you are in your shimmering blue.” With a faint little moan, ‘I wish I could find Said the Flying-fish: “Fancy remembering me, A wee gravel stone.’ And the dress that I wore at the Porpoises tea!” ‘Now, see here,’ said the mother, “How could I ever forget? Said the shark in From the green garden patch his guile: ‘If you want any breakfast, “I expect you at eight!” and rang off with a Just come here and scratch.’ smile. Anon.
She has powdered her nose, she has put on her things;
She is off with a flap of her luminous wings. O, little one, lovely, light-hearted and vain, In the fashion The moon will not shine on your beauty again! A LION has a tail and a very fine tail, E.V. Rieu And so has an elephant, and so has a whale, And so has a crocodile, and so has a quail– They’ve all got tails but me. Extract from: ”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005” If I had sixpence I would buy one; GRADE 3 : BOYS / GIRLS I’d say to the shopman, ‘Let me try one’; I’d say to the elephant, ‘This is my one.’ They’d all come round to see. The owl and the astronaut The owl and the astronaut Then I’d say to the lion, ‘Why, you’ve got a tail! Sailed through space And so has the elephant, and so has the whale! in their intergalactic ship And, look! There’s a crocodile! He’s got a tail! They kempt hunger at bay You’ve all got tails like me!’ With tree pills a day A.A. Milne And drank through a protein drip. The owl dreamed of mince And slices of quince And remarked how life had gone flat; The frog school It may be all right Twenty frogs come to the frog school. To fly faster that light Twenty frogs, green as the green pool. But I preferred the boat and the cat. The lesson must start. Gareth Owen
To three naughty frogs arriving late,
The teacher says, “I can’t wait.
So please take your places, The chickens And show me you faces SAID the first little chicken Don’t fidget, don’t wriggle. Be good. With a queer little squirm, ‘I wish I could find One little frog dreams of the sunshine, A fat little worm.’ Of clouds, and the puddles in springtime.
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Of insects that buzz around lilies … I'd win a Challenge Cup. “You must pay attention,” snaps teacher. I don't like whistles, Then, when the lessons and learning are done Buzzers, bells or chimes It’s time for the frogs to have fun. I've been late for everything They dive and they hop, about a thousand times! They leap and they flop. The water’s alive with their games.
WHAT'S THAT? Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002 What's that? Who's there? GRADE 4 : BOYS/GIRLS There's a great huge horrible horrible creeping up the stair! Dumb Insolence A huge big terrible terrible I’m big for ten years old with creepy crawly hair! Maybe that’s why they get at me There's a ghastly grisly ghastly with seven slimy eyes! Teachers, parents, cops And flabby grabby tentacles Always getting at me of a gigantic size! He's crept into my room now, When they get at me he's leaning over me. I wonder if he's thinking I don’t hit em They can do you for that how delicious I will be. Florence Parry Heide I don’t swear at em They can do you for that I stick my hands in my pockets And stare at them GROWING When I grow up I’ll be so kind, And while I stare at them Not yelling ‘NOW’ or ‘Do you MIND!” I think about sick Or making what is called a scene, Like ‘So you’re back’, or ‘Where’ve been?’ They call it dumb insolence Or ‘Goodness, child, what is it NOW?’ Or saying, ‘STOP …that awful row.’ They don’t like it Or ‘there’s a time and place to eat’ But they can’t do you for it And ‘Wipe your nose’, or ‘Wipe your feet!’ Adrian Mitchell From: Poetry for pleasure MacMillan I’ll just let people go their way And have an extra hour for play. No angry shouting, ‘Now what’s wrong?’ It’s just that growing takes so long. Funny the Way Different Cars Start Max Fatchen Funny the way
Different cars start. Some with a chunk and a jerk, Some with a cough and a puff of smoke LATE Out of the back, I don't like watches, Some with only a little click — I don't like clocks, with hardly any noise. I don't like struggling to pull on my socks. Funny the way Different cars run. I'm the one they wait for, Some rattle and bang, they always have to wait, Some whirr, because, for anything at all, Some knock and knock. I'm always, always LATE! Some purr I spend my life in rushing, And hummmmmmm I never can catch up - Smoothly on I'd win a Prize of Lateness, with hardly any noise. Dorothy Baruch Page | 10
There was an old woman I scuff There was an old woman of Chester-le-Street And puff Who chased a policeman all over his beat. And frown And huff She shattered his helmet and tattered his clothes And stamp And knocked his new spectacles clean off his nose. And pout Till I forget “I’m afraid,” said the Judge, “I must make it quite What it’s about. clear Felice Hofman You can’t get away with that sort of thing here.”
“I can and I will,” the old woman she said, WITCHES “And I don’t give a fig for your water and bread. Witches never wash themselves. “I don’t give a hoot for your cold prison cell, They never comb their hair. And your bolts and your bars and your handcuffs as They never clean their clothes at all well. Or change their underwear. Their skins are always spotty “I’ve never been one to do just as I’m bid. (Exactly as you’d guess). You can put me in jail for a year!” They’re dirty and they’re mucky, So they did. They always look a mess. Charles Causley They’ve lots of creepy crawlies, Like cockroaches and fleas, Which crawl about their bodies Extract from: ”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005” And do just as they please. That’s why witches scratch and scratch, How horribly they itch – GRADE 4 : BOYS/GIRLS I’m really glad that I am me And not a warty witch! Nutty nursery rhymes ‘Jump over the moon?’ the cow declared, ‘With a dish and a spoon. Not me. I need a suit and a rocket ship THE KING’S SPECTACLES And filmed by the BBC. The King has lost his spectacles! The court is in a flurry! ‘I want a roomy capsule stall They’re searching here, For when I blast away, They’re searching there, And an astronaut as a dairymaid It’s such a hurry burry! And a bale of meadow hay.’ Where can they be? She gave a twitch of her lazy rump, Where can they be? ‘Space travel takes up time. We’ll search throughout the land, I certainly don’t intent to jump And he who find my spectacles, For a mad old nursery rhyme.’ Shall have my daughter’s hand. Max Fatchen Then, father dear, A boy is here: SULK His home is in a shack. I scuff He often finds a needle my feet along In his master’s big haystack. And puff my lower lip Then bring him in! I sip my milk Yes, bring him in! in slurps We’ll bring him in, sir, now … And huff My Lord, your noble spectacles And frown Are on your noble brow! And stamp around And tip my shal We’ll now proclaim through all the land, back from the table This boy shall have my daughter’s hand. Nearly fall down James Gibson but I don’t care Page | 11
MOTHER DOESN'T WANT A DOG Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002 Mother doesn't want a dog. Mother says they smell, GRADE 5 : BOYS/GIRLS And never sit when you say sit, Or even when you yell. We Moved About a week Ago And when you come home late at night We moved about a week ago, And there is ice and snow, it’s nice here, I suppose, You have to go back out because the trouble is, I miss my friends, The dumb dog has to go. like Beth, who bogged my nose, and Jess, who like to wrestle and dump me in the dirt, Mother doesn't want a dog. and Liz, who found a garter snake Mother says they shed, and put It down my shirt. And always let the strangers in
And bark at friends instead, I miss my friend Fernando, And do disgraceful things on rugs he sometimes pulled my hair, And track mud on the floor, I miss his sister Sarah, And flop upon your bed at night she shaved my teddy bear, And snore their doggy snore. I miss the Trumble triplets Mother doesn't want a dog, who dyed my sneakers blue, She's making a mistake. and Gus, who broke my glider, Because, more than a dog, I think I guess I miss him too. She will not want this snake. Judith Viorst I really miss Melissa who chased me up a tree, I even miss “Gorilla” Brown who used to sit on me, ANYONE SEEN MY...... ? the more I think about them, The people who keep losing things the more it makes me sad, Are searching high and low. I hope I make some friends here They poke and peer- "We left it here." as great as those I had. But no one seems to know.
The people who keep losing things Witches Have not a single clue. Witches never wash themselves. The look in vain------"It's lost, again. They never comb their hair. I can't just wear one shoe." They never clean their clothes at all For people who keep losing things Or change their underwear. There isn't any cure. Their skins are always spotty They carry on--- "It can't be gone. (Exactly as you’d guess). I left it there, l'm sure." They’re dirty and they’re mucky, They always look a mess. They wear a look of great surprise They’ve lots of creepy crawlies, To think that it's mislaid. Like cockroaches and fleas, A sock, a vest and all the rest Which crawl about their bodies Are stolen, lost or strayed. And do just as they please. That’s why witches scratch and scratch, The people who keep losing things--- How horribly they itch — The worry and they whine. I’m really glad that I am me They can't think where ...... but, most unfair, And not a warty witch! They go and borrow mine. Max Fatchen Freddy frog A little frog upon a leaf Went sailing down the river His friends all playing on the bank Saw Freddy shake and shiver.
