Long Poems About Africa
#Africa
goldenmyst
Poem Published
21st Aug 2019 7:04am
21st Aug 2019 7:04am
Breakfast in Africa, Dinner in Cancun
Breakfast in Africa, Dinner in Cancun
Our three-day trip to Nairobi on a flatbed truck takes us across Tanzania into the Serengeti grasslands. The hours pass as I watch people in the fields carry bundles of wheat on their shoulders. I watch the brown-skinned women carry their babies into thatched roof homes, to eat, sleep, and dream. As the day passes into dusk and I watch the dying red embers of the sun.
At the Kenyan border, the customs man boards our truck to look at our papers but our attire is the focus of his attention. “You two look good in those...
Our three-day trip to Nairobi on a flatbed truck takes us across Tanzania into the Serengeti grasslands. The hours pass as I watch people in the fields carry bundles of wheat on their shoulders. I watch the brown-skinned women carry their babies into thatched roof homes, to eat, sleep, and dream. As the day passes into dusk and I watch the dying red embers of the sun.
At the Kenyan border, the customs man boards our truck to look at our papers but our attire is the focus of his attention. “You two look good in those...
#Africa
#beach
#alcohol #heaven
#alcohol #heaven
512 reads
2 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
29th Jul 2019 4:13am
29th Jul 2019 4:13am
Ethiopian Songbird - rewrite
Ethiopian Songbird
“Nyala, today is a slow day for selling tomatoes. Please tell me how you became the most popular barroom singer in Addis Ababa. I’ll give you a quart of milk from my prize goat in exchange.”
“Well, how could I refuse such an offer? The taste of Ethiopian dust followed me into my dreams. Also, the beggar, blind in one eye, was there, who never panhandled to the miserly rich because while their bank accounts were full their hearts were empty. Also, there was the gypsy woman whose wares I couldn’t afford but who let me sit in the shade of her market...
“Nyala, today is a slow day for selling tomatoes. Please tell me how you became the most popular barroom singer in Addis Ababa. I’ll give you a quart of milk from my prize goat in exchange.”
“Well, how could I refuse such an offer? The taste of Ethiopian dust followed me into my dreams. Also, the beggar, blind in one eye, was there, who never panhandled to the miserly rich because while their bank accounts were full their hearts were empty. Also, there was the gypsy woman whose wares I couldn’t afford but who let me sit in the shade of her market...
#women
#childhood
#Africa #music
#Africa #music
512 reads
2 Comments
summultima
uma
uma
Poem Published
21st Jul 2019 3:56pm
21st Jul 2019 3:56pm
nzadi o nzere: Land of a River's Gamble/ the C-K Influence
just with ridiculously miniscule
of reserve hung in its huge, now
spatially emptied out gular pouch
a migratory bird
swims across salty currents
& alien smelling vastly
untested airs
spurs into an approaching irony
the dramatic demarcating centric
imaginarily circling (a)round for long
-this dragging equatorial line
their stealthy dense canopies in an eerie silence ...
indecipherably winking in midnightish notorities
wide-open & giggling whorish wayward river...
of reserve hung in its huge, now
spatially emptied out gular pouch
a migratory bird
swims across salty currents
& alien smelling vastly
untested airs
spurs into an approaching irony
the dramatic demarcating centric
imaginarily circling (a)round for long
-this dragging equatorial line
their stealthy dense canopies in an eerie silence ...
indecipherably winking in midnightish notorities
wide-open & giggling whorish wayward river...
#war
#Africa
#river
#birds
#rebellion
722 reads
6 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
5th Feb 2019 1:32am
5th Feb 2019 1:32am
Tangiers Afternoon
Tangiers Afternoon
She breathes like the breeze in a tamarind grove upon his face. Her henna-dyed tresses drift by him like thunderclouds laced with lightning in the marketplace. They ignite memories of the Tangiers where once his rose glistened with pearls of dew born in desire.
She caressed his wrinkled body with fingers soft as rain and bathed him in her fountain of youth. With rose petal hands she washed him in sunlight and combed the snowy hair on the roof of his head in their May December love.
They met in the Casbah when he stepped down the...
