Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, June 20, 2015

Our Socially Constructed Jungle - Poem

Socially Constructed Jungle

Over the seas
 Far away
In the neck 
Of the jungle
Trees casts shadows on our eyes

Until we wake up
We won't realise
We grew this jungle deep
and under these trees
I weep.

Don't deny that the trees grew
but were planted by you.
Don't forget that the sun is above.

We all belong
All belong to the roots.
We are the children of the bark.

Awaken to truths
before 
we create clouds
to covers the skies
Under these trees

Under these trees
I weep
Under these trees
We weep.

****



"The world will not be destroyed by those who do evil,
but by those who watch them without doing anything"

-Albert Einstein

Let's consider and understand
 this socially constructed jungle
we live in will suffocate us all
if we don't recognise the harm
it has caused by the seeds
from which it was planted.


Dedicated to lives lost
 families in pain
Our global community mourns
A plea for
Truth and Reconciliation
For hate crimes across
the Globe.


Wednesday, August 20, 2014

" What matters is how quickly you do what your soul directs" -Rumi

“What matters is how quickly you do what your soul directs.”
― Rumi

Violence is an act without soul.
Direct life in love
Anger won't last
and we will be
Direct in what we see
Soul will fill
Love will lead.

 -Athena Lambers



  

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Learn the ism's: Consumerism Lyric Video-Lauryn Hill





"Television running through them like an organism"

If you haven't learned all your scism's and ism's, Lauryn Hill's will teach you on her new track Consumerism.  In her official statement she says, “Messages like these, I imagine find their audience, or their audience finds them, like water seeking it’s level.


Lauryn Hill – Consumerism Lyrics | Rap Genius

Monday, October 21, 2013

Slam Poetry Videos by Holly McNish - Food, Language, Love, Womanhood, Human Rights.




 "Kids can't even read the ingredients of their meal time"

 Powerful stance on food rights. Whole Food Nutrition.


 

 "I'm happy I'm learning Spanish." Activate the left and right brain. Ride the language love train.

 

 "So I whispered and tiptoed with nervous discretion. But after 6 months of her life sat sitting on lids, Sipping on milk, nostrils sniffing on piss, Trying not to bang her head on toilet roll dispensers, I wonder if these public loo feeds offend her, 'Cause I'm getting tired of discretion and being polite."

 Why not to be embarrassed when a mother feeds her child - from her breast.

 Holly McNish's honest words and delivery on potent topics of food, language, love, womanhood, human rights.

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Exposing the Truth: Make something happen.


                                             Follow my blog with Bloglovin

via Exposing The Truth.co
Draw something, cook something, sing something, build something, make something, Buy Nothing.

 I also would like to add:

 Grow Something
 Share Something
 Trade Something
 Teach Something
 Do Something

 X

Saturday, June 1, 2013

Collective Poetry



A love virgin beneath a canopy of cupcakes, technicolour. With a shot glass full of intrepidation. Oh, but now I love to be by the sea. Surrounded by nymphs celebrating love.A dog keeps us company, cupcakes and champagne on the table. Oh, how I love to be by the sea. Crash boom, bang. It is beautiful to be alone.  It is beautiful to be in love. to be with people and they are complimentary. Not contradictory. Evole evolution. Love Revolution. Living in this warrioress light of infiltration.  Love born in the sultry of the east coast summer, travelled and wisened abroad, settled in the cape where oceans meet, and we feast on the grape, wine, wonderful wenches weekend, what could be happier than celebrating our goddess of virginity, fertility, verility, femininity-champagne and tea! Oh the magic & wonder of the bride to be . . . The valkyrie bliss she brings to me. The great virgin of love, the purest abundant dove. Your union of dreams makes us burst at the seams.  Purple-lilac roller on your solar-flying plane. Your vibe keeps the love breathing, respiring, through violet flashing wings. Love songs with love . ..  For my Tina Athena . . . You are: Beautiful, inspirational, creative spirited.  The love you share with Chris is blissful bountiful and beautiful!  May it be a beacon of light & hope to all . . . A brilliant light a chocolate delight every starry night I see you in sight...soon you’ll take flight LIVE BRIGHT. Holy schmolly miss wiggamolly, nolly 
bejolly.            
  written by 10 women on a weekend away in Yzerfontein, South Africa.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

A Raw Sun in Marikana


MARIKANA
by Ari Sitas

The digital images fold as the TV screen tires
The cops, rifles in cabinet, past their third beer are edging towards bed
The night is quiet as the smelter has been closed,
the only music is of the wind on razor wire
the ears are too shut to hear the ancestral thuds on goatskin
humanity has somehow died in Marikana
who said what to whom remains a detailed trifle
the fury of the day has to congeal, the blood has to congeal
I reverse the footage bringing the miners back to life
in vain, the footage surges back and the first bullet
reappears and the next and the next and the next
and I reverse the footage in vain, again and again in vain

The image of the man in the green shroud endures
Who wove the blanket and what was his name?
There are no subtitles under the clump of bodies, no names
stapled on their unformed skull
A mist of ignorance also endures, a winter fog
woven into the fabric of the kill
The loom endures too, the weaver is asleep
The land of the high winds will receive the man naked
The earth will eat the stitch back to a thread
What will remain is the image and I in vain
Reversing him back to life to lead the hill to song
In vain, the footage surges back
another Mpondo, another Nquza Hill, another Wonder Hill
the shooting quietens: another anthill

My love, did I not gift you a necklace with a wondrous bird
pure royal platinum to mark our bond?- was it not the work of the most reckless angel of craft and ingenuity? Was it not pretty?
Didn’t the bird have an enticing beak of orange with green tint?
Throw it away quickly, tonight it will turn nasty and gouge
a shaft into your slender neck
And it will hurt because our metals are the hardest- gold, pig iron, manganese
yes, platinum
Humanity has somehow died in Marikana

What is that uMzimu staring back at us tonight?
Darken the mirrors
Switch off the moon
Asphalt the lakes

At dawn, the driveway to the Master’s mansion
Is aflame with flower, so radiant from the superphosphates
of bone
of surplus oxygen and cash,
such flames, such a raw sun
such mourning by the shacks that squat in sulphur’s bracken
and I wait for the storm, the torrent, the lava of restitution
the avenger spirits that blunt the helicopter blades in vain

these also endure: the game and trout fishing of their elective chores
the auctions of diamond, art and share
the prized stallions of their dreams
their supple fingers fingering oriental skins and their silver crystals
counting the scalps of politicians in their vault

The meerkat paces through the scent of blood
I want it to pace through the scent of blood,
she is the mascot, the living totem
of the mine’s deep rock,
the one who guards the clans from the night’s devil
she is there as the restless ghosts of ancestors
by the rock-face
feeding her sinew and pap

goading her on:
the women who have loved the dead alive
the homesteads that have earned their sweat and glands
impassive nature that has heard their songs
the miners of our daily wealth that still defy
the harsh landscape of new furies
the meerkat endures-
torn certainties of class endure
the weaver also endures: there-
green blankets of our shrouded dreams
humanity has died in Marikana

The strike is over
The dead must return
to work.


-----------------
" (written after a tough two weeks and seeing Pitika’s miner sculpture with the green corrugated iron blanket) "

Monday, March 7, 2011

Graffiti Art on the Street talks back-Durban, South Africa


  We build walls, we break walls.

  We climb walls, we bomb walls.

 We stare at walls, we wonder . . . if walls could talk.

  We paint walls, so they talk back.

  -Athena
Athena-Lamberis-Photography



   This picture was taken in 2005, in Durban, South Africa.

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