QueenMother - Hello Poetry

There’s secrets we hide under this skin. Swallowed tears and oceans. Chants and earthquakes. Yet, the secrets I often find are in between breaths and prayer. Alchemised in our folklore and decoded in our beads - transcended into patterned clothe - spread through our beliefs. We are spells carrying keys beneath these tongues that could unlock time and serenade the gates of heaven. Songs that make us meet the avatars that linger in our bones - wishing to dance their way into the days that we now breathe. Our, history, lives in us. Heaving in the vernacular we almost forgot. Our history, is being reborn in Shamanic spirits coloured in Indigos, browns and blues. We are Prophets and Holy Souls. Dreamers and See’ers. Amens and Ase O’s. It finds us through our mothers’ hymns and fathers’ laughter. Hides in our grandmother’s bedtime stories. Is reborn in the waves that lick the shore. We are the eclipse. We are the shadow. We, are the black hole.

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Jan 16, 2024

Jan 16, 2024 at 4:38 PM UTC

Blackhole

There’s secrets we hide under this skin. Swallowed tears and oceans. Chants and earthquakes. Yet, the secrets I often find are in between breaths and prayer. Alchemised in our folklore and decoded in our beads - transcended into patterned clothe - spread through our beliefs. We are spells carrying keys beneath these tongues that could unlock time and serenade the gates of heaven. Songs that make us meet the avatars that linger in our bones - wishing to dance their way into the days that we now breathe. Our, history, lives in us. Heaving in the vernacular we almost forgot. Our history, is being reborn in Shamanic spirits coloured in Indigos, browns and blues. We are Prophets and Holy Souls. Dreamers and See’ers. Amens and Ase O’s. It finds us through our mothers’ hymns and fathers’ laughter. Hides in our grandmother’s bedtime stories. Is reborn in the waves that lick the shore. We are the eclipse. We are the shadow. We, are the black hole.

12

I carry Love. I carry Love. I carry, a love that resuscitates my ancestors while I breath in laughter. Where the ball inside my throat hurls fire - makes love to the sun scares shadows intimidates death and offends darkworkers. A love where God’s water breastfeeds me at the bottom of the ocean - baptising my blood and transforming my saliva into gold. It knows me, wants me, and always, finds me. I carry Love.

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Jun 5, 2023

Jun 5, 2023 at 6:08 PM UTC

Greed, Transformed

I carry Love. I carry Love. I carry, a love that resuscitates my ancestors while I breath in laughter. Where the ball inside my throat hurls fire - makes love to the sun scares shadows intimidates death and offends darkworkers. A love where God’s water breastfeeds me at the bottom of the ocean - baptising my blood and transforming my saliva into gold. It knows me, wants me, and always, finds me. I carry Love.

11

Sometimes I feel like the human race is a reflection of the night sky. Our street lights acting as constellations to consciousness connecting the dots between our worlds, colours making love at midnight. Stream lights mimicking the rays of the sun. Our screams personifying the echoes of meteors and our whispers as faint as shooting stars.

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Nov 30, 2022

Nov 30, 2022 at 5:04 PM UTC

Mystic Power

Sometimes I feel like the human race is a reflection of the night sky. Our street lights acting as constellations to consciousness connecting the dots between our worlds, colours making love at midnight. Stream lights mimicking the rays of the sun. Our screams personifying the echoes of meteors and our whispers as faint as shooting stars.

7

some days, i feel like my words are too small. that they lack exclamation marks and coloured pens. like my pencil is too blunt or my ink too dry. it’s as if I do not have enough secrets to tell. i hide behind spaces. sleep inside an ellipsis. i coil like a question mark and sometimes forget to dot my i’s. will you hear these words that whisper like thoughts? will you feel them like braille? can you spot them like capitals?

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Nov 8, 2022

Nov 8, 2022 at 6:32 PM UTC

lower case

some days, i feel like my words are too small. that they lack exclamation marks and coloured pens. like my pencil is too blunt or my ink too dry. it’s as if I do not have enough secrets to tell. i hide behind spaces. sleep inside an ellipsis. i coil like a question mark and sometimes forget to dot my i’s. will you hear these words that whisper like thoughts? will you feel them like braille? can you spot them like capitals?

8

I often find myself chasing gold these days. Whether it is burning my fingers raw as I dig under sand or by starring zealously at the sun. Yellow and Orange have turned into my favourite colours of joy and pain. It’s tones hiding secrets I wish to understand behind my own skin. They are forcing me to fast through bananas and naartjies; discipline myself with lemons and butternut.

