19 | 31 Poems for August

The light in her hazel-brown eyes is the kind that gets people mesmerized.
I’ve fallen deeply for the words from a lady who creates love with a simple touch of a pen.
She made me realise that true beauty starts from within.
She is my muse, my friend, my lover.
She is my inspiration and for that I love her.
Life tastes better on the curves and edges of her lips.
Her love is the scripture that my heart believes in.
Her love is never enough; I’m always left yearning for more.
In a world ravaged by cold wars, we both know what we’re fighting for.
Nobody should ever come between us because there will be war.
I want to be the unforgettable poem written on the pages of her soul.
I want to be the poem that will always make her heart warm and whole.
No one’s perfect but she’s perfect for me.
Her love is the scripture that my heart believes in.
I want to escape from the cold, I want to nestle myself deep inside her soul.
The light in her hazel-brown eyes breaks through the darkest of clouds that always seem to surround me.
The light in her hazel-brown eyes has me mesmerized.
I could write poetry forever with the inspiration our love provides.

9 | 31 Poems for August 2016

She unapologetically loves each and every crevice of her canvas.
Each part regally resonates to the woman who birthed her.
Each part elegantly exudes the exuberance of its own beauty.
The curves on her body are more than just her dress or jean size.
More than the heads of men which turn as she walks down the street.
Her curves are her heritage – a beautiful sign of where home is.
Through pain she found love and through love she found herself.
We meet in the pages of our story where the ink intimately holds us together.
These words I write become intertwined in the veins of our loving hearts.
In the rain of her presence, my words will always form a rainbow.
I can never get enough of her love; I’m always left yearning for more.
In a world ravaged by cold wars, we both know what we’re fighting for.
She has never spent a day letting the world turn her starry sky into a ceiling.
She wears her crown proudly and embraces the queen that she is.
The curves on her body are more than just her dress or jean size.
More than the whistles which dissipate the silence as she enters the room.
Her curves are her heritage – a beautiful sign of where home is.
The world is my canvas and I hope this African queen will always be my muse.

I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I’m fascinated by spring, jacaranda petals and the countless anthologies that Mother Nature continues to write.
Without a sound, the city’s jacaranda petals fall effortlessly onto the ground.
As they fall, I begin to realise that we are all living in a world where the minutes are working overtime.
I’m reminded of the days when you and I devoted our time to the art of rhyme.
I no longer know where you are in the city but I hope you’re doing just fine.
I’m not where I want to be at this current moment but please give me time.
It’s within our simplicity where I discovered how beautifully complex we are.
Our circles might be smaller but our hearts are much bigger now.
The circumference might have drastically changed but the love hasn’t.  
It’s no mystery why my aura will always long for the company of yours.
Even though I’ve got two left feet, I still want to slow dance to the rhythm of spring’s heartbeat.
In the capital city, October skies glow with a shade of purple.
Went from breaking up, breaking through to breaking new ground.
So even though I’m hurting now I know I’ll eventually be safe and sound when summer comes around.
These pages do not have enough space to describe how phenomenal we are.
It has been a while since we’ve seen each other so where are you now?
I value all you taught me about life and the importance of true friendship.
The circumference might have changed but the love between us hasn’t.

I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I’m reminded of the days when you and I devoted our time to the art of rhyme.
I no longer know where you are in the city but I hope you’re doing just fine.
I’m fascinated by spring, jacaranda petals and the countless anthologies that Mother Nature continues to write.

Don’t make homes out of people because they always leave and take everything you own with them.*
Home doesn’t feel like home without you and because of that I’ve stopped building homes out of people.
But I saw the beauty of the world in your eyes and it always gave me hope.
I’ve been feeling homeless and now I’m always home a lot less because of you.
You are as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside and that’s why people are still drawn to your aura.
Depression hit harder than the recession, it had me regressing and constantly questioning my level of progression.
Purple jacaranda petals spread all around my feet as I patiently wait for my heart to make a sound.
This hopeful romantic knows that hearts get broken like mirrors, records and promises do.

All the jacaranda trees in Pretoria still remind me of the beauty that is you.
When the relentless heat of the sun drove me crazy all I could think about was your smile and those hazel-brown eyes.
I spend some nights drinking my favourite wine by myself but this bottle of Pinotage will always taste better in your presence.
I still want to hold your heart like the lonely autumn trees hold the fragility of clinging leaves.
But you’re no longer mine to love and the thought of you being with someone else kills me.
Hearts fall to the ground like jacaranda petals do but unfortunately the view is not so beautiful.
Purple jacaranda petals spread all around on every street as I patiently wait for my heart to make a sound.

18 | 31 Poems for August 2016

I want soulful conversations filled with happiness, love and laughter.
A little bit of red wine, Sade, Jill Scott and Erykah Badu will do.
Time is wasted so I patiently wait for the clock to get sober eventually.
The sincerity of my words is embedded in the movement of my verbs.
Hope you learn to love your thick thighs and those beautiful brown eyes.
I want to hold you in my arms until you forget what loneliness feels like.
I read your body like the pages and chapters of a novel that I never want to stop reading.
Reading the lines on a woman’s skin is poetry and too many men are illiterate.
So they will never truly understand the fact that liberty begins with literacy.
If you incorporate piano keys into my heartbeat, then I promise that you will fall in love with the melody.
I want soulful conversations filled with happiness, love and laughter.
A little bit of chardonnay, Maxwell, Jill Scott and Erykah Badu will do.
The world is nothing without you, the world is blurry without my muse.
Hope you learn to love your thick thighs and those beautiful brown eyes.
I don’t have much but I have you and with God on my side how can I lose?

My ink bleeds when I give words to your silence.
My ink bleeds when I complement your presence.
My ink bleeds when I'm depressed by your absence.
Your eyes hold mysteries that I would love to untangle.
Happiness fills up the space inside your heart.
Until it finds a way to crawl out.
And beautifully express itself as a paragon of art.
It's amazing how these simple words mean so much.
Eyes close then lips gently touch.
I have no need for poetry when I have your touch.
Your love shows me how simply beautiful you are within.
I'm captivated by you - your lips, voice, smile and grin.
And ever since I met you.
I define beauty by only you.
In the rain of your presence my words form a rainbow.
My heartbeat has been replaced with the sound of your name.
Your love dissipated my pain.
Happily looking forward to the memories I am yet to gain.
I'm left paralysed by your voice.
Still amazed by your poise.
I found my true happiness in your eyes.
I hope you won't mind if I stare.
I hope all the beautiful words you yearn to hear.
All make their way to your ear.
My ink bleeds when I'm depressed by your absence.
My ink bleeds when I complement your presence.
My ink bleeds when I give words to your silence.
My ink bleeds when my heart experiences an emotional violence.
My ink bleeds.