He knew the river’s water fast Would take him to sea “Jump, jump!” they cried, “You silly frog! It’s as easy as can be.” Page | 12
“I can’t, I can’t !” he cried with fear THERE ARE BIG WAVES “I’m scared and I’m not clever.” There are big waves and little waves, “You must you must! “ they called again Green waves and blue, “Make haste! It’s now or never!” Waves you can jump over, Waves you dive through, A handsome swan, quite fond of frogs Waves that rise up Came gliding close to catch him; Like a great water wall, “A tasty morsel, I declare!” Waves that swell softly And stretched his neck to snatch him. And don’t break at all, Freddy knew he had to jump Waves that can whisper, “I will not be his dinner!” Waves that can roar, He flung himself into the air – And tiny waves that run at you His leap, it was a winner! Running on the shore. Eleanor Farjeon “I can, I can!” He laughed with glee And swam and swam delighted, Back to his friends on the bank All dancing and excited. QUESTIONS Author unknown Do trains get tired of running
And woodworms tired of holes Do tunnels tire of darkness Extract from: ”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005” And stones of being so old?
Do shadows tire of sunshine GRADE 5 : BOYS / GIRLS And pubbles tire of rain?
And footballs tire of kicking I lost my invisible puppy Does Peter tire of Jane? I lost my invisible puppy when we were out walking today, Does water tire of spilling she disappeared into the bushes And fires of being too hot and totally faded away. And smells get tired of smelling And chickenpox – of spots? My puppy is not too apparent, my puppy is paler than pale, I do not know the answers she tends not to draw much attention, I’ll ask them all one day . . . she wags an invisible tail. But I get tired of reading And I’ve done enough today. She wears an invisible collar, Peter Dixon her leash is invisible too,
I fear that she’s vanished forever, she’s totally hidden from view. TRAVEL The railroad track is miles away, I’ll miss her obscure little antics, And the day is loud with voices speaking, her odd indiscernible tricks, And there isn’t a train goes by all day she chased inconspicuous crickets, But I hear its whistle shrieking. she fetched undetectable sticks.
My poor imperceptible puppy All night there isn’t a train goes by, is probably still in the park, Though the night is still for sleep and perhaps if I pay close attention, dreaming, I’ll hear here inaudible bark. But I see its cinders red on the sky, And hear its engine steaming.
My heart is warm with the friends I make, And better friends I’ll not be knowing, Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take, No matter where it’s going. EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
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MY DOG Have you seen a little dog anywhere about? ‘My flame has gone out, I can’t raise a spark, A raggy dog, a shaggy dog, not much use when you hunt in the dark.’ who's always looking out The vet peered down the gigantic throat, For some fresh mischief which he thinks black as a chimney and reeking of soot. he really ought to do, He's very likely at this minute He threw in some petrol, a match to ignite, biting someone's shoe. firelighters, coal, and some dynamite.
If you see that little dog, The dragon covered a burp with is paw, his tail up in the air, a flicker of flame flashed down his jaw. A whirly tail, a curly tail, He licked his lips with a golden tongue: a dog who doesn't care ‘Take your fee, vet, you’d better run. For any other dog he meets, not even for himself, I can feel my fires boil, they are returning. Then hide your mats, and put your meat In a couple of minutes you could be burning.’ upon the top-most shelf. Clutching a diamond the size of a star, If you see that little dog, barking at the cars, the vet scampered away to his car. A raggy dog, a shaggy dog, with eyes like twinkling stars, As he drove off the dragon’s bright fires Just let me know, for though he's bad gushed out of the cave and scorched his tyres. as bad as bad can be, I wouldn't change that dog for all The vet snapped his fingers, laughed at the brute because he was wearing his flame-proof suit. the treasures of the sea. David Harmer Emily Lewis
FROM: MY NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS A little mistake I will not throw the cat out the window I studied my tables over and over, and backwards Or put a frog in my sister’s bed and forwards too; I will not tie my brother’s shoelaces together But I couldn’t remember six times nine, and I Nor jump from the roof of Dad’s shed didn’t know what to do, I shall remember my aunt’s next birthday Till my sister told me to play with my doll, and not to And tidy my room once a week Bother my head. I’ll not moan a Mum’s cooking (Ugh! Fish fingers “If you call her ‘fifty four’ for a while, you’ll learn it again!) by heart,” she said. Nor give her any more of my cheek. I will not pick my nose if I can help it So I took my favourite Mary Ann (though I thought I shall fold up my clothes, comb my hair, ‘twas a I will say please and thank you (even if I don’t dreadful shame To give such a perfectly lovely child such a perfectly mean it) horrid name), And never spit or shout or even swear. And I called her “My dear little fifty four” a hundred I shall start again, turn over a new leaf, times, till I knew leave my old bad ways forever The answer of six times nine as well as the answer shall I start them this year, or next year of two shall I sometime, or …. ? times two. Robert Fisher
Next day, Elizabeth Wrigglesworth, who always acts so Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002 proud, Said “Six times nine is fifty two,” and I nearly GRADE 6: BOYS/GIRLS laughed aloud! Never trust dragons But I wished I hadn’t when teacher said, “Now, ‘I see you’ve arrived,’ the dragon said, Dorothy, bright eyes like beacons set his head. tell if you can.” For I thought of my doll, and – oh dear, oh dear! I ‘Yes,’ said the vet. ‘Left as soon as I knew. answered “Mary-Ann”! Now tell me the problem, a touch of the ‘flu?’ A.M. Platt, CURRY, J. 1981 Page | 14
Our teacher (Written on a frog by Eric who ate too Our teacher taps his toes, many worms and died.) keeping the beat to some silent tune, only he knows. Be very careful When you’re swimming in the sink, Our teacher drums his fingers, Cos the currents round the plughole, on his desk, on the window, Are stronger than you think. on anything, when the room is quiet, when we’re meant to be writing, Be very, very careful in silence. When you’re eating hot barbed wire,
If you gobble, it will prick you, Our teacher cracks his knuckles, clicks his fingers, grinds his teeth, And you’ll suddenly expire. his knees are knocking the edge of his desk, Be very, very careful he breathes to a rhythmical beat. When singing in the rain, Cos quicker than you think, your clothes will shrink When he turns his head in a certain way, And you won’t get them off again. there’s a bone that cracks in his neck. When he sinks to the floor, Always be very careful we often think, he’ll stay on his knees When washing up the pots, forever more, he’s such a physical wreck! Cos the water makes your fingers soft And ties them into knots Our teacher bangs his head against the wall (or pretends to) when Wendy comes up And be very, very careful with another dumb remark. While swimming through the park, By the bowls shed and the putting green Our teacher says we annoy him There lurks the Dry-Land Shark. with all our silly fuss. Perhaps he’s never really thought And be very, very careful how much he irritates us. Brian Moses While a reading of this book, Cadbury’s Children’s Poetry, 1986:19 For there’s something stood behind you And over your shoulder it looks…… Mike Harding Extract from:”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005”
GRADE 6 : BOYS / GIRLS PET SHOPPING While shopping at the pet store WILL YOU? I got my fondest wish. I bought myself a fish bowl Will you be my Valentine? and then a pair of fish. Will you marry me in June? Will you lock me in the basement And since I was already when there is a bright, full moon? out shopping at the store I thought I ought to purchase Will you bring me lots of roses? another smidgen more. Will you bring me chocolate sweets? Once a month when I get hairy, And so I got a rabbit, Will you feed me doggy treats? a hamster and a frog, a gerbil and a turtle, Will you treat me with devotion? a parrot and a dog. Will you bless me when I sneeze? Will you dust my back with powder I purchased an iguana, just in case I’ve gotten fleas. a tortoise and a rat, an eight-foot anaconda, Will you be my darling angel? a monkey and a cat. Will you be my dream divine? That’s exactly what the Wolfman A guinea pig, a gecko, said to Lady Frankenstein. a ferret and a mouse, ADVICE TO GROWN UPS AND OTHER and had them all delivered, ANIMALS….. directly to my house. Page | 15
FRIENDS My sister went berzerko! I fear it’s very wrong of me, She’s now installing locks, And yet I must admit, because I said her bedroom When someone offers friendship would be their litter box! I want the whole of it. I don’t want everybody else Kenn Nesbitt To share my friends with me. At least, I want one special one, Who, indisputably,
MOSQUITOES, MOSQUITOES! Likes me more than all the rest, Mosquitoes, mosquitoes, Who’s always on my side, stop torturing me, Who never cares what others say, why can’t you behave Who lets me come and hide. more considerately, Within her shadow, in her house – you’ve bitten me practically It doesn’t matter where – down to the bone, Who lets me simply be myself, Who’s always, always there. please leave me alone! - Elizabeth Jennings Mosquitoes, mosquitoes, you’re hard to ignore, I itch and I scratch, I can’t stand anymore, COLD FEET you’ve bitten my bottom, They have all gone across you’ve bitten my top, They are all turning to see mosquitoes, mosquitoes, They are all shouting ‘Come on’ I’m begging you, stop! They are all waiting for me.