She breathes like the breeze in a tamarind grove upon his face. Her henna-dyed tresses drift by him like thunderclouds laced with lightning in the marketplace. They ignite memories of the Tangiers where once his rose glistened with pearls of dew born in desire.
She caressed his wrinkled body with fingers soft as rain and bathed him in her fountain of youth. With rose petal hands she washed him in sunlight and combed the snowy hair on the roof of his head in their May December love.
They met in the Casbah when he stepped down the...
#grief
#marriage
#romantic
#death
#Africa
535 reads
2 Comments
Nari
Laura Jean
Laura Jean
Poem Published
7th Dec 2018 10:52pm
7th Dec 2018 10:52pm
Horrified-RB
Horrified
by
Presentation
Delivery
But
Mostly
Profile
Pictures
Of me
Which were
Burlesque
Cabaret-ish-
This one
Local
Filmmaker
Big deal
(Personally I'll be impressed when a sistah can run up in the hood and reach some low grade level of merit or status reporting about her own people)
She probably
Could’ve taken it
Better if ...
by
Presentation
Delivery
But
Mostly
Profile
Pictures
Of me
Which were
Burlesque
Cabaret-ish-
This one
Local
Filmmaker
Big deal
(Personally I'll be impressed when a sistah can run up in the hood and reach some low grade level of merit or status reporting about her own people)
She probably
Could’ve taken it
Better if ...
#women
#lesbian
#politics
#feminism
#Africa
524 reads
Nari
Laura Jean
Laura Jean
Poem Published
29th Nov 2018 9:09pm
29th Nov 2018 9:09pm
Wonder Brown
Nita was the baddest bisexual uncouth in the way
Of a polished young lady, sweet inside
Skinny jeans belonging to a pair
Of brown trench coat boots running over
The heels with sarcasm that broke you in
As probably once her Mother’s
Tapered haircut and the wide nose
Was making the grade those Summers
My bills returned to work with her
After the teaching school year ended
With the highlight of the day:
Walking over to the adjacent
Fish and chip joint ...
Of a polished young lady, sweet inside
Skinny jeans belonging to a pair
Of brown trench coat boots running over
The heels with sarcasm that broke you in
As probably once her Mother’s
Tapered haircut and the wide nose
Was making the grade those Summers
My bills returned to work with her
After the teaching school year ended
With the highlight of the day:
Walking over to the adjacent
Fish and chip joint ...
#lesbian
#politics
#LGBT
#Africa
#feminism
525 reads
Nari
Laura Jean
Laura Jean
Poem Published
18th Nov 2018 1:38am
18th Nov 2018 1:38am
+Art-Cointelpro (America)
My professor
Continued to
Discredit me
In various
Paraphrasers
That really
Wasn’t necessary
Lighting up
My pages,
After
Trashing
My uhm
What do you call em?
“Intro quote pages”
(Beginning and end)
In front of
The entire
Fucking
Undergraduate class
(Shooting baskets with em
To...
Continued to
Discredit me
In various
Paraphrasers
That really
Wasn’t necessary
Lighting up
My pages,
After
Trashing
My uhm
What do you call em?
“Intro quote pages”
(Beginning and end)
In front of
The entire
Fucking
Undergraduate class
(Shooting baskets with em
To...
#conflict
#politics
#Africa
#America
#oppression
616 reads
Nari
Laura Jean
Laura Jean
Poem Published
30th Oct 2018 7:34pm
30th Oct 2018 7:34pm
Exxon
I’m always
Whispering
These pieces out
To hopefully
Catch any typos,
As if these women
Might
Actually hear
Their names being called
And suddenly
Come out
From around the corner.
Anyway,
My spiel
Was always
Lined up
“I’m gonna
Tell you
Like this here
If you ever
Feel like
You have to
Put your hands
On me ...
Whispering
These pieces out
To hopefully
Catch any typos,
As if these women
Might
Actually hear
Their names being called
And suddenly
Come out
From around the corner.
Anyway,
My spiel
Was always
Lined up
“I’m gonna
Tell you
Like this here
If you ever
Feel like
You have to
Put your hands
On me ...