27 | 31 Poems for August 2017

Her eyes are the same colour as her brown skin; you should see the world through her pupils.
Often at times she had no need to say anything because through her eyes you could see a different perspective of the world.
Her eyes eloquently spoke a language that was foreign to anyone who hadn’t experienced the vibe of South African townships.
But you could always understand her because those eyes were filled with hope, love and happiness.
The wisdom she constantly utters every single day may often remain unheard.
But the beauty of God’s grandeur will never go unnoticed; you can see it in her hazel-brown eyes.
You should see the world through her pupils; her eyes are the same colour as her brown skin.
I see the sunflowers in her eyes, the love that radiates from her aura is drawn from within.

9 | 31 Poems for August

I can never visualise God without the pulchritude that is you.
Nothing compares to the love that you give out to the world.
No matter the train of thought, it all leads to you.
We meet in the pages of our story where the ink holds us together.
As I write, these words become intertwined in the veins of loving hearts.
In the rain of your presence, my words always form a rainbow.
Forever overflowing, God’s love will never run out on you.
Confidence, happiness and love look absolutely good on you.
With such pulchritude, who wouldn’t believe in God?
This is for the women who taught me how to embrace God’s love.
Ever since that day, my demons questioned the value of their existence.
This is for the women who don’t seek the world’s acceptance and validation.
This is for the women of a different status, 31 to be exact.
This is for the women who know the true value of trust, the ones that always have each other’s backs.
To the women who are phenomenal in every single way.
To the women who eat, live, breed, give and sweat love; this is dedicated to you.
This is written for you, and to all the women who are still trying to find themselves this is for you too.

Every woman is phenomenal in every single way.
Every woman should have poetry written about her.
Every woman with a soul like a library deserves a chance to fall in love with a world that loves reading books.
Every woman is God’s resplendent work of art.
Every woman is beautiful.

“There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection. To me, that is the true essence of beauty.” - Steve Maraboli

For far too long we have been victims of police brutality.
We came in peace but got treated like criminals on the 21st of October.
These are the very same men and women who we trust to protect us.
But they failed us dismally, barricaded us from expressing our concerns.
You could see the visuals all on TV, it was all too hard to believe.
The revolution will not be fully televised, it will be tweeted.
For far too long we’ve accepted the government’s mediocrity.
For far too long we’ve been victims of police brutality.
Your teargas, rubber bullets and stun grenades will never stop us.
Our parents were sold dreams in 1994, we’re just here for the refund.
Now it’s time to finally bump the cheese up, so what’s the hold-up for?
History is repeating itself in South Africa, what a time to be alive.
They’ve become worse than their oppressors but they won’t oppress us.
Sorry for the inconvenience, we are just trying to change the world.
We will keep protesting in Jo’burg, Pretoria and Cape Town until we’re heard.
There’s no amount of police brutality that can dampen our spirits and no gun you make can **** our souls.

Our parents were sold dreams in 1994, we’re just here for the refund.
Now it’s time to finally bump the cheese up, so why is there a hold-up?
Hold up, we’re tired of being victims of hate, fate and police brutality.
We came in peace but got treated like criminals on the 23rd of October.
For far too long we’ve accepted the government’s mediocrity.
Your riot police, rubber bullets and stun grenades will never stop us.
Sorry for the inconvenience, we are just trying to change the world.
When burning buildings come down, I just hope you’ll be ready for us all.
When burning buildings come down, we will effortlessly heed the call.

You have my breath taken.
You have my whole world shaken.
Your love gradually healed my pain.
I yearn to be a recipient of sweet kisses in the rain.
Let’s dwell in the mist of bliss.
I’ll wait for my winter hug and summer kiss.
These are my intimate thoughts.
Interludes of profound emotions.

31 | 31 Poems for August

(Written with Naledi Tshikota)

Write me a sonnet, point dozens of Cupid’s arrows to my heart if you dare to awaken it.
Tune into your inner Shakespeare, fantasize us as Bonnie and Clyde if you care to spend time in it.
Recreate the Titanic, recreate it with the ending of The Notebook if you can bear to believe in it.
And if that doesn’t work, cast me to sleep like the Romeo you are and let me awake next to your lifeless flesh and dagger as I pierce my soul with it.

Write me a sonnet, let every single one of those fourteen lines bleed with emotion.
Leave The Notebook next to my notebook and become the protagonist of my dreams.
Think like the wind and attain the kind of power that’ll allow you to ******* away on any given day.
Your presence keeps transforming our thoughts into beautiful poetic paintings, Basquiat and Picasso would’ve been proud.

Write me a sonnet, silence every impurity that does awaken my love.
Summon the essence of my soul for the taking of your unforsaken hands and make Mona Lisa cry sacred tears of joy.
Create simplistic glimpses that only our superior beings can understand, only then can I unleash my undying emotion towards your uncontested universe.

Write me a sonnet, the kind that will make me realise that your heart isn’t filled with any doubt.
The day I realised that words could touch you, I wanted to become a poem.
The kind of poem that Maya Angelou’s ink always dreamt about.
The taste of your smile still lingers on the edges of my lips.
I see galaxies in your eyes, it must be in the way I love you like I do.
I could’ve settled for less but I don’t want anyone else but you.

Write me a sonnet that speaks to the heart of my mind.
Because I always hear your heartbeat when I think about you.
Write me a sonnet that intertwines our inner intuitions.
A sonnet that makes you believe in shooting stars if you’re into wishing.
And finally that captures the very essence of the unknown soul that’s unspoken of.
Because it’s within your golden silence that I hear the loudest cry.