Mosquitoes, mosquitoes, I look through the gaps in the footway I honestly feel And my heart shrivels with fear, it’s time that you went For far below the river is flowing somewhere else for a meal, So quick and so cold and so clear. you’ve bitten me places I can’t even see, And all that there is between it mosquitoes, mosquitoes, And me falling down there is this: stop torturing me! A few wooden planks – not very thick – And between each, a little abyss.
The holes get right under my sandals. NOISE I can see straight through to the rocks I like noise. And if I don’t look, I can feel it, The whoop of a boy, the thud of a hoof, Just there, through my shoes and my socks. The rattle of rain on a galvanized roof, The hubbub of traffic, the roar of a train, Suppose my feet and my legs withered up The throb of machinery numbing the brain, And slipped through the slats like a rug? The rush of the wind, a door on the slam, Suppose I suddenly went very thin The switching of wires in an overhead tram, Like the baby that slid down the plug? The boom of the thunder, the crash of the waves, The din of a river that races and raves, I know that it cannot happen The crack of a rifle, the clank of a pail, But suppose that it did, what then? The strident tattoo of a swift-slapping sail – Would they be able to find me Arises a gamut of soul-stirring joys. And take me back home again? I like noise. Jessie Pope They have all gone across They are all waiting to see They are all shouting ‘Come on’ – But they’ll have to carry me
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Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002 Hasn’t kissed you!’ Please don’t do it, Auntie, GRADE 7 : BOYS/GIRLS PLEASE!
Mrs. Reece laughs Or if you’ve absolutely Laughter, with us, is no great undertaking, Got to, A sudden wave that breaks and dies in breaking. Laughter, with Mrs. Reece, is much less simple: And nothing on earth can persuade you It germinates, it spreads, dimple by dimple. Not to, From small beginnings, things of easy girth, To formidable redundancies of mirth. The trick Clusters of subterranean chuckles rise Is to make it And presently the circles of her eyes Quick, Close into slits, and all the woman heaves As a great elm with all its mounds of leaves You know what I mean? Wallows before the storm. From hidden sources A mustering of For as things are, Blind volcanic forces I really would far, Takes her and shakes her till she sobs and gapes. Then all that load of bottled mirth escapes Far sooner be In one wild crow, a lifting of huge hands, Jumped and thumped and dumped, And creaking stays, and visage that expands In scarlet ridge and furrow. Thence collapse, I’d sooner be A hanging head, a feeble hand that flaps Slugged and mugged . . . than hugged . . . An apron-end to stir and air and waft A steaming face. And Mrs. Reece has laughed. And clobbered with a slobbering Martin Amstrong Kiss by my Auntie Jean! Kit Wright
Hugger mugger I’d sooner be Harry Hobgoblin’s Superstore Jumped and thumped and dumped You want a gryhen’s feather Or a spell to change the weather? I’d sooner be A pixilating potion Slugged and mugged . . . than hugged . . . To help you fly an ocean Some special brew or magic And clobbered with a slobbering To supercharge your broomstick? Kiss by Auntie Jean: Witches, wizards, why not pop Into Harry’s one-stop shop? You know what I mean: Tins of powdered dragon’s teeth, Whenever she comes to stay, Bottled beetles, newts. You know you’re bound Freeze-dried cobwebs, cats and rats, Screaming mandrake roots. To get one. Lizard skins stirred widdershins, A quick A giant’s big toe nail, short Second-hand spells used only once peck New ones that cannot fail. would Spells to grow some donkey’s ears be On the teacher no one likes, O.K. Spells to make you good at sums, But this is a Spells to find lost bikes. Whacking great Smacking great Spells that grow and stretch and shrink, Wet one! Spells that make your best friend stink, Sacks of spells stacked on my shelves, All whoosh and spit Come on in, see for yourselves. And crunch and squeeze Magical prices, tricks galore And ‘Dear little boy!” At Harry Hobgoblin’s Superstore. And ‘Auntie’s missed you!’ David Harmer
And ‘Come to Auntie, she Page | 17
Extract from: ”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005” Beyond my house Above my house GRADE 7 : BOYS / GIRLS is the blue of the sky, fragile fishbone clouds The madness of a headmistress and the wind whispering Don’t be a fool, don’t go to school like an untold wish. Don’t put a foot outside – Old Miss Oysterley Below my house Is eating bubblegum, is the dark secret earth, Sellotape, tin-tacks and Tide! deep-spiralling roots and the mystery of lives Be like a mouse, stay in the house – lived underground. Her mouth is open wide – Weird Miss Oysterley Around my house Is drinking printer’s ink, is the garden wall, where Paint and insecticide! slow snails crawl and spiders hang their webs, beaded Don’t go near the Head, just stay in bed – like door curtains. Jump in a box and hide – Old Miss Oysterley Beside my house Is fond of the little ones – is an apple tree, a Roasted or frittered or fried! shady place to hide in summer, in winter It’s very sad, she’s gone quite mad, a bony skeleton. Her brain is quite petrified – Poor Miss Oysterley Over my house Munching through Infants 1 is a rainbow, a magic That once was her joy and pride! paint-splashed bridge Gavin Ewart where raindrops shine
like crystal beads.
Inside my house Ladles and jellyspoons is my family, my laughing, Ladles and jellyspoons: crying, quarrelling family, I come before you a place where I belong To stand behind you every single day. And tell you something I know nothing about. Beyond my house is the future, full of promise Next Thursday, as an unopened parcel The day after Friday, wrapped in fancy paper There’ll be a ladies’ meeting and silver ribbons. For men only. by Moin Andrew
Wear you best clothes If you haven’t any, And if you can come THE SEA Please stay home. The sea is a hungry dog, Giant and grey. Admission is free, He rolls on the beach all day. You can pay at the door. With his clashing teeth and shaggy jaws. We’ll give you a seat Hour upon hour he gnaws So you can sit on the floor. The rumbling, tumbling stones, And ‘Bones, bones, bones!’ It makes no difference The giant sea-dog moans, Where you sit; Licking his greasy paws. The kid in the gallery is sure to spit.
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And when the night wind roars I know your brother’s very bright And the moon rocks in the stormy cloud, At least that’s what I’ve heard. He bounds to his feet and snuffs and sniffs, But I wish he’d stay away from me – Shaking his wet sides over the cliffs, My fiends think he’s a nerd. And howls and hollos long and loud. What’s that, you say? I’ve made you mad? But on quiet days in May or June, I’ve only said what’s true! When even the grasses on the dune You’re so unkind! I’ll never again, Play no more their reedy tune, Ever speak to you! With his head between his paws Penny Hansen He lies on the sandy shores, ______So quiet, so quiet, he scarcely snores. JAMES REEVES Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002
GRADE 8 : BOYS/GIRLS
RICH MAN Smile I saw a Rich Man walking down the street She smiled at a sorrowful stranger. With a chain across his waistcoat and spats on The smile seemed to make him feel better. his feet, He remembered past kindnesses of a friend With silver in his pockets that jingled as he walked, and wrote him a thank-you letter. And a solid gold tooth that gleamed when he The friend was so pleased with the thank-you talked. that he left a large tip after lunch. He walked by the girls with their baskets on their The waitress, surprised by the size of the tip, knees bet the whole thing on a hunch. Full of white clove pinks and pink sweet peas The next day she picked up her winnings, He walked y the flower girls whose baskets smelled and gave part to a man on the street. like honey The man on the street was grateful; for two days he’d had nothing to eat. With his face full of care and his mind full of After he finished his dinner, money. he left for his small dingy room.
(He didn’t know at that moment I saw the Rich Man, he never saw me, that he might be facing his doom.) So I see more than the Rich Man can see. On the way he picked up a shivering puppy ELEANOR FARJEON and took him home to get warm.
