Love Poetry For Couple

 Their guilt is not so very different from ours: �who has not joyed in the arbitrary exercise of power or grasped for himself what might have been another�s and who has not used superior force in the moment when he could, (and who of us has not been tempted to these things?)�     varadero-bol.com trophaeenschau-alpnach.com alkawtarmarrakech.com radikifruits.com glitzerbombe.com mediprintbiomedical.com chinaresgrp.com   so, in their guilt, the bare ferocity of teeth, chest-thumping challenge and defiance, the deafening clamor of their prayers to a deity made in the image of their prejudice which drowns the voice of conscience, is mirrored our predicament but on a social, massive, organized scale which magnifies enormously as the private dehabille of love becomes obscene in orgies.

Dennis Vincent Brutus (born November 28, 1924, Salisbury, Rhodesia) is a South African poet. A graduate of the University of Fort Hare and the University of the Witwatersrand, Brutus was formerly on the faculty of the University of Denver and Northwestern University. Dennis Brutus was an activist against the apartheid government of South Africa in the 1960s. He worked to get South Africa suspended from the Olympics; this eventually lead to the country's expulsion from the games in 1970. He joined the Anti-Coloured Affairs Department organisation (Anti-CAD), a group that organised against the Coloured Affairs Department which was an attempt by the government to institutionalise divisions between blacks and coloureds. The Anti-CAD was affiliated to the Trotskyist Fourth International in South Africa. He was arrested in 1963 and jailed for 18 months on Robben Island. https://ello.co/faqk24   https://torgi.gov.ru/forum/user/profile/1085532.page   https://www.behance.net/g...

My iris purple skirt� its silky swish� was packed at first for partying in but then the destination changed: I checked in for a flight towards his final journeying. In that petal furl, with a beaded butterfly to curb its wrap, I helped to carry him, a coffined husk, across a patch of rocky ground to dusty burying. At last, a rest for him. For me, the hollow pit of grief, a body's emptying. In a new uncompassed north I dug a hole beneath a tree, through softer soil. For memory, these seeds: a bauble and a photograph, snatched flowers, the match's halo-ing. There it must lie still no longer winged: just a scatter of beads melted in the earth, and a rusted pin. + Who she is: Isobel Dixon bio + Amazon page: Isobel Dixon Amazon page + Interview: Isobel Dixon interview Isobel Dixon

in Motetema, Limpopo Province I feed the teachers, morning to late light, a feast of stories. as the sun sifts the room one ladles a question onto my plate. it lies there like the pap we ate at lunch. Who did you inherit story-telling from? a big meal question. he watches me chew. first response, inside, I say, No one. It started here. but this Lazarus has raised a ghost. I take his question down to my gut to search for one who hands down gifts. who multiplies fish and bread. I answer his gaze. when I tell, the story comes from somewhere else, through me. You see this? he slowly nods and smiles. a match strikes a woodpile. Europe and Africa blood and belonging reconcile in the telling. it is the ancestors who story through me. a night fire ignites my belly. Dorian Haarhoff

Michelle McGrane Born in 1974 in Zimbabwe, Michelle McGrane spent her childhood in Malawi, and moved to South Africa with her family when she was fourteen. Her third poetry collection is forthcoming in 2010. She lives in Johannesburg, South Africa, and blogs at peony moon . Here's what was said: Will you share some of your memories of Malawi with us? My memories of Malawi remain a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, smells and tastes. I remember going to the Saturday morning market in Limbe with my mother: the glowing pyramids of fruit and vegetables set up in rows on concrete slabs, the yards of tiny dried fish, kapenta, laid out in the sun, the heaps of colourful spices in yellow enamel bowls, bunches of ripe bananas. Baskets of all shapes and sizes. Straw brooms. Wooden carvings. Miniature wire cars and bicycles. Brilliant bead jewellery. It was an Aladdin's treasure trove. There were hot weekends spent at a cottage on the shores of Lake Malawi. We slept with white ga...

Phillippa Yaa de Villiers

1. What�s your relationship to poetry? How do you interact with it? I talk to my pet rabbit in rhymed couplets. Apart from that, I read it and think about it a fair bit. I make up songs in my head, to borrowed tunes. 2. Do you work on just one poem at a time, or do you work on several at the same time? If I�m working on a poem, then that�s what I�m working on. I like to return to things after some months. 3. Poets labour a lot over their work (as do other artists). A lot of time and dedication goes into writing good poetry. Where�s the money? There are too many �poets� and very little money, and such money as there is tends to go to poets who serve various agendas. Prizes, with their winner-takes-all structure, give the impression that people are being paid and honoured, but in fact very few are receiving very little. Poets who aren�t climbing on a wagon must write for the pleasure of it. Nobody tries to publish their completed crossword puzzles. That said, I think poets should be paid...

Born in Manila, Jim Pascual Agustin moved to Cape Town in 1994 to be with the Canadian-born South African woman he met while on holiday in the Mountain Province in the Philippines during the monsoon season of the previous year. Agustin writes and translates poetry and fiction in Filipino and English. His work has appeared in Rhino, World Literature Today and Modern Poetry in Translation, among others. Wings of Smoke ( The Onslaught Press , Oxford, 2017) is his eighth book of poetry. [ MORE ]

South Africa�s National Poet Laureate, Keorapetse �Bra Willie� Kgositsile, has died in Johannesburg. Kgositsile passed away at Milpark Hospital in Parktown. He was seventy-nine. Kgositsile was born in 1938 in Johannesburg, and attended Matibane High School. He began his writing career at the New Age, an anti-apartheid newspaper edited by political activist Ruth First, to which he contributed poetry and news reporting. [ MORE ] Keorapetse Kgositsile