4 | 31 Poems for August

Woken up by the sound of rain.
Writing about intimate memories until sunshine finds me again.
It may seem like I cannot see but sometimes the darkness becomes my light.
It’s amazing to see a love this beautiful shine so bright.
I found love in the midst of pain.
I found sunshine in the midst of rain.
Your perfect imperfections are the most intriguing parts of your being.
Sometimes these words are just not enough to describe all that I feel for you.
Your hips are perfectly contoured for my hands to hold on to.
When you’re not here, these hands don’t know what else to do.
We found love in the midst of pain.
We found sunshine in the midst of rain.
The pages of my heart are saturated with words describing how remarkable you are.
In a sky full of constellations, you are my favourite star.
Your perfect imperfections are the most intriguing parts of your being.
A connection this strong was destined.
I gave you love, you gave me reflections.
Now a song by Justin Timberlake keeps playing on the radio.
I may be introverted but my love for you will always show.
Maybe that’s something our friends need to know.
Woken up by the sound of rain.
Writing about intimate memories until sleep finds me again.

“I don’t know a perfect person. I only know flawed people who are still worth loving.” – John Green

22 | 31 Poems for August

You’ve got your hand comfortably placed in mine.
A few minutes ago I was placing kisses down your spine.
Who gave you curves like those and said that you could keep them?
You know how it goes, the thicker the better.
But don’t get too complacent, I’m still drawn to your grey matter.
It’s evident that you’re more about bass than treble.
This is all new to me, I’ve never been on this level.
Let’s become a poem that Pretoria can always snap its fingers to.
But if that doesn’t work out then we’ll travel to Venice, Paris or Moscow.
Maybe even Florence, Rome or Vienna, anywhere you want to go.
When you finally make up your mind then love let me know.
Your fascinating thoughts always inspire the movement of my flow.
It’s within your simplicity where I discovered how beautifully complex you are.
In a sky full of constellations, you are my favourite star.
Don’t leave me behind, I just want you to gently place your hand in mine.
Don’t leave me behind, you’re the one I’ve been patiently waiting to find.
No matter what happens don’t ever let your hand slip out of mine.

30 | 31 Poems for August 2016

You’re introverted in ways that others find offensive.
But you’re different, you’ve acquired my entire attention.
Beautiful cocoa butter skin, your complexion is truly a blessing.
I don’t know what tomorrow brings, I just hope that you’ll be in it.
I don’t know if tomorrow will come but I pray that you’ll be in it.
Sometimes these words fail me, but fortunately you never do.
I often find metaphors in the spaces between your fingers.
I regularly pray to God and unpretentiously thank Him for your existence.
Even though I barely say much, I know He’s always listening.
I often find metaphors encrypted in the midst of your silence.
You can always talk to me; I am always willing to listen to you.
You’re introverted in ways that others find offensive.
You’re different, something that not everyone knows how to love.

6 | 31 Poems for August

Dark and cold inside.
I need a warm place to reside.
These battle scars will gradually inflict pain when they heal too.
I’ve embraced how deep my wounds are.
My confidence proves that I’ve embraced each scar.
I yearn for the type of love that leaves no room for doubt.
I yearn for a reality worth dreaming about.
Maybe one day happiness will be more than just words on a page.
I have lost love.
But I haven’t lost all the beautiful words I have to write about love.
My heart produces thoughts that my mind could never understand.
Maybe love is the beautiful art of enigma.
Patiently waiting for pain to dissipate.
Patiently waiting for love to dominate.
Pain patiently tears me up inside.
It haunts me wherever I choose to hide.
I yearn for the type of love that leaves no room for doubt.
Maybe one day happiness will be more than just words on a page.
Hopefully I will be okay when blue skies fade to grey.
Hopefully I will be okay when people no longer listen to what I have to say.
I want to escape from the cold.
I want to nestle myself deep inside your soul.
Be the half that makes me whole.

We are the poets.
We create poetry out of silence.
We are so incredibly good with words.
People often wonder what our hands can do.
People find these fingers incredible.
They watch as these fingers transform simple words into beautiful poetry.
They watch as static thoughts transform into kinetic conversations.

As simple as they are, these words tend to sound like proverbs.
The void that you constantly try to avoid.
We will fill that void with light.
The type of light that constellations hunger for.
These hands transform simple words into beautiful poetry.
The aim is not always to write to impress.
But rather to write to express.
We constantly find light in the darkest of places.
Even constellations envy the light found in our eyes.
With a suitable paint brush, these words can create vivid images of paradise.

Our words create worlds.
Our words create worlds within worlds.
Our words capture moments and paint pictures.
So next time you hear one of us recite, bring a friend and a frame along.

We create poetry out of silence.
We are so incredibly good with words.
People often wonder what our hands can do.
People find these fingers incredible.
They watch as these fingers transform simple words into beautiful poetry.
They watch as static thoughts transform into kinetic conversations.
We are the poets, you should ask the world about us.

28 | 31 Poems for August

I’m slowly falling apart, but all I can think about, is holding the pieces of your broken heart together.
You are the rain I keep dancing in and I see no use in being under an umbrella.
I’ve somehow forgotten the lyrics of my favourite love song.
Slowly sing with me and help me remember.
All I want to do is help you appreciate love’s panoramic view.
All I want to do is know you better and move closer to you.
There are millions of poems and words, but none can explain my love for you.
Give me something that I can hold on to.
Give me something that cannot be defined.
Help me build up my faith when I’ve lost the spirit to believe.
Provide my lungs with sufficient air to breathe.
Show me the pictures of you that haven’t been Instagram-filtered or tainted with Photoshop.
Teach me how to slow dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat.
I’m less interested in seeing you “dropping it like it’s hot” or showing me all the bad things that you’re not.
Let me be more than just words for you.
Let me be more than just hands that long to embrace you.
Let me be someone you can relate to.
Someone your family and friends would love to be introduced to.
Someone who can find the hidden words in your silence.
Let me be the peace that heals your wounds of violence.
Let me be the piece that completes your complex puzzle.
You are everything to me.
If only you could realise that, if only you could see.