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Oct 23, 2022

Oct 23, 2022 at 5:32 PM UTC

Rust

I often find myself chasing gold these days. Whether it is burning my fingers raw as I dig under sand or by starring zealously at the sun. Yellow and Orange have turned into my favourite colours of joy and pain. It’s tones hiding secrets I wish to understand behind my own skin. They are forcing me to fast through bananas and naartjies; discipline myself with lemons and butternut.

5

I want my love back. I want my ghosts to possess my lungs - resuscitate my ancestors while I breath in laughter. For the ball inside my throat to hurl fire - to make love to the sun scare shadows intimidate death and offend darkworkers. A love where God’s water breastfeeds me at the bottom of the ocean - baptising my blood and transforming my saliva into gold. Love me. Want me. Find me. Give, it, back.

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Apr 4, 2022

Apr 4, 2022 at 5:17 PM UTC

Greed, Repurposed

I want my love back. I want my ghosts to possess my lungs - resuscitate my ancestors while I breath in laughter. For the ball inside my throat to hurl fire - to make love to the sun scare shadows intimidate death and offend darkworkers. A love where God’s water breastfeeds me at the bottom of the ocean - baptising my blood and transforming my saliva into gold. Love me. Want me. Find me. Give, it, back.

9

I want my love back A love where God’s water breastfeeds me at the bottom of the ocean - baptising my blood. Transforming my saliva into gold.

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Feb 22, 2021

Feb 22, 2021 at 6:30 PM UTC

Greed

I want my love back A love where God’s water breastfeeds me at the bottom of the ocean - baptising my blood. Transforming my saliva into gold.

3

A chaos has been birthed inside of me. It’s Ghosts, playing hopscotch. My Heart, fighting against lung. The Blood, making out with startdust. A destiny wishing to reform itself trying to recognise its name smile at its reflection. A natural disaster beginning its annual cycle inside of me. Inside of you. Like how Summer recognises Autumn’s leaves, it’s twiggy branches letting go of its maroon mascara. Stripping itself bare of past fantasies and love. An internal hazard that dances for the Gods inside of you. The ones yet to be discovered. The ones yet to be explored. So, retract unclip your wings and reopen your cave of comforting darkness so as to rediscover the light again. Soon... It’s soon... You’re soon. Soon, my love.

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Feb 22, 2021

Feb 22, 2021 at 6:21 PM UTC

Autumn Skin

A chaos has been birthed inside of me. It’s Ghosts, playing hopscotch. My Heart, fighting against lung. The Blood, making out with startdust. A destiny wishing to reform itself trying to recognise its name smile at its reflection. A natural disaster beginning its annual cycle inside of me. Inside of you. Like how Summer recognises Autumn’s leaves, it’s twiggy branches letting go of its maroon mascara. Stripping itself bare of past fantasies and love. An internal hazard that dances for the Gods inside of you. The ones yet to be discovered. The ones yet to be explored. So, retract unclip your wings and reopen your cave of comforting darkness so as to rediscover the light again. Soon... It’s soon... You’re soon. Soon, my love.

21

Your shadows clock in for their shift at 12 o’clock... at night Hanging it’s cloak on your happiness and lying luxuriously on your chest. Their hours stealing your dreams and numbing them into painful memories. We become a bath of obsession and depression Our tears spelling out the words that our throats cannot read We are an ocean of misled, overthought fantasies A nation of unspoken miseries . Our bones, rubbing against each other Getting lost in the darkness of our humane cast Trying to find themselves. Itself. Trying, to, rediscover the stories that make you one Trying to align your purpose But... The shadows have won. So you create a new self. A version that breathes in the heavy smoke that is your emotions. A hemisphere where your shadows are your friends. Buddies that allow for the dark half of your minds to dance in the abyss Play in the dark And whimper about the stories folded in your heart. Sleep, my child. Rest, my love. Crumble, darling. Be reborn, sweetheart. Sleep, Sleep.

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Jan 29, 2020

Jan 29, 2020 at 2:18 PM UTC

Abyss

Your shadows clock in for their shift at 12 o’clock... at night Hanging it’s cloak on your happiness and lying luxuriously on your chest. Their hours stealing your dreams and numbing them into painful memories. We become a bath of obsession and depression Our tears spelling out the words that our throats cannot read We are an ocean of misled, overthought fantasies A nation of unspoken miseries . Our bones, rubbing against each other Getting lost in the darkness of our humane cast Trying to find themselves. Itself. Trying, to, rediscover the stories that make you one Trying to align your purpose But... The shadows have won. So you create a new self. A version that breathes in the heavy smoke that is your emotions. A hemisphere where your shadows are your friends. Buddies that allow for the dark half of your minds to dance in the abyss Play in the dark And whimper about the stories folded in your heart. Sleep, my child. Rest, my love. Crumble, darling. Be reborn, sweetheart. Sleep, Sleep.

25