Sandstone rock formations typical of Mapungubwe National Park courtesy of Laura SA under CC BY-SA 3.0 license.

The Kingdom of Mapungubwe (or Maphungubgwe) (c.1075–1220) was a medieval state in Southern Africa, the first stage in a development that would culminate in the creation of the Kingdom of Zimbabwe in the 13th century.



This week’s prompt is graciously hosted by Zimbabwean poet, Mbizo Chirasha. 

MAPUNGUBWE

Land of baobab, land of eagles
Mapungubwe,sagging with ambition of nujoma, madikizela and sobukwe
Land of crocodiles and spiritual eagles- Mapungubwe
Rivers groaning with sweet tongues and sacred laughters
Mapungubwe – dream of stones
Bones and spirits quietly sleeping under the burden of peaceful rocks
Your songs , mapungubwe rhythm to bones of dead heroes and sleeping heroines
Mapungubwe ,crying tears of laughter, struggle and freedom ,
Mapungubwe!

Editor’s Note: nujoma is Sam Nujoma, a Namibian revolutionary, anti-apartheid activist and politician; Madikizela is Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, a South-African anti-apardied activest, politician, and the second wife of Nelson Mandela; Sobukwe is Robert Sobukwe, South African political dissident, teacher, founder of the Pan Africanist Congress. 

© 2020, Mbizo Chirasha

SUNSET ACCOUSTICS

Sing Bamako, sing of spiders blighting freedom tomatoes
Sing of our pimped heritage
Somalia, the dramatic irony of Africa
Ethiopia, bring back the oil of our anthems and the clay of our identity
Ivory coast , your hands are hardened by hard years of madness
Cockroaches are walking over sleeping Zambezi
Gugulethu ,tired of scathy tongues and maruajuana
Egypt bulletins drenched by Arab spring urine
Abuja, how long are you going to walk in shadows?

© 2020, Mbizo Chirasha

Mbizo Chirasha

MBIZO CHIRASHA (Mbizo, The Black Poet) is one of the newest members of The BeZine core team. He is a poet from Zimbabwe who is on the run. We have been coordinating in the search for safe harbor. In part I am doing this today to remind everyone that while we’ve made progress with funding, we still need to find a host for Mbizo, preferably Germany, but England or U.S. would work too.  Open to suggestion.  Connect with me if you are able to help, have leads, or have questions. You can read more about Mbizo and his story: Zimbabwean Poet in Exile: Award-Winning Poet Mbizo Chirasha, A Life on the Run, Interview.

Kwame Nkrumah, Ghanaian politician and revolutionary coined the term “neocolonialism” in 1957.

WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT

Mbizo’s prompt for us this week is “Neocolonialism” or the use in place of direct imperialism of capitalism, globalization, and cultural imperialism for the suppression of human rights by First World actors in Third World arenas, Africa, Asia, Latin America.  Or, short story: power and profits over people. What is the fallout? Poverty. Hunger. Violence. Failed states. Terrorism. Have we all lost our souls?  These are my thoughts as I ponder what I might write in response to Mbizo’s prompt.

Share you own poem or poems and …

  • please submit your poem/s by pasting them into the comments section and not by sharing a link
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Poems submitted through email or Facebook will not be published.

IF this is your first time joining us for The Poet by Day, Wednesday Writing Prompt, please send a brief bio and photo to me at thepoetbyday@gmail.com to introduce yourself to the community … and to me :-). These are partnered with your poem/s on first publication.

PLEASE send the bio ONLY if you are with us on this for the first time AND only if you have posted a poem (or a link to one of yours) on theme in the comments section below.  

Deadline:  Monday, January by 27 pm Pacific Time. If you are unsure when that would be in your time zone, check The Time Zone Converter.

Anyone may take part Wednesday Writing Prompt, no matter the status of your career: novice, emerging or pro.  It’s about exercising the poetic muscle, showcasing your work, and getting to know other poets who might be new to you.

You are welcome – encouraged – to share your poems in a language other than English but please accompany it with a translation into English.


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16 Comments

  1. Hello Jamie! Sneaking in again…this was a hard one…there are so many directions on this theme and I am glad to read the different poetic interpretations. I hope mine is on topic and not too late! (Thank goodness for time zones!)

    “Do You Want Fries With That?”