11 | 31 Poems for August 2016

I keep hearing the echoes of piano keys and guitar strings.
I’m intrigued by the joy Luyanda brings every time she sings.
It’s amazing how every single note becomes an unforgettable poem.
Sometimes silence echoes through the urban streets of ghettos.
The world’s love and light tries to illuminate in all our broken halos.
My creativity was trapped in broken dreams until I heard her sing.
People give her their absolute attention as she strokes each string.
The sun came out just to impersonate the warmth of her aura.
Even if things don’t always go our way, I know that we will all be okay.
I hear echoes of a million heartbeats between abandoned buildings and crowded streets.
A million heartbeats keep echoing between Hammanskraal and Atteridgeville.
I hear millions of echoes within the silence of busy ghetto and urban streets.
I hear echoes of piano keys and guitar strings every time Luyanda speaks.

31 | 31 Poems for August 2017

There’s something exquisite about your smile, your brown eyes have got me hypnotised, and your heart is a gold mine.
I’m addicted to everything you say and do, so be my poet and I’ll be your muse.
We’ll figure out everything else once we’ve found something to do between our sporadic bursts of laughter.
Let me comfort you with soulful conversations accompanied by several bottles of red wine.
We could vibe out and listen to James Blake, and you could tell me about the days when you couldn’t see the colour in anything.
I’m no stranger to the waves of the ocean, so I eventually want to get lost in the depths of you.
You are a picturesque South African city worth exploring even when tourists no longer come to visit.
Their dollars, euros, pounds, nairas and rupees may run dry but my love for you will keep overflowing.
I could write poetry and love letters on your skin but my handwriting is not as beautiful as my words are.
I’ll be your poet in a world that’s still acquainting itself with all the writers of exquisite African literature.
In the Supreme Court of your love, people have told you untruths while under oath – I think the law calls it perjury.
We could vibe out and listen to James Blake, and you could teach me how you see the colour in everything.
I want to get lost in an endless field of sunflowers while basking in the warmth of your presence.

You never know how strong you are.
Until being strong is the only choice you have.
The only choice you had.
You give but they grab.
He may never appreciate what you have.
But there's someone who does.
You just don't notice.
Realise that not every guy has a motive.
This is all part of me.
I guess I'll try and see.
Put this in my diary.
Inspire me.
You never know how strong you are.
Until being strong is the only choice you have.
The only choice you had.

7 | 31 Poems for August 

I haven’t been answering any of your texts or calls.
I needed some time alone, I know it has been a while.
It has been a while since you’ve heard me laugh or seen me smile.
I’m a mess, lately I’ve been feeling really stressed and depressed.
The things I’m holding back are things that need to be expressed.
I’m a mess, I need to get all this pain off my chest.
I don’t know who to run to or who to run from.
Or if I should be running at all.
If I’m willing to talk, will you listen like you always do?
We take life for granted knowing very well that tomorrow is not guaranteed.
I’m praying and hoping that someday I’ll be someone that they need.
I write to write, put the pen to paper and then I let it all bleed.
I never believed in people like you before but that was until I met you.
Vibe with me, pour a glass of wine and spend some time with me.
I promise that you’ll get blown away like autumn leaves on a windy street.
Breathe, breathe and listen to the echoes of your heartbeat.
That’s what it feels like to be free.
That’s what it feels like to vibe with me.

1 | 31 Poems for August 2016

Before I put my words and wishes in a poem, I put them in a prayer first.
Luyanda once told me that I don’t always have to rhyme every time I write these words down.
She also regularly told me that I need to smile twice as much as I frown.
I have been a loner, way before my peers began smoking marijuana.
Sitting in the local park or standing on some dodgy neighbourhood corner.
But I can’t judge them, sometimes I want to get lost in those same clouds too.
They all get so high to the point where they cannot even see the ground.
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms, but I’ve told you before.
Spoken words filled with so much truth, I had to reiterate the quotes I wrote back in my youth.
You need to know the value of life before it gets taken away from you.
Will you be a victim of the past or pay homage to your mother’s womb?
View the kaleidoscope of life through the perspective of a spoken-word poet.
Freedom and love are like finding forever and I hope that everyone in my life knows it.
Let’s all meet in the pages of a story where the ink always holds us together.
Every poem of mine is written from the heart so every single word you hear is guaranteed to be a pulse.
I have been a loner, way before my peers began smoking marijuana.
Before I put my words and wishes in a poem, I put them in a prayer first.
Luyanda once told me that I don’t always have to rhyme every time I write these words down.
She also regularly told me that I need to smile twice as much as I frown.
I’m Lonnie Lynn with the poetry and maybe that explains why we have a lot in common.

21 | 31 Poems for August

Write to write, write to save your life.
The loved ones who’ve passed on, who’ll tell their story but you?
I’ve felt the sincerity of your words from Ostracized to August Blue.
Write to save your sanity, write for the sake of clarity.
Write until there’s nothing left for you to write.
Write away all the burdens of an untold story.
Write the world into a new existence whether it’s grimy or gory.
Write apologies in the form of love letters for all the times you couldn’t say sorry.
People should often see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
You pour your heart and soul into all these words and you bleed so effortlessly.
Many people still haven’t realized that you’re not always this quiet.
I’m intrigued by how your mind is as loud and busy as a protest march or riot.
It’s fascinating how you effortlessly create poetry out of silence.
You are so incredibly good with words, people still wonder what your hands can do.
Write to save your sanity, write for the sake of clarity.
Write to write, write to save your life.

5 | 31 Poems for August 2016

I’m catching feelings, hope you don’t leave and go catch airplanes.
When the universe aligned, our paths and hearts were destined to collide.
You still give my comfort zone endless earthquakes; I wonder how much that is on the Richter scale.
Let me love you unconditionally regardless of how ugly your truths are.
In a sky full of constellations, you know that you’ll always be my favourite star.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s winter or summer, when you are the breeze I can never forget to breathe.
I’ve been digging the soles of my shoes into the ground just to keep myself steady and balanced.
I stood in the rain patiently awaiting your arrival but then, I eventually realised that you were the rain.
Looking forward to the day where your body and mine finally merge into one.
The day when we finally find home and we never ever feel alone because love is all around.
The day when we are able to look back at all the greatness we have both become.
Look me in my starry eyes and tell me that everything will be okay.
I can’t give you the world but I pray that you stay for more than just another day.
I’m Lonnie Lynn with the poetry, Marsha and Natalie with the Floetry.
So all you got to do is say yes if the question is, “Will you be mine from this day onwards?”
I don’t have much but I have you and with God on my side, how can I lose?
When the universe aligned, our paths and hearts were destined to collide.
I’m catching feelings, hope you don’t leave and go catch airplanes because my heart is really growing fond of you.