The puppy was very grateful to be in out of the storm. That night the house caught on fire. CALLING A SPADE A SPADE The puppy barked the alarm. That hairstyle doesn’t suit you. He barked ‘til he woke the whole household I think your shirt looks cheap. and saved everybody from harm. Why do you wear those geeky shoes? One of the boys that he rescued You look like such a creep. grew up to be President. All this because of a simple smile that hadn’t cost a cent. These cookies that your mother baked Barbara Hauck, From: Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul Publisher: Health Communications Taste just like sawdust pies. Your brand-new shades are really great! They hide your piggy-eyes. The end of the world With legs like yours you shouldn’t wear I was but nine years old A skirt as short as that. When I caught the rumour that ran around And you could cover your big ears From ear to ear in the school playground If you wore a hat. That someone’s father or someone’s friend Knew the hour when the world would end. Oh, here’s the book you lent to me: Terror took hold The one you said was cool. As I heard it told. I read the first few pages – It bored me more than school. All the way home and in bed I thought of the awful day that would come; The sick world shuddering like a drum, Then all on fire, and the cries and groans, Page | 19
With the stars falling like huge hailstones, I love you like Henry VIII And the moon blood-red Adored young Anne Boleyn. As the Bible said. Please woo me with a Tudor rose When holidays begin. The day dawned and the sky Grew dire with a nor’west glare and gloom, I love you like Paris loved Helen I saw the signs and the arch of doom Many years BC, As tremblingly to school I trod Tell me you’d launch a thousand ships To wait the hour of the wrath of God. Just to be close to me. But the day went by,
And I did not die. I love you with the steady flame
The world’s end was not yet With which Queen Vic loved Albert. And I was glad, but would I have been Come find a cosy staffroom chair – If the child had seen what the man has seen? We’ll snuggle up in comfort. O when will this monstrous spinning top, Wheeled in its trancelike circuit, stop I love you like Edward VIII And the last sun set Adored his Mrs Simpson. On its fume and fret? Tell me you’d abdicate for me Basil Dowling And make my cheeks burn crimson.
I love you like Charles number two Teenagers Adored actress Nell Gwyn. Hey come on okes, it’s time to have fun Come and perform a play with me Forget the work and let our hormones run! To drown the playground din. “Boom boom boom boom, I want you in my room”
Don’t let my mother hear that, she’ll freak out and And I love you like Nelson loved swoon! His Lady Hamilton. Check out that babe, she’s really quite cute Wow, with the body she’s an absolute beaut. Come sail with me through history Our folks are quite strict, they’re real fuddy duddies When all these kids have gone. Julia Kawlinson Why won’t they let us hang out with our buddies?
Let’s hit the Mall and take in a movie How ‘bout Nottinghill, Hugh Grant’s quite groovy I’m feeling quite moody, look at this pimple The caged bird in springtime When I wear my bikini can you see the dimple? What can it be, I can’t control the pitch of my voice This curious anxiety? My body is changing, I’ve got rid of my toys It is as if I wanted Sex-ed is cool! We know about HIV To fly away from here. Mom and Dad, trust us and soon you’ll see Our teenage years are only a stage But how absurd! We’ll get through them, smiles, tears and rage I have never flown in my life, Soon we’ll be adults, ready to flee the nest And I do not know Sit back, relax and enjoy our zest! What flying means, though I have heard, Sandy Sims Of course, something about it.
Why do I peck the wires of this little cage? Extract from:”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005” It is the only nest I have ever known. But I want to build my own, GRADE 8 : BOYS/GIRLS High in the secret branches of the air.
A history teacher’s love song I cannot quite remember how I love you like Mark Antony It is done, but I know Adored his Cleopatra. That what I want to do I want us to spend breaktime in Cannot be done here. Ancient Eqyptian rapture. I have all I need – I love you like Sir Launcelot Seed and water, air and light. Adored Queen Guinevere. Why then, do I weep with anguish, Romance me like a noble knight And beat my head and my wings When we get out of here. Against those sharp wires, while the children Smile at each other, saying: “Hark how he sings”? James Kirkup Page | 20
‘Petronella’ ‘Petronella darling don’t play down there, and then she left me Come and have tea with Auntie and me, and said she knew It’s nice and sunny here on the lawn that I’d understand completely. And there’s lots of strawberry jam. Steve Turner We’ll even let you pick the currants And leave the rest of the scone. Petra, please, don’t kick the cat. SEA LULLABY And do stop picking your nose. The old moon is tarnished With smoke of the flood, Yes, she’s even seven this year The dead leaves are varnished And so affectionate too. With colour like blood, Don’t throw stones at Mummy dear. They might go in her eyes. A treacherous smiler Auntie has brought you a present With teeth white as milk, My love, come, kiss her and say A savage beguiler Hullo – Petra! No, I think the little In sheathings of silk, Dear said ‘Oh! well.’ The sea creeps to pillage, Petra don’t dig up the dahlias She leaps on her prey; And do give your knickers a tug. A child of the village I don’t like you playing down there Was murdered today. My love, the goblins will catch You I’m sure – you’ll kill them! She camp up to meet him Well, come and have tea with Auntie and me, In a smooth golden cloak, And we’ll let you drink out of the saucer. She choked him and beat him It’s one of her off days you know. To death, for a joke.
Petronella! You’ve now gone too far, Her bright locks were tangled, You’ve covered the table with sod, She shouted for joy, I know you don’t care, but Auntie With one hand she strangled Is here, and she loves little girls like you. A strong little boy. Leave the dahlias alone, No, we don’t want a hole, Now in silence she lingers And do stop screaming down there – Beside him all night Oh! dear, she’s found Uncle George…’ To wash her long fingers Jeffrey Grinfell-Hill In silvery light. ELINOR WYLIE
RIOT AREA Declaration of intent They have burnt my hut. She said she’d Not strangers, not Police, love me for eternity The people sent by Government to burn. but managed to reduce They have not burnt my hut. it to eight months It is my friends, for good behaviour. For shall I not call them friends, She said we fitted That village next to ours? like a hand in a glove How cannot they be our friends? but then the hot One stream gives water to us; weather came and such We mourn with them their deaths; accessories weren’t needed. They cheer our weddings; She said the future Always it has been so. was ours but the deeds But they have burnt my hut. were made out in One brand into the thatch, her name Nothing is left on my roof, She said I was The falling timbers smashed my cups, the only one who Chairs and tables are burnt, understood completely A saved blanket covers me, Now they have burnt my hut. Page | 21
J.H. CHAPLIN BEING A MAN They’ve never touched a young’n, “Be a man,” they say, or caressed a fevered head, “and don’t cry.” with hands so gently folded, And I wonder why all night beside his bed. a man is not meant to show emotion. A man must wear a mask – They’ve never scrubbed a kitchen floor, And when I ask or done dishes every day. Why, he says, “Because I’m a man!” They’ve never guided with those hands a child who’s lost the way. But I think a man can Display feelings. They’ve never made a Christmas gift, shaped by a lovin’ hand. I do – and more – They’ve never peeled apples, I shout when I score! nor vegetables they’ve canned. And when someone’s a bore, They’ve never worn a blister, I show it – for sure! or had calluses to show, for all they’ve done for others, Slamming doors brings relief and the kindnesses I know. When I’m cross. When my sister annoys me So you see, my dearest Mama — I yell yours are hand of love. And I tell And I bet the Lord will notice Her where to get off when he greets you from above. ‘Cos I’m the boss! Tommi Jo Casteel, From: Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul Publisher: Health Communications
And I hope when I’m older,
I’ll continue to show
Both joy and sorrow, Paint Brush Compassion and pain; I keep my paint brush with me And maybe – just maybe – Wherever I may go, When I am a man, In case I need to cover up I’ll help make the world sane – So the real me doesn’t show. With emotion. I’m so afraid to show you me, John Davies Afraid of what you’ll do — that ______You might laugh or say mean things. I’m afraid I might lose you. Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002 I’d like to remove all my paint coats To show you the real, true me, GRADE 9 : BOYS/GIRLS But I want you to try and understand, I need you to accept what you see. Mama’s Hands So if you’ll be patient and close your eyes, I saw you hide your hand in line, I’ll strip off all my coats real slow. behind the lady fair, Please understand how much it hurts I noticed too, hers soft and white — To let the real me show. immaculate from care. But Ma, I say, it’s no disgrace Now my coats are all stripped off. to have workin’ hands like you, I feel naked, bare and cold, and had she lived the life you have, And if you still love me with all that you see, she’d have hands just like it too. You are my friend, pure and gold.