    Your wild red hair,
    Pale skin and
    Painted lips belied
    Your power.
    Despite Scientists showing
    The Traditional Ways were better,
    Our greased guts and
    A-salt-Ed hearts craved the
    Colonial Menu
    Of broken McPromises and
    Big McLies.
    Our health for Your wealth.
    Not funny Clown.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Poverty Rocks Hard
    The ratta tat tat of guns in the night…a fight…a fight to the death…in search of illusive respect. The convictions of the streets supersede all cognition…all rationality…all logic…it’s dog eat dog, tit for tat, disrespect me I’ll disrespect you right back. No space or place for politeness…kindness portrays weakness… that’s just the way it is. What’s there to do but live hard in the face of endless denial; laugh hard during the constant struggle; party hard to revitalize and make dry bones come to life.

    Poverty rocks hard!

    The music blasts…feet dance fast…hearts beat as blood rushes through the veins transporting surreal images of feigned happiness…another puff…that’s the stuff to die for…another puff…calms nerves…another puff supports muscles that inadvertently crave in evolving waves of dependency…another puff to the point of no return to any pretense of normalcy.

    Poverty rocks hard!

    The high is fleeting looking down into the neck of an empty bottle, ranting…raving…fixating on who took the last of the elixir…the fixer. Rage that has been smothered by day to day survival spies out a rival…a beef erupts spewing volcanic emotions and repressed anger into the atmosphere mushrooming into a toxic waste laced with venom… a gun is fired that eradicates all semblance of euphony and implodes into a rubble of broken dreams as a stream of blood oozes from the collapsed corpse.

    Poverty rocks hard!

    Sirens wail in the night. Violence devours innocence…sorrow then masticates the essence of life and regurgitates hopelessness. Shame becomes ingrained into the psyche…anger lashes out slapping kindness into a condition of degeneration… masochism becomes entrapped in isolation …love and fury become enmeshed in confusion crippling empathy impeding the expansion and the maturation of the human spirit.

    Poverty rocks hard!

    Liked by 3 people

  3. In Freedom

    In freedom there is fear
    When a close and dear
    one, is no more,

    In freedom there is blood
    When all you made in life
    Is washed away in flood;

    In freedom there is sacrifice
    When all you claim and own
    Is taken away without a price;

    In freedom there is liberty
    For many just a statue
    fights, no rights, nor equality;

    In freedom there are letters
    promises and false hopes
    soon you are in iron fetters;

    In freedom I was born
    I never saw my land
    I long for its beauty,
    like dewdrops in the morn;

    In freedom there is a gift
    treasure not and you find
    it floating by and adrift;

    In freedom there is ease
    calm and harmony, hold
    it strong for eternal peace.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Respected Jamie Ji
    First Poem

    A Piece of The Sacred Planet

    A piece of sacred soil
    whose land is it ,
    why so many claim it ?
    land of purple saffron gold,
    land of golden apples bold,
    land bought again and again
    land controlled, land sold,

    conquered, ruled taken by force
    maharajas, badshah, rulers
    for what crime natives told to
    abandon ship’ can land ever sink?
    who is to think?

    August is a cruel month
    leaves wither as souls fly,
    the only flowers are on
    warm cloth embroidered with
    blood, cries muffled, eyes dry,

    beauty reflected in aquatic surfaces
    camouflaged evil toads in inner deeps,
    land of pure peace, poets and dreams
    land of silence, in sounds of screams’
    world has forgotten to cry,

    law is a uniform,rule is a gun,
    power is the force under the sun
    all bodies are war,blood spills are fun
    and we children too were on the run
    we hand no toys no food nor bun
    then all fell, one by one-

    a crime a time a right unknown
    a helpless innocence grown
    the king can do no wrong
    people can never be strong
    pansies died in the flower beds
    governors live in far away towns
    all is owned all belongs to the crown.

    I see the soldiers they look like me
    their garb is like mine, how then
    are they my enemy?
    I am not to think I am not to speak
    why I had to leave my land
    why I laugh and cry, sit and stand
    I wish I could understand…
    I wish I could Understand…

    Liked by 3 people

  5. Poverty, Hunger, and Sanitation
    Oh, I throw myself upon
    Violence, Terrorism
    Once where was war
    Now tearing our nations apart
    May be, thus, they are taking control
    (May be it’s neocolonism) but
    What has happened to the whole world?
    Poverty, Hunger, and Sanitation
    Oh, I throw myself upon

    Liked by 3 people

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