6 | Heartbreak in Hatfield

I’ve been picturing skies and oceans that are Van Gogh blue with every hue.
I have frequently felt warm winds on my skin while listening to Solána Rowe.
Moments filled with love, pain, depression and heartbreak are all I know.
That black dress keeps accentuating your curves every time I look around your way and admire your figure.
We must’ve met in the past life because that’s probably why I want to love you past life.
So many warm autumn afternoons have come and gone but I still have a desire to feel your love once again.
Love may slip from your lips and drip down your chin but I never want our beautiful melody to become staccato.
Those blue jeans keep accentuating your curves every time I look around your way and admire your figure.
On autumn afternoons like these, I have felt warm winds on my skin while thinking about you.
I’ve been picturing skies and oceans that are Van Gogh blue with every hue.
I have frequently felt warm winds on my skin while listening to Solána Rowe.
Moments filled with love, pain, depression and heartbreak are all I know.

It’s not a mystery that I have you here with me.
I rather keep trying than to start somewhere new.
These skies turn from dark grey to light blue.
I’ve been losing myself, wish you could come and find me.
I felt the absence of your presence.
The presence of your absence.
As I re-wrote this letter, I realised that I have to get myself together.
Your closeness takes my breath away.
The words I want to say find no voice.
So in silence I only hope my eyes will show you how my heart feels.
It’s not a mystery that I have you here with me.

15 | 31 Poems for August

I’m slowly progressing but progressing nonetheless.
The worst thing I could do is give up on myself.
The worst thing I did this week was give up on myself.
Sometimes dreams delayed feel like dreams denied.
If you asked how I’m holding up and I responded by saying “I’m okay” then chances are I probably just lied.
Everyone’s caught up in their own world, if you don’t see me tomorrow then know that I tried.
I’m sorry I don’t want to bother or burden anyone with my problems.
I know you’ve never seen me cry but I can no longer hide all that I’m feeling inside.
Some people suffer in silence because of self-importance and a little bit of pride.
But that’s not me, I put my heart on paper and I let it all bleed.
But lately I’ve come to realise that not everyone likes to read.
So I ask myself, who am I writing all these resplendent poems to?

25 | 31 Poems for August 2016

A few months ago you didn't know that I could write or recite like that.
My notebook is full of broken masterpieces that fail to come together like contour lines.
If my art goes unappreciated, unnoticed, unloved and unpublished then just know that I wrote from the heart.
I know that love is a beautiful thing but sometimes I feel like its main intention is to tear me apart.
So don’t be too surprised when I tell you that I’m slowly falling to pieces.
The ocean in my muse’s eyes reminds me of the colour of the sky and how I want to dive into the depths of who she is.
The world has made her feel like an abandoned church but in my eyes she’ll always be a cathedral.
She will always be a cathedral and you can say hallelujah or amen to that.
We are from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
Went from breaking up, breaking down, breaking through to finally breaking new ground.
So even though I’m hurting now I know I’ll eventually be safe and sound when a new season comes around.
I’m still fascinated by spring, jacaranda petals and the countless anthologies that Mother Nature continues to write.
Reading the lines on a woman’s skins is poetry and too many men are illiterate.
So they will never truly understand the fact that liberty begins with literacy.
My notebook is full of broken masterpieces that fail to come together like contour lines.
Even if my art goes unappreciated, unnoticed, unloved and unpublished I will always write from the heart.

How far can we get moving closer to our dreams without living in regret?
Have another sip of that glass of red wine then slowly take a deep breath.
When people ask, tell them that you found love in the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
When people ask, let them know that you found love in a place that was previously deemed as hopeless.
Let them know that you found love in the hands and heart of a poet who pledged to spend the rest of his days as your muse.
It’s hard enough finding love in your twenties yet you managed to find the balance and stick to your decision.
Haven’t had the pleasure to kiss you yet, but somehow, I have the taste of your smile lingering on the tip of my tongue.
You’ve made me fall for the poetry of purple blooms and now I can no longer spend spring without you.
Like a painter admiring his exquisite muse, I can’t stop looking at every colour of you.
How many of these poems will I manage to keep writing without driving my loving heart crazy?
The answer to that question is something that I do not know yet, but I do know that my heart beats for you.
Let me tell you more about my version of events while we listen to Emeli Sandé on any given Sunday.
Haven’t had the pleasure to kiss you yet, but somehow, I have the taste of your smile lingering on the tip of my tongue.
I’ll be patiently waiting for you on Jacaranda Avenue so that we can both make our dreams come true.

17 | 31 Poems for August

I set myself on fire just to keep you warm.
You should see my third-degree burns.
I crave for your touch even though I have never truly experienced it in its entirety.
I wasn’t asking for much all I wanted to do was love you.
But you were fuelled with a desire to set my heart on fire.
I was looking for love, and I was hoping that I would find it in you.
Drench me in an ocean of kerosene and watch me burn as I sail away.
It doesn’t matter whether you use matches or a lighter.
Set me on fire because a future without you won’t be any brighter.
My mind is uncertain about your intentions but you’re still the one that I desire.
I long for your burning love and warm embrace.
I just wish that you longed for the very same love too.

24 | 31 Poems for August

I need a sky to read from and a star to write on.
Traded in graffiti spray cans for poetry and a microphone.
People are often left in awe when they see me in my zone.
Ever since high school, I’ve been lost in the world and I often wonder if I’ll ever make it on my own.
I want to write my poems on the sun so that you can feel the magnitude of my love when it shines.
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I want my words to heal the wounds that never heal but always bleed.
My kind of love is kinetic, never stationary.
I’ve been blinded by love but still I remain visionary.
I want a sky to read from and a star to write on.
I want the splendour of God’s grandeur embedded into every one of my lines.
I could write poetry forever with the inspiration that life provides.
Maybe I could write you a haiku or two.
My mind has been thinking about you.
My heart has been asking about the pulchritude that is you.
You are the unforgettable muse.
I still marvel at how God’s love consists entirely of summer, autumn, winter and spring.
It can never escape me even when the seasons change.
Maybe I should write you a love poem or two.
My heart beats only for you.
I wrote my poems on the sun, you’ll eventually feel my love every time it rises.
I’m from the city where jacaranda trees light up the streets with their purple blooms.
I need a sky to read from and a star to write on.
Traded in graffiti spray cans for poetry and a microphone.
People are often left in awe when they see me in my zone.