But her hands have never hauled in wood, I need to save my paint brush, though, or worked in God’s good earth. And hold it in my hand, They’ve never felt the bitter cold, I want to keep it handy or chopped ice for waitin’ stock, In case somebody doesn’t understand. they’ve never doctored sick ones, So please protect me, my dear friend or dressed a horse’s hock. And thanks for loving me true, They’ve never pulled a hip-locked calf, But please let me keep my paint brush with me or packed water to the barn. Until I love me, too. They’ve probably never patched blue jeans, Bettie B. Youngs From: Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul or had worn ol’ socks to darn. Publisher: Health Communications
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Do You Mind? It is my tradition, Do you mind, my mum says, my African tradition, the African spirit Not squeezing the toothpaste tube that lies within me. In the middle and leaving it It is the African love, I was born of A shapeless squashy mess; the wisdom of the African ground; And do you mind The perseverance and integrity Not just fishing the strawberries in the land of my ancestors, Africa. Out of the strawberry jam
But eating some of the jelly stuff I have and always will be In between as well; And another thing: a born, bred and buttered Do you mind putting your African child. Toenail clippings in the waste bin Instead of shooting them It is a good musasa tree All round the bathroom; that remembers the seed that And my dad joins in with mothered it. Oh yes, and while we’re about it Cynthia “Nana” Simelane Do you mind Not filling the car’s ashtrays With sticky sweet papers So that I get goo on my fingers Holocaust museum, Washington Every time I put out a fag; I would like to open my mouth And my sister, and cry out my anguish Who’s enjoying this, says But my sound has Do you mind leaving my comb alone: it has sunk in my stomach I’m forever cleaning your And sits there, heavily. Ratty old hairs out of it. For when there was silence, Well actually, I do mind Pain and compassion and helpless frustration And I’m thinking of a few things To throw back at and You perfect people. tears But for now: had dignity. Do you mind packing in the Nagging, niggling, binding, bitching, In the bright sun beam Picking, pecking and criticising and There next to me she says Do you mind getting off my back “Gosh, I wonder why she said it would and take long? I must’ve done it in an hour.” Do you mind me screaming HELP! And I sit here, heavily. Eric Finney I would like to open my mouth and cry out my anguish But my sound has Extract from:”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005” it has privacy and dignity in the darkness and the silence of my stomach. GRADE 9 : BOYS / GIRLS Alicia Woolf
I am an African child Song of the galley-slaves I am an African child, We pulled for you when the wind was against us I am of African blood. and the sails were low. The African sun is the only one Will you never let us go? I’ve known. We ate bread and onions when you took towns, or I speak well in an African tone ran aboard I rise in the morning to the quickly when you were beaten back by the foe. African sky and feel its warmth. The Captians walked up and down the deck in fair I wear a blanket of pride weather treasuring my culture and tradition, singing songs, but we were below. that is what makes me what I am. An African child. Page | 23
We fainted with our chins on the oars and you did I remember bitter coffee days, not see Ripping, tearing things apart that we were idle, for we still swung to and fro. Mash-and-liver angry days: Will you never let us go? Time to cry and break your heart. The salt made the oar-handles like shark-skin; our I remember chilly cold-toast nights, knees In my heart there’s winter blue were cut to the bone with salt-cracks; our hair Sour vinegar lonely nights: was stuck Time to lie and think of you. to our foreheads; and lips were cut to the gums, Ninette Kriegler and (Pretoria High School for Girls) you whipped us because we would not row. Will you never let us go? But, in a little time, we shall run out of the port- holes as YOU’D BETTER BELIEVE HIM the water runs along the oar-blade, and though A FABLE you tell the Discovered an old rocking horse in Woolworth’s, others to row after us you will never catch us till He tried to feed it but without much luck you So he stroked it, had a long conversation about catch the oar-thresh and tie up the winds in the The trees it came from, the attics it had visited. belly of the said. Aho! Will you never let us go? Rudyard Kipling Tried to take it out then But the store detective he Called the manager who Called the police who in court next morning said RICHARD CORY “He acted strangely when arrested, Whenever Richard Cory went down town, His statement read simply ‘I believe in rocking- We people on the pavement looked at him: horses.’ He was a gentleman from sole to crown, We have reason to believe him mad.” Clean favoured, and imperially slim. “Quite so,” said the prosecution, “Bring in the rocking-horse as evidence.” And he was always quietly arrayed, “I’m afraid it’s escaped sir” said the store manager, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, “Left a hoofprint as evidence ‘Good-morning,’ and he glittered when he walked. On the skull of the store detective.” “Quite so,” said the prosecution, fearful And he was rich – yes, richer than a king – of the neighing And admirably schooled in every grace: Out in the corridor. In fine, we thought that he was everything Brian Patten To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light, Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002 And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head. GRADE 10 : BOYS/GIRLS EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON The Way through the Woods They shut the road through the woods Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again I REMEMBER And now you would never know I remember sunny ice-cream days, There was once a road through the woods Chasing you around the pool Before they planted the trees. Watermelon floating days: It is underneath the coppice and heath Time to laugh and play the fool. An the thin anemones. Only the keeper sees I remember sleepy pancake nights, That, where the ring-dove broods, Close together, by firelight And the badgers roll at ease, Cinnamon sugar dreamland nights: There was once a road through the woods. Time to sigh and hold you tight.
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Yet, if you enter the woods And the filaments of my hatred reach across the Of a summer evening late, border. When the night air cools on the trout-ringed pools You, you have sold many and me to exile. Where the otter whistles his mate, Now shorn of precious minds, you rely only on (They fear not man in the woods What hands can grow to build your crumbling Because they see so few), image. You will hear the beat of a horse’s feet, And the swish of a skirt in the dew, Your streets are littered with handcuffed men Steadily cantering through And the drums are thuds of the warden’s spiked The misty solitudes, boots. As though they perfectly knew You wriggle with agony as the terrible twins, law The old lost road through the woods . . . and order, But there is no road through the woods! Call out the tune through the thick tunnel of barbed Rudyard Kipling wire.
Here, week after week, the walls dissolve and are The Hermit slim, I have barred the doors The mist is clearing and we see you naked like Of the place where I bide, A body that is straining to find itself but cannot I am old and afraid And our hearts are thumping with pulses of desire Of the world outside. or fear And our dreams are charred chapters of your How the poor souls cry history. In the cold and the rain, I have blocked my ears, My country, remember I neither blinked nor went to They shall call me in vain. sleep My country, I never let your life slide downhill If I peer through the cracks And passively watched you, like a recklessly-driven Hardly daring draw breath, car, They are waiting there still Hurrying to you crash while the driver leapt out. Patient as death. The days have lost their song and salt. The maimed and the sick We feel bored without our free laughter and voice. The tortured of soul, Every day thinking the same and discarding our Arms outstretched as if hopes. I could help them be whole. Your days are loud with clanking cuffs On men’s arms as they are led away to decay. No shaft of the sun My hiding shall find, I know a day will come and wash away my pain Go tell them outside And I will emerge from the night breaking into song I am deaf, I am blind. Like the sun, blowing out these evil stars. Frank Chipasula Who will drive them away, Who will ease me my dread, Who will shout to the fools Extract from:”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005” “He is dead! He is dead!”? GRADE 10 : BOYS/GIRLS Sometimes they knock At the place where I hide, One heart I am old, and afraid My one heart has many chambers. Of the world outside. There are more places there, many more Do they think, do they dream than I thought possible. My one heart. I will open the door? Luxury rooms with chandeliers, Let the world in kitsch carpets and funny pictures. And know peace no more? I used to believe all the rooms were austere, Alan Paton hard and spare. But no. These other doors have opened and how will they ever close again? The passageways themselves A love poem for my Country are full of mischief, I have nothing to give you, but my anger the toilets have jokes on the walls. The kitchen is riotous and full of weather, Page | 25 your weather, you dark and stormy he is showing and laughing weather. us we live in I now live in this house the dark, and I lose myself in it a dark so thick lamps can’t shed light on it, have lost myself in it all found myself in it because find myself in it of war find and disorder myself and the horse my they torture self. the horse, and the slain man, look Leon de Kock his eyes wander round his skull, and the mother cries as her child dies in her arms, look the oxtail The magi a twirl Imagine this, you who have charts and maps, of smoke guidebooks and satellites to plot our routes, phantoms of the dead experts, advisers on the many traps and dy- gaping for travelers, phrasebooks in the flutes ing float over crying dark disorder and trills of foreign tongues, rates of exchange, and war inoculations to preserve your health, A found poem by Lindsey Collen search parties should you vanish out of range, consuls to bring you home, sponsors with wealth, websites to show you how, the Tourist Boards eager to smooth your path, global TV, Dis fighting insurance policies, the package hordes No more fighting please, why can’t we stop dis lured by the brochures’ bland security. fighting, dis fighting hurting me, why don’t we start uniting, Imagine this: we did not know how far, dem fighting in Angola, dem fighting in Manchester, or where, what tongue, what cost, what ills, what dem fighting in Jamaica, and dem fighting in wraith Leicester, of madness was attendant on that star. well i might be black, my people were once slaves, But still we journeyed on: an act of faith. but time goes on, and love comes in, D.A. Prince so now we must behave, it could be that you’re white, and i live in you land, no reason to make war, dis hard fe understand, skinheads stop dis fighting, The Thursday women’s literacy class rude boys stop dis fighting, looks at Picasso’s ‘Guernica’ dreadlocks stop dis fighting, during the bombing of Afghanistan we must start uniting, our children should be happy and they should live there is war as one, and disor- we have to live together so let a love grow strong, der, let us think about each other, there’s no need to there is a cry compete, it’s like a cy- if two loves love each other then one love is clone, and here complete, a man lies no more fighting please, we have to stop dis slain, he’s dead fighting, dis fighting hurting me, time we start uniting, even the cow, the cow’s eyes dis fighting have no meaning, dis fighting is not look sideways and forwards fair, at the same time, why? dis fighting makes a profit for people who don’t care, you chose it on purpose, this one, no more fighting please, we have stop dis fighting, because of the bombings, didn’t you? Dis fighting hurting me, the heathen love dis fighting. Picasso is sad by Benjamin Zephaniah oh, makes me feel hollow Page | 26
SUPERSTITION TALKING HANDS I know African hands, that flutter as they talk that when a grumbling old woman without which words would be Is the first thing I meet in the morning meat without salt. I must rush back to bed Each hand that turns like And cover my head. wheat upon its stalk That wandering sheep on a sultry afternoon can plead, pray, remonstrate or pacify, Are really men come from their dark graves African hands that talk. To walk in light In mortal sight. Or young musician’s hands, the hands that touch That when my left hand or eyelid twitches string, bow and key to fill the air with sound, Or when an owl hoots from a nearby tree these hands have life. I should need pluck Each hand, precise and technical, It means bad luck. fingers the crutch That drink spilled goes to ancestral spirits, That witches dance in clumps of bananas: on which arpeggios lean, narrow and clever, That crumbs must be left in pots and plates Musician’s hands, that sing. Until the morn And listening hands, the seeing eye of the blind, For babes unborn. whose delicate sense transmits That it’s wrong to stand in doorways at dusk the written word. For the ghosts must pass – they have right of way! Each hand serves as an eye, That when a hidden root trips me over moving like darting birds to touch and find, Fault’s not in my foot. fingers like needles, It’s an evil root. pricking out each sound; That if I sleep with feet towards the door the windows of the mind. I’ll not long be fit Phillipa Berlyn I know it – yes I know it! MINJYI KARIBO Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002
GRADE 11 : BOYS/GIRLS THE DANCER ‘What was she like?’ they asked, and then I knew Poems at Bargain Prices That I had never looked upon her face Poems, You want poems? We got poems! That I could tell them of her timeless grace, Curve of the neck, light gesture of a hand; Poems to make you dream The picture of a swallow’s fight I drew. While the rulers of the country are busy. And hoped, perhaps, that they might understand. Poems to send you to sleep While they test their tanks and their guns. ‘What colour was her hair?’ I do not know, We got poems. And yet I think it misted a white arm
And mingled with her dancing. There was charm Poems for you and your aftermeal sleep. In every movement, and of all most sweet, Poems which do not disturb you nor Most unforgotten wind-swept to and fro, The quiet of a Sunday afternoon, The leaf-blown motion of her elfin feet. When the sermon in the morning was comforting And the chicken at lunch was tasty. ‘Had her eyes beauty?’ I cannot tell, alas! I saw the magic in a changing dream … We got poems. A flash of silver on a wandering stream … And I have kept for my remembering Ah, you sleep? How through the morning skies the wild swans May you wake in peace! pass, Because we got other poems. And I recall the tremor of a wing. Poems which will disturb you Celia Randall With announcements of bloodshed, War, atrocities, atomic bombs, and jails. Jails, visible from the window Of your peaceful bedroom, Whenever you open the blinds.
Poems. Page | 27
You do not want to hear these poems? My death That’s so related to me as a wink to the eye. They will come to you nevertheless. Jo’burg City Peter Horn I travel on your black and white and roboted roads, Through your thick iron breath that you inhale At six in the morning and exhale from five noon. Jo’burg City The Bomb That is the time when I come to you, plundering When you neon flowers flaunt from your electrical recklessly wind, through the pale sky That is the time when I leave you, possessed by the devil When you neon flowers flaunt their way through the It descended falling darkness slowly On your cement trees. slowly And as I go back, to my love, ever so slowly My dongas, my dust, my people, my death, with a diabolical shriek Where death lurks in the dark like a blade in the and a mushroom of eerie grey smoke flesh, enveloping and choking the frail blue sky I can feel your roots, anchoring your might, my to its cruel destination feebleness of earth In my flesh, in my mind, in my blood, It roared like the devil And everything about you says it, with evil gnarled arms That, that is all you need of me. slashing the atmosphere Jo’burg City, Johannesburg, with vengeance Listen when I tell you, and sharp cosmic rays There is no fun, nothing, in it, It blinded the sun When you leave the women and men with such It challenged mankind frozen expressions, to defy the feat Expressions that have tears like furrows of soil The smoke rose as a sinister nightmare erosion, but man stood back Jo’burg City, you are dry like death, bulbous-eyed Jo’burg City, Johannesburg, Jo’burg City. terrified Mogane Wally Serote BOMB BLAST !! the place ablaze a living haze … of people Extract from:”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005” chaos reigned foolish men with shrunken egos GRADE 11 : BOYS / GIRLS outdid themselves this time. Debbie James From: Poetry for pleasure Macmillan Black bells And words, Make pain, City Johnnesburg Like poverty can make pain. This way I salute you: Words My hand pulses to my back trousers pocket Words, Or into my inner jacket pocket Like thought, are elusive, For my pass, my life, Like life Jo’burg City. Where everybody is trapped My hand like a starved snake rears my pockets I wonder who trapped me, For my thin, ever lean wallet, For I am trapped, While my stomach groans a friendly smile to Twice, hunger, Like, Jo’burg City. A word can mean two things, My stomach also devours copper and papers Don’t you know? Who, and Whitey Jo’burg City, I salute you; Trapped me. When I run out, or roar in a bus to you, I read. I leave behind me, my love, Words, My comic houses and people, my dongas and my Words. ever whirling dust, Trying to get out
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Words. Words. By Whitey. There must be reasons why the leaves decay; No. No. No. By Whitey Time will say nothing but I told you so. I know I’m trapped. Helpless Perhaps the roses really want to grow Hopeless The vision seriously intends to stay; Trapped me whitey. Meem wanna ge oat Fuc If I could tell you I would let you know. Pschwee e ep booboodubooboodu blllll Black books, Suppose the lions all get up and go, Flesh blood words shitrrr Aaa And all the brooks and soldiers run away; Amen. Will Time say nothing but I told you so? Mongane Wally Serote (South Africa) If I could tell you I would let you know. W.H. Auden
I AM A GIRL OF THE 21st CENTURY Pilate’s wife During the storm I create Peace in my soul Firstly, his hands – a woman’s. Softer than mine, I close my eyes until the storm is over with pearly nails, like shells from Galilee. Like an eagle I try each day in my life Indolent hands. Camp hands that clapped for To reach where my heart is. grapes. Their pale, mothy touch made me flinch. Pontius. Hope that I have inside, to give me Strength to be what I want to be I longed for Rome, home, someone else. When the I let no one harm my soul Nazarene I always focus on my future. entered Jerusalem, my maid and I crept out, bored stiff, disguised, and joined the frenzied During the night I dream about freedom crowd. During the day I build happiness in my soul I tripped, clutched the bridle of an ass, looked up Each day I shape my life. Trying my very best to do only the right thing. and there he was. His face? Ugly. Talented. He looked at me. I mean he looked at me. My God. I am born to be bold and brave His eyes were eyes to die for. Then he was gone, To have faith in everything I do his rough men shouldering a pathway to the gates. To help those who are being criticised everyday To renew hope in their lives. The night before his trial, I dreamt of him. His brown hands rouched me. Then it hurt. Even if it may seem to dark Then blood. I saw that each tough palm was My heart will lead me to a place of Peace. skewered I am living for tomorrow. by a nail. I woke up, sweating, sexual, terrified. Not for today Only because Leave him alone. I sent a warning note, then I am a girl of the 21st century quickly dressed. Zandile Sylvia Mazibuko When I arrived, the Nazarene was crowned with thorns. The crowd was baying for Barabbas. Pilate saw me, looked away, then carefully turned up his sleeves If I could tell you Time will say nothing but I told you so, and slowly washed his useless, perfumed hands. Time only knows the price we have to pay; They seized the prophet then and dragged him out, If I could tell you I would let you know. up to the Place of Skulls. My maid knows all the rest. If we should weep when clowns put on their show, Was he God? Of course not. Pilate believed he was. If we should stumble when musicians play, Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although, Because I love you more than I can say, YOU WEREN’T THERE If I could tell you I would let you know. You weren’t there the day I fell The winds must come from somewhere when they in the school playground – blow, my cries shattering the quiet of the sterile corridors. Page | 29
And I, groping in my word-world You weren’t there waited for the right words to wipe away the stains of failure to set them free. when I swam my first race – On an impulse, and lost. he stretched forward and gently swept her hair You weren’t there out of her face. to pick up the shattered pieces of my heart Bernard Levinson the night he phoned and said it was all over.