#women
#lesbian
#Africa
#feminism
#politics
514 reads
Nari
Laura Jean
Laura Jean
Poem Published
14th Oct 2018 6:12am
14th Oct 2018 6:12am
Jump
The summer was
Preoccupied
By Mr. Freeze pops,
An open fire hydrant
And colorful hair beads,
In the 70s
Urban stratosphere
That imparted
A down home
Feel
Where people
Actually knew
their neighbors,
You received
Sex education
In a book called
“Where Did I Come From?”
And the transfer
Of wealth
Through ...
Preoccupied
By Mr. Freeze pops,
An open fire hydrant
And colorful hair beads,
In the 70s
Urban stratosphere
That imparted
A down home
Feel
Where people
Actually knew
their neighbors,
You received
Sex education
In a book called
“Where Did I Come From?”
And the transfer
Of wealth
Through ...
#childhood
#confessional
#tragedy
#redemption
#Africa
609 reads
eleazerobeng
Poem Published
8th Sep 2018 11:26pm
8th Sep 2018 11:26pm
I want to stay alive.
Dear Mum,
Since I knew how to say 'I love you',
I knew something was up.
My little mind back then tried to explain it, till now I still ask why.
I hid behind you
so they wouldn't call me names
but that didn’t help.
Regardless of my cell make-up,
I'm already soft and I’m trying
...but I can't.
I just want to stay alive and come home so I can fall asleep on your shoulders.
Dear Dad,
From your eyes I see disappointment
I know, I'm disappointed too.
I want to make you proud,
just hold on to me a little longer ...
Since I knew how to say 'I love you',
I knew something was up.
My little mind back then tried to explain it, till now I still ask why.
I hid behind you
so they wouldn't call me names
but that didn’t help.
Regardless of my cell make-up,
I'm already soft and I’m trying
...but I can't.
I just want to stay alive and come home so I can fall asleep on your shoulders.
Dear Dad,
From your eyes I see disappointment
I know, I'm disappointed too.
I want to make you proud,
just hold on to me a little longer ...
#hate
#parent
#identity
#LGBT
#Africa
505 reads
1 Comment
goldenmyst
Poem Published
9th Jun 2018 11:06am
9th Jun 2018 11:06am
Skeleton Coast
Skeleton Coast
Tan dunes loom over the beach as waves rhythmically roll crashing in succession leaving a bubbly froth which recedes back into the blue sea.
Hermit crabs scuttle across the sand seeking refuge in the cool ocean waters. The sun burns hot in the sky as the wind whips the sand from the Namib Desert across the beach.
The old woman keeps watch from behind the dunes. A figure starts to emerge before her terrified eyes. A lion prowls the desolate coast for food. The old woman is well versed in the art of animal talk having grown up quite fey....
Tan dunes loom over the beach as waves rhythmically roll crashing in succession leaving a bubbly froth which recedes back into the blue sea.
Hermit crabs scuttle across the sand seeking refuge in the cool ocean waters. The sun burns hot in the sky as the wind whips the sand from the Namib Desert across the beach.
The old woman keeps watch from behind the dunes. A figure starts to emerge before her terrified eyes. A lion prowls the desolate coast for food. The old woman is well versed in the art of animal talk having grown up quite fey....
#Africa
#lion
#graveyard
608 reads
3 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
8th Jun 2018 1:29am
8th Jun 2018 1:29am
Ethiopian Songbird
Ethiopian Songbird
The taste of Ethiopian dust followed her into her dreams. Also, the beggar, blind in one eye, was there, who never panhandled to the miserly rich because while their bank accounts were full their hearts were empty. Also, there was the gypsy woman whose wares she couldn’t afford but who let her sit in the shade of her market stall. And let’s not forget the soldier who shared water from his canteen and drove her home in his jeep after she’d been begging herself.
The night Mama’s water broke she wept. She didn’t...
The taste of Ethiopian dust followed her into her dreams. Also, the beggar, blind in one eye, was there, who never panhandled to the miserly rich because while their bank accounts were full their hearts were empty. Also, there was the gypsy woman whose wares she couldn’t afford but who let her sit in the shade of her market stall. And let’s not forget the soldier who shared water from his canteen and drove her home in his jeep after she’d been begging herself.
The night Mama’s water broke she wept. She didn’t...
#birth
#teens
#Africa #music
#Africa #music
593 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Long Poems About Africa