11 | 31 Poems for August 2017

For some odd reason, I am still sitting here in my bedroom writing about you.
Your heartbeat reminds me of the timeless tune of my favourite melody.
Loving you is like looking at a shattered mirror, and clearly seeing every bit of the broken reflection.
The wind said something about you today, something that blew me away.
I cannot remember any of the words though because I was too busy thinking about you.
I’ve been thinking about you because every part of your existence is beautiful.
Your hazel-brown eyes are a beautiful reminder that God will not forget to look for me whenever I feel lost in the world.
I have spent countless hours memorising the curves of your smile and the lines on your skin.
Including the happiness and joy in the sound of your voice and all the beauty that lies within.
For some odd reason, I am still sitting here in my bedroom writing about you.
How do I write something so beautiful that’s bound to blow you away without having it sound like another poetic cliché?
Loving you is like looking at a shattered mirror, and clearly seeing every bit of my broken reflection.
My words will continue embracing all that I have discovered in myself because of you.
Within your sporadic bursts of laughter, I always find the freedom I had lost.
I will continue writing about you in ink, so that my notepad can finally feel the permanence of your presence in my poetry.
The spaces between my words will always be your place of refuge.
My poetry will continue writing about all that I have discovered in myself because of you.
I will continue to sit here in my bedroom and effortlessly write about you.
The world may read the pages of my soul, but my poetry will always belong to you.

29 | 31 Poems for August 2016

The girl with a soul like a library keeps getting thicker than the plot does.
So I guess that it’s no mystery why I am obsessed with reading.
She knows that I always have a book in my hand no matter the season.
The day I realised that words could touch her, I wanted to become a poem.
The type of poem that Rudy Francisco’s pen always dreams about.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s winter or summer, when she is the breeze I can never forget to breathe.
She gently holds me in her hands like her favourite author’s best-selling novel.
She told me to write poetry until my heart runs out of ink and my soul runs out of paper.
The girl with a soul like a library fell in love with me not for my words but because I love reading.
She’s composed of all the love poems my pen never had the courage to write.
Because sometimes the pulchritude of her presence is too heavy for blank pages and simple words.
The day I realised that words could touch her, I wanted to become a poem.
The type of poem that Reyna Biddy’s pen always dreams about.
The girl with a soul like a library fell in love with the boy who loves reading.
Reading the lines on a woman’s skin is poetry and too many men are illiterate.
So they will never truly understand the fact that liberty begins with literacy.

16 | 31 Poems for August 2016

How can we proceed with ease when we can hardly trust each other?
I have scars that run deep like still waters do – only the ocean can fathom what I’m going through.
I hope the bridges we burn illuminate our paths because the darkness tends to distort our vision.
But you can hardly notice the difference because you always have your eyes closed.
If the truth hurts when I write it, imagine how you’ll feel when you hear it.
I have pain that runs deeper than still waters do – only the ocean can fathom what I’m going through.
You always remained well-composed like a Mozart classic but if the world is your canvas then who’s your muse?
I used to dream about the Grim Reaper driving a Phantom in a graveyard littered with my endeavours of trying to be someone worthy of your love.
My friend Charles once told me that things would change but not always for the better.
But as long as you’re a King then you’ll eventually find yourself someone as phenomenal as Coretta.
No amount of morphine can ease the pain; it may seem insane but I still take pride in the scars I gain.
I have pain that runs deeper than still waters do – only the ocean can fathom what I’m going through.
I hope the bridges you burn illuminate your path because the darkness will distort your vision.
But you will hardly notice the difference because you always have your eyes closed and never really pay attention.

1 | 31 Poems for August

I want to do more than just write poetry.
I want to paint pictures.
So be my muse and surrender your body as my canvas.
I’ll make every single swift stroke bring you to life.
I’ll show you what this brush of mine is capable of.
You are the sun that my sky yearns to hold.
Beautiful cocoa butter skin.
Your beauty is not only found on your exterior but every single place within.
I want to insert my poems in every single atom in this galaxy.
So that you can feel my love wherever you go.
From Pretoria to Toronto.
From Jo’burg to Moscow.
From Cape Town to Glasgow.
Static thoughts and kinetic conversations inspire my flow.
I have thoughts that my words cannot describe and I wish to share them with the world.
I wish to share them with you.
I love the way your eyes see past my smile and deep into the fibres of my soul.
I love the way your smile makes me whole.
Let’s become a poem our friends can always snap their fingers to.
I want to hold your body the way canvas portrays paint.
I want to kiss your lips while I gently hold your waist.
I want to do more than just write poetry.
I want to tell the world about you.
Let me tell the world about you.

2 | 31 Poems for August

Lately I’ve come to realise that I’m scared of what the future holds.
Lost touch with reality, I’m losing most of my control.
I know I don’t show but I have a fear of being ostracized.
I haven’t seen you in quite a while.
Everything has changed, you can see it in my eyes.  
I’m lost and I can’t seem to find you.
I’ve tried being patient but I’m gradually losing time.
On some days it feels like I’m losing my mind.
I’ve been broken, battered and betrayed.
I’ve been booed off stage in a city far from home.
The truth is, I wish I still had an audience I could recite these words to.
Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes I get caught up in my own world too.

There are millions of questions I can’t find the courage to ask.
But even if I did, I probably wouldn’t get all the answers.
I probably wouldn’t be able to fully accept the truth.
There are millions of questions I can’t seem to find the answers to.
I’m not afraid of the dark, I’ve seen the light a million times before.
A million times before I’ve been trapped in this detrimental allure.
My love will never die even when it’s ostracized.