You weren’t there FASHION the day my dreams come true, We’re at the mall invading peoples’ privacy I came home Everyone’s eyes getting their weekend to a lonely emptiness. exercise! People in couples … People in groups You weren’t there The rejected few in a single man’s crew to pick me up from school Appreciating fine men in their expensive to plant a caring kiss on my troubled brow sneakers to speak mother/daughter things – trivialities – Who’s in … Who’s not Yet no so trivial. Who’s fly and not up to date You weren’t there Ever. You can feel the air getting denser As the tension gets tenser And soon You would swear you had enough gossip I’ll be gone – To write a weekend ad like a warm breath So the question is … on a cold Highveld morning. Do you, have the fashion to suit the occasion? Forever. Marian Nyako-Lartey (15)
Mother Carolyn Esser (Kingsmead College) Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002
GROUP THERAPY GRADE 12 : BOYS/GIRLS We were talking about love (not daring to use that word) Prayer Before Birth as they sat about me I am not yet born; O hear me. in a circle. Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat The boys and the girls or the each with a puppet on one hand. clubfooted ghoul come near me.
He said – I am not yet born, console me. ‘Mine’s an old man. I fear the human race may with tall walls wall me, He’s so very hungry with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me, and so very much alone.’ on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me. And she in the softest voice – ‘My puppet’s ugly I am not yet born; provide me With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, everyone hates her.’ trees to talk
to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light I searched for words in the back of my mind to guide me. to form a bridge between them. I am not yet born, forgive me For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my The old man looked at the ugly puppet. words The paper heads nodded gravely when they speak me, my thoughts when they think while the group waited. me, my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,
Page | 30 my life when they murder by means of my “This girl is going to die.” hands, my death when they live me. I’m sure the guy had no idea, while he was flying high, because he chose to drink and drive I am not yet born; rehearse me that I would have to die. In the parts I must play and the cues I must take So why do people do it, when knowing that it ruins lives? old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, But now the pain is cutting me mountains like a hundred stabbing knives. frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white Tell my sister not to be afraid, waves call me to folly and the desert calls tell Daddy to be brave, me to doom and the beggar refuses and when I go to heaven to my gift and my children curse me. put “Daddy’s Girl” on my grave. Someone should have taught him I am not yet born; O hear me, that it’s wrong to drink and drive. Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is Maybe if his mom and dad had, God I’d still be alive. come near me. My breath is getting shorter, I’m getting really scared. I am not yet born; O fill me These are my final moments, With strength against those who would freeze my and I’m so unprepared. humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal I wish that you could hold me, Mom, automaton, as I lie here and die. would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with I wish that I could say one face, a thing, and against all those I love you and good-bye. who would dissipate my entirety, would Retold by Jan Watkins From: Chicken Soup for the Teenage blow me like thistledown hither and Soul Publisher: Health Communications thither or hither and thither like water held in the hands would spill me. Macavity: the Mystery Cat Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden me. Paw — Otherwise kill me. For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law. Louis Macneice From: The Collected Poems of Louis MacNeice He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Faber & Faber Ltd. Squad’s despair; For when they reach the scene of crime — Macavity’s not there!
Somebody Should Have Taught Him Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, I went to a birthday party He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of but I remembered what you said. gravity. You told me not to drink at all, His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare, so I had a Sprite instead. And when you reach the scene of crime — I felt proud of myself, Macavity’s not there! the way you said I would, You may seek him in the basement, you may look that I didn’t choose to drink and drive, up in the air — though some friends said I should. But I tell you once and once again, Macavity’s not I knew I made a healthy choice and there! your advice to me was right as the party finally ended Macavity’s a ginger cat, he’s very tall and thin; and the kids drove out of sight. You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes, I got into my own car, are sunken in sure to get home in one piece, His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is never knowing what was coming highly domed; something I expected least. His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are Now I’m lying on the pavement. uncombed. I can hear the policeman say, He sways his had from side to side, with “The kid that caused the wreck was drunk.” movements His voice seems far away. like a snake; My own blood is all around me, And when you think he’s half asleep, he’s always as I try hard not to cry. wide awake. I can hear the paramedic say, Page | 31
Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity, Extract from:”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005 For he’s a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity. GRADE 12 : BOYS / GIRLS You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square — Pope Joan But when a crime’s discovered, then Macavity’s not After I learned to transubstantiate there! unleavened bread
into the sacred host He’s outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.) and swung the burning frankincense And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard’s. till blue-green snakes of smoke And when the larder’s looted, or the jewel-case is coiled round the hem of my robe rifled, Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke’s and swayed through those fervent crowds, been stifled, high up in a papal chair, Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis blessing and blessing the air, past repair — Ay, there’s the wonder of the thing! Macavity’s not nearer to heaven there! than cardinals, archbishops, bishops, priests, being Vicar of Rome, And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty’s gone astray, having made the Vatican my home, Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by like the best of men, the way, in nominee patris et filii et spiritus sancti amen, There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or the stair — but twice as virtuous as them But it’s useless to investigate — Macavity’s not I came to believe there! that I did not believe a word, And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret
Service say: so I tell you now, ‘It must have been Macavity!’ — but he’s a mile away. daughters or brides of the Lord, You’ll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his that the closest I felt thumbs, Or engaged in doing complicated long division to the power of God sums. was the sense of a hand lifting me, flinging me down, Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity. There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and lifting me, flinging me down, suavity. as my baby pushed out He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare: from between my legs At whatever time the deed took place — MACAVITY WASN’T THERE! where I lay in the road in my miracle, And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds not a man or a pope at all. are widely known (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time Elvis’s twin sister Just controls their operation: the Napoleon of Are you lonesome tonight! Do you miss me tonight! Crime! Elvis is alive and she’s female: Madonna T.S. Eliot From: Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats In the convent, y’all, I tend the gardens,
watch things grow,
pray for the immortal soul
of rock ‘n’ roll.
They call me Sister Presley here.
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The Reverend Mother vague possibilities. digs the way I move my hips just like my brother. But wait ….. there are people here Gregorian chant Peoplepeoplepeoplepeople drifts out across the herbs, so beautiful and complex Pascha nostrum immolatus est…… I wear a simple habit, like my doctor’s handwriting. darkish hues, a wimple with a novice-sewn LOOKING AT GLACIERS lace band, a rosary, dear dad a chain of keys, another birthday wooshed by today. a pair of good and sturdy blue suede shoes. Did you ever dream that you’d be where you are I think of it ? as Graceland here, way back when a land of grace. when you dreamed around the back yard It puts my trademark slow lopsided smile with mud on your legs back on my face. and another tear in your shorts (hoping ma wouldn’t notice) Lawdy. or at school when the wind I’m alive and well. gusted on cold days Long time since I walked looking out the window down Lonely Street on deserted grounds towards Heartbreak Hotel. when boredom lay like encyclopaedia dust undisturbed by anything real and thoughts were too far away MOZAMBIQUE snatched There is nothing here by what you could be doing only drunken words when. stumbling and burping Were your bones the sort that knew over commas, or were they readying for the next crashing into syntaxes soccer game on the weekend with the guys and precariously hanging at so-and-so’s house? around inbetween the mischief laughter planning sniffing chattering sneaking shrieking snooping cliff- hovering faced drooling fullstops. near hearty almost-done braais Did you take a quick peek There is come void was there a vision wining our faces did you ever dream that one day and voices you’d turn around that hand of a blind groping for solid and this is where you’d be? in that darkness Alicia Woolf around darkness. ON DEATH ROW There is patriotism I still remember his echoing screams dark suited in deja-vu Constantly they haunt my dreams. performing I can still remember his bloodstained shirt: the limp clicked his lifeless body beneath smoldering dirt. dance around And yet I still don’t remember the reason or the rime But the damage was done: I’ve committed Page | 33
my crime. It is not dread of thirst when you well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable? Now a holy man convicts my sinner’s heart There are those who give little of the much which Before they send me on a journey: they have – and they give it for recognition and from this world I must depart. their hidden desire makes their gifts unwholesome. After ninety-nine hours of pure torture, And there are those who have little an give it all. the gate of hell ajar: the end to the gruely These are the believers in life and the bounty of tunnel. life, seems never ending far. and their coffer is never empty. But I reach the end of my lifeline There are those who give with joy, and that joy is and strap on the prisoner’s end. their reward. With a strange and peaceful feeling. And there are those who give with pain, and that I wonder where I’ll be sent. pain is their baptism. And there are those who give and know not pain in I’m stripped of all my coverage and told giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with “You’ll be much safer” mindfulness Slowly they pull the hatch on my life and of virtue; send me They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes to meet my maker … its Esmé Scholtz (17) fragrance into space. Through the hands of such as these God speaks, and from behind their eyes He smiles upon the earth. TRAPPED Kahil Gibran I’m trapped in my own desires caught in my own fears murdered by my emotions sliced by my feelings Extract from: “DI KONOKONO SILLABUS 2002 I’m torn between love and hate, faith and rebellion Somebody help me OPEN SECTION : MEN/LADIES I’m trying to break free but His soul is drowning me Hottentot venus drawing me to his Spirit My name is Saartjie Baartman and I come from Kat My heart is aching River fading from pain they called me the Hottentot Venus My eyes are crying they rang up the curtains on a classy peepshow two blinded by love pennies two pennies in the slot and I’d wind up shift a fan and roll my rolypoly bum My body is shivering and rock the capitals of Europe into mirth an icy cold breeze I was a special voluptuary a squealing passion leaving me empty they had never seen anything like it before Fighting for a loss that never began Little Sarah twenty six born on the vlei past Remona Rose (16) Grahamstown
bought for a song and a clap of the hands
a speculative sketch come to life a curiosity of natural science weighed measured From THE PROPHET exported on show two pennies two pennies in the Gallery of Man I am unique Then said a rich man, Speak to us of Giving. I am lonely now I always was out here And he answered: my deathbed a New Year’s eve You give but little when you give your possessions. a salon couch girdled with reporters and I turned It is when you give of yourself that you truly give. my complexion to the wall and dreamed For what are your possessions but things you keep of a knife cutting deep in a springbok’s hide and guard for fear you my need them to-morrow? and they woke me with brandy for smelling salts And to-morrow, what shall to-morrow bring to and I wouldn’t wake again in their august company the over-prudent dog burying bones in the track- my soul creeps under cairns where less sand as he follows the pilgrims to the holy city? wayside travellers throw another stone in my And what is fear of need but need itself? memory Page | 34 two pennies two pennies dropped on my eyes they laid me in state in my crinoline robe Or sometimes she’d talk of pioneer days, long treks, my hands folded coyly as they always were locusts darkening the sky, assegai wounds and I let them bury my body so celebrated so that would only heal to herbs that the bushmen sensational knew, they could never do while I was alive the coffin always ready in the loft, the frequent what they wanted to do sink me in wax and decant births, betrothals, burials. my brain and put me in a case in the Museum of Man But rarely of her childhood over the water, among I stare out at the Eiffel Tower my hands covering hills called the cotswolds, of things we never knew, my vaginal flaps my own anomaly like snow, The kneebone connected to the thighbone like chestnuts, and nightingales, whole hillsides connected to deep in perpetual lawn with not a stone to be seen, the hipbone connected to the spine and the skull trees, without thorns, as high as the house, things they mounted me without beads or skins or quivers as lovely, strange and barely credible Saartjie Baartman is my name and I know as chapters in the bible. my place I know my rights I put down my foot and the Tuileries Gardens shake I put down Each sundown her custom was to go for a slow, my foot and the Seine changes course I put slow walk down my foot and the globe turns upside down along the selfsame track that had brought her there I rattle my handful of bones and the dead arise. three score and all but ten years before, Stephen Gray her long mauve gown trailing a shiff of lavender Publisher: David Phillips through miles of heady mimosa groves, her cheek far softer and smoother than and wild petal or fruit.
Great-Great-Grandmother I was a young savage then, forever Bolt upright, reading her Bible for hours chasing rats and lizards with my catty. in a wicker chair on the front stoep in the winter, Springtime it was – what passes for spring up there in summer under the pepper trees whose lacy – shadows that gradual crescendo of heat with little change or wavered over the lacy shawl, colour, drawn tight across her little brittle shoulders. that thorough desiccation of air - - before the great clouds stride across the sky When her sight grew dim someone might read to meet growling, and sighing fall. her- but deafness following shut that door. The blue-headed lizard flicked his tail So then she’d sit, there, crocheting for hours and my futile pebble clicked on his purple boulder. by a remnant of sight and what sense of touch Released from their fatal focus, my eyes drifted up was left in fingers as dry and shiny as silver leaves and there she was, not fifty yards away, stock-still, freckled gold and brown. black, But mostly her hands lay limp in her lap next to a wild pomegranate, flaming yellow, intense except for occasional desperate twitches against the funereal mauves of the scrub. which shook the shawl round her shoulders, the shawl with which she seemed to shelter Was she resting, or dreaming, or peering with her loneliness like a deformity lashless eyes from a frightened and frightening world. at that annual but always surprising outburst of yellow? Alone. Husband and all her own children gone: And then, behind her, I saw the whirlwind coming; living among the noise of children’s children now lurching like an inspired dancer who found it hard to come near the awful who snatches a beautiful moment weak-eyed eagle of a race now almost extinct. from the verge of a hideous fall, Sometimes, though, one of the wives in fumbling now stalking straight and poised compassion like the holy pillar of smoke that led the isrealites would make a child ask the old, old lady for a story. into the promised land. She seldom obliged, reluctant to switch her mind from her beginnings and endings to theirs. She did not hear or see it come.
But when she did her stories were mostly biblical It struck her and she was gone. where the miraculous burst into the matter-of-fact and the weirdly wonderful was all mixed up For a dizzy split-second I thought: with things a child could see at once She’s been taken up to heaven, like Elijah! were as they always are. Page | 35
And her shawl spun out of the sky and settled for amidst the chattering of adults in French beside me. and the fooling around of our children in no Was I Elisha, inheriting language of words her mantle of powerful pain? we are going to revel beyond the mischievous hand of man But then I saw her dress like a gnarled old branch black in the flame of the bush. there is a spirit moving where we are we turn faces to avoid it I ran up crying, trying to help her. hardly being successful But she’d sized things up, as always; for we are part of the being of things she never lost her head.
‘Go to the house. Fetch Thomas.’ there are clouds gathering above our heads In her fall she had clutched at the thorny branches. we say it will not rain That’s how the palms of her hands were pierced. hardly being correct for the earth needs to be swept at times She was three long week a-dying. it rains! … pula! … it rains! … pula! There were times when she struggled to speak, Sipho Sepamla but it was too late, tetanus being what it is.
They buried her between two thunderstorms. The scent the damp earth breathed Penguin on the beach from the parted lips of her grave Stranger in his own element, was neither bitter nor sweet. Sea-casualty, the castaway manikin Waddles in his tailored coat-tails. Oil I did not weep then; Has spread a deep commercial stain it is now that I weep. Over his downy shirtfront. Sleazy, grey, Guy Butler It dogs the sleekness. Far too well
He must recall the past, to be so cautious: Extract from:”NEA PROSPECTUS 2005 Watch him step into the waves. He shudders Under the froth, slides, slips, on the wet sand, OPEN SECTION: MEN / LADIES Escaping to dryness, dearth, in a white cascade, Adriaanspoort An involuntary shouldering off of gleam. Down there below Hands push him back into the sea. He stands where I can see no spoor of man or animal In pained and silent expostulation. there is a winding Once he knew a sunlit, leaping smoothness, of what used to be But close within his head’s small knoll, and dark there is a swaying of lanky tufts of grass He retains the image; oil on sea, there is a meandering Green slicks, black lassos of sludge of leafy protea trees Sleaving the breakers in a stain-spread scarf. there is an ageing cleaving, splitting of variegated pelindaba rocks and there is a thought He shudders now from the clean flinching wave, of dead spirits Turns and plods back up the yellow sand, once clashing by day Ineffably weary, triumphantly sad. only to retreat at sunset leaving these parts wild at night He is immensely wise: he trusts nobody. His senses yet serene under the moon Are clogged with experience. He eats Fish from his Saviour’s hands, and it tastes black. where I stand there is no stench with which to live From a University Anthology of English Poetry Dr Beeton SG Kossiek E Pereira only the giddy smell of braaied boerewors already the plastic plates are full of stywe mielie- pap a table is laden with sliced cheese and green salads
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CONSTANTLY RISKING ABSURDITY Constantly risking absurdity and death whenever he performs above the heads of his audience the poet like an acrobat climbs on rime to a high wire of his own making and balancing on eyebeams above a sea of faces paces his way to the other side of day performing entrechats and sleight-of-foot tricks and other high theatrics and all without mistaking any thing for what it may not be
For he’s the super realist who must perforce perceive taut truth before the taking of each stance or step in his supposed advance toward that still higher perch where Beauty stands and waits with gravity to start her death-defying leap And he a little charleychaplin man who may or may not catch her fair eternal form spreadeagled in the empty air of existence
Lawrence Ferling
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