3 | 31 Poems for August 2017

Love, I understand, that I may never fully understand you.
I want the chance to always hold you tight like a pair of Levi’s jeans.
It doesn’t really matter whether they are black or blue.
As long as these hands always get the chance to hold and caress you.
Love, I know you want the world but I can only give you mine.
It’s not much but I hope it gradually becomes a place where you’ll always want to spend some quality time.
On days when it gets harder to breathe or speak, I recommend *****.
You’re a woman with substance and I’m drawn to your melanin.
Beautiful cocoa butter skin, what’s there not to love about you?
Your love is never enough; I’m always left yearning for more.
In a world ravaged by cold wars, we need to know what we’re fighting for.
I understand that I may never understand the struggles you always go through.
Life will bend and stretch the both of us into painful shapes and that’s why we all need someone to talk to.
Sometimes we tend to forget how it feels when someone listens.

You’re more than just dimples, curves and a pretty face.
You’re more than just punchlines, metaphors and similes.
You are a woman with substance and I’m drawn to your melanin.
Each day I find more reasons to fall deeper in love with you.
On days when it gets easier to breathe and speak, I recommend wine.
I understand, that I may never fully understand you.
But after all, what’s the world without enigma?

A poem written by my heart so every single word you hear is a pulse.
I’m a literary writer trapped inside the mind of a spoken-word poet.
I stood in the rain patiently awaiting the arrival of freedom but then I eventually realised that it was the rain.
People keep talking about a rainbow nation but I only saw a glimpse of that when I looked out my windowpane.
I wrote plenty peaceful poems picturing politicians perpetuating poverty.
Frankly speaking, I could write more but that’s an anthology for another day.
Even if things don’t always go our way, I just hope that everything will be okay.
Freedom is just an illusion but my conclusion is subjective due to my frame of reference.
Not even Mandela money could buy me freedom in a dollar-based economy.
In a country saturated with poverty, politicians are still protecting their pockets.
I wish I knew how to liberate an imprisoned man who cannot mentally be free.
The prison of his mind is depriving him of all the greatness that he could be.

There are millions of questions I can’t find the courage to ask.
But even if I did, I probably wouldn’t get all the answers.
I probably wouldn’t be able to fully accept the truth.
There are millions of questions I can’t seem to find the answers to.
I wrote plenty peaceful poems picturing politicians perpetuating poverty.
I stood in the rain patiently awaiting the arrival of freedom but then I eventually realised that it was the rain.
View the kaleidoscope of life through the perspective of a spoken-word poet.
Freedom is like finding forever and I hope that everyone in here knows it.
Let’s all meet in the pages of a story where the ink holds us together.
A poem written by my heart so every single word you hear is a pulse.

26 | 31 Poems for August 2017

These pictures sharpen the edges of blunt memories.
All I ever wanted was for you to feel my words like Braille.
But somehow you were blinded by the sight of someone else’s love.
All I ever wanted was to be the poem written on the pages of your soul.
I constantly keep reminiscing about the days when I used to feel whole.
Whenever I’m feeling low, I get high off the thought of blunt memories.
I need love and freedom – I need to let you and all our memories go.
Our love is as deep as the ocean but I can no longer go with the flow.
I may never find a reality worth dreaming about if my heart is filled with doubt.
All I have left are these pictures of you that slowly sharpen the edges of our blunt memories.
If your blunt ever lasts longer than our conversations then I hope you’ll get high off the thought of you and me.

20 | 31 Poems for August 2016

I began writing this at exactly 03:58 a.m. on a Sunday morning while listening to Charles de Gaulle to JFK by Bas.
Lately I write my most honest pieces during the early hours of Sunday mornings while everyone is still fast asleep.
Wonder what the view is like from Charles de Gaulle to JFK, 30 000 feet in the air.
But anyway, you and I still got bad blood between us like sickle-cell anaemia.
Reminiscing back when I used to be close friends with a girl named Amelia.
Guess we drifted apart as soon as I moved back to Pretoria, maybe the distance dismantled our friendship.
I’ve decided to do this all alone and if anyone’s coming along then let them come along.
I wish I could drift way with the scent of this cup of coffee but a few minutes from now it’ll be colder than your shoulder.
Always wondered if you’d head to Cape Town to go study at that school of brand leadership we always talked about.
But you chose to stay at the Pretoria campus because of certain unforeseen circumstances.
In 2014 I got accepted but unfortunately the tuition was too high like Wiz Khalifa and my mother couldn’t afford it.
That’s why I may have the perception that dreams delayed will always feel like dreams denied.
I’ve been praying for three whole years for a miracle, adjusted my faith and became more spiritual but still nothing has changed.
Guess I’m just young and unlucky; my hands are freezing and my heart is bleeding.
Navigated through space and time just to find the time to give you space.
Words unspoken make way for a silent devotion, this whole thing hurts but I try my best not to let my emotions show.
Wonder what happened, we suddenly stopped talking several months ago.
Maybe you have changed, I just hope that you’ve changed for the better.
I am slowly falling apart and all I can think about is gathering the pieces of my broken heart together.
Maybe you have changed for the better, I guess no one works that hard to stay the same.
My hands are freezing and my heart is bleeding, this whole thing hurts but I try my best not to let my emotions show.

It’s funny how things change,
you used to mean everything to me.
Just so you know, only dead fish go with the flow
and I’ll never be a “go with the flow” type of lover.
I don’t ever want to wade into love with you.
I want you to love me wholeheartedly
but if that’s something you don’t know how to do,
then maybe you should pack up your uncertainty
and just move on with the rest of your life.
It’s funny how things change,
you used to mean everything to me.

17 | 31 Poems for August 2017

Let me whisper those sweet words that held together the shattering glass you think you’ve become.
I know that through their utterance you will finally feel your heart beating to the rhythm of our love.
I want our long late-night conversations and phone calls to come to life again.
Because I miss hearing your voice on Wednesday afternoons and the joy in your sporadic bursts of laughter.
Sometimes you feel as if you’re running away from the constant pang of unworthiness that your heartbeat has become.
The world has made you feel like an abandoned church, but in my eyes, you’ll always be a cathedral.
I just wish you’d stop running away from the fear of finding something so genuine and just run into my arms.
I want the chance to breathe love down your spine; I want to be with you until the love runs out.
In a world ravaged by cold wars, our love and happiness is what we should be constantly fighting for.
Life will bend and stretch the both of us into painful shapes, but I know that we will eventually be okay.
During cold winter nights and warm summer mornings, I long to have the presence of your body next to me.
I know that we didn’t come this far, to only come this far.

23 | 31 Poems for August

They laughed and criticized at my starry eyes.
But suddenly stopped when I rose like the morning sun.
So now I humbly thank God for all that He has done.
In a world burdened and ravaged by wars that seem to go on for forever.
I try to find peace inside myself and pray to become someone better.  
I’m responsible for my own peace.
But He protects me in the battles I fight on my knees.
The figures of speech I use may often remain unappreciated.
The words I speak may often remain unheard.
The poems I write may often remain unread.
But the beauty of God’s grandeur will never go unnoticed.
You can see it in my starry eyes.

I want to hold her in my arms until she forgets what loneliness feels like.
I want to hold her like the lonely autumn trees hold the fragility of clinging leaves.
The traces of her lips on my skin reach deep inside my soul and transform a broken house into a home.
The weather hasn’t been the same ever since the sun decided to impersonate the warmth of her aura.
It doesn't matter which book I'm reading; her body is the scripture that my hands believe in.

30 | 31 Poems for August 2017

I need coffee and poetry and music by Solange, Emeli Sandé and Floetry.
I need love and freedom, I need to know that God is in my life even when there’s pain in my eyes.
Our love and chemistry was beautifully overwhelming but I never wanted you to say goodbye.
You left without any warning, you left and I need to know the reason why while I keep listening to Cranes in the Sky.
I tried to drink it away but every time I did, I woke up the next day feeling intensely inebriated.
I have cried myself to sleep on days when the world was dancing to the rhythm of my melancholic heartbeat.
I have fallen in love with my own solitude, but lately loneliness has taken over every single part of me.
You still have my heart beating in rhythms that are foreign to my existence.
I find it useless spending all this time apart while we keep admiring each other from a distance.
I have been waiting for you to help me get rid of this miserable and lonely life of mine.

3 | 31 Poems for August

I received a notification that you posted a picture an hour ago.
How you manage to look that happy is something that I’ll never know.
I’ll never know if I’ll ever be able to let you go.
Watching TV, while Passenger’s “Let Her Go” is on repeat.
I’m listening, but sporadically missing the lyrics and the beat.
It hurts to write but it hurts even more walking around with an untold story.
So I write to write, I write to save myself.
I write to save the little bit of love that I have left.
The song keeps playing, “Only know you love her when you let her go.”
Let her go, but I need to let her know that my love will continue to grow.
My love for her is something that I’ll always proudly show.
They say home is a beating heart and sweaty palms.
Home is where the heart is and that’s what hurts the hardest.
Help me stop the hurting, help me become a better person.
Too many times I try to hide all that I’m feeling inside.
The pit of my stomach is full of dead butterflies.

I received a notification that you posted a picture an hour ago.
How you manage to look that beautiful is something that I’ll never know.
I’ll never know if I’ll be able to ever let you go.
But just know, my reflection of love is eternal even if the mirror begins to crack.
Even though you have left, I’ll always try to get you back.
Too many times I try to hide all that I’m feeling inside.
The pit of my stomach is full of dead butterflies.

13 | 31 Poems for August 2016

Listen to the love and freedom embedded in every figure of speech.
I pray that these words bless all the beautiful souls that they reach.
It’s weird how we find comfort in the pain we allow ourselves to feel.
According to the stats, some people live outside their means like outliers.
Pass the herbs so I can pass these words then maybe we can pass the word.
Sometimes my thoughts tend to overflow to the rim so it’s only necessary that you jump in and swim.
Feel the rhythm in my ghetto cries and urban blues.
As I write and recite poems reminiscent of those by Maya Angelou, Jasmine Mans and Langston Hughes.
God hears our prayers so I know that we are all going to be alright.
Luyanda told me that I can conquer the world as long as I have Jesus so who am I not to follow greatness?
You need to know the value of life before it gets taken away from you.
Will you be a victim of the past or pay homage to your mother’s womb?
I need peace of mind before there comes a time when my mind ends up in pieces.
Nobody ever listens but you appreciate my ghetto cries and urban blues.
So allow me to write and recite poems reminiscent of those by Maya Angelou, Rudy Francisco and Langston Hughes.

29 | 31 Poems for August

I need conversations filled with laughter followed by bursts of love after.  
The last time I tried to recite this poem to you, I couldn’t get the words out.
I somehow couldn’t get the words right.
Slow-paced piano music gently echoes in the background.
The notes keep echoing while I try to patiently pen this down.
I am convinced, that the sun came out just to impersonate the warmth of your aura.
I’ve kept your fingerprints pressed between the pages of my favourite author’s book.
Somewhere between the prologue and chapter five.
Where the protagonist almost died but luckily stayed alive.
I wanted to become a poem, the day I realised that words could hold you, have you, touch you.
You are the stars that my night sky longs to hold.
You and I are meant to be.
Your love and laughter have liberated me.
I want to heal your wounds while carefully embracing your scars.
I know you feel broken, so let me kiss you where it hurts.
I’ll arrive to the other parts of your alluring anatomy, eventually.
Let me breathe life into you.
Let me prove to you that ecstasy is something we all need to go through.
Poetry rests on the curves of your lips, so how can I not love the meaningful things you always say?
My eyes will recite to you the poetry that is written on the pages of my heart.
I need conversations filled with laughter followed by bursts of love after.
To write about you is to keep your presence alive within the unseen parts of me.
You are the reason why my heart feels free.
Your love and laughter have liberated me.

13 | 31 Poems for August 2017

I wrote many of my poems in Braille for the kind of love I was desperately longing to feel.
I’m still catching feelings; my words are revealing and that’s why you’ll know that this poem is about you.
Let me tell you about my version of events while we listen to Emeli Sandé on any given Sunday.
For what it’s worth, I was only trying to make things work, but I got high on love during my hiatus.
I’ve had to learn to love you in silence and as if that wasn’t enough, I’ve had to learn to love you from a distance.
I know you didn’t give me permission to, but I already started talking to God about you.
Maybe in your quiet time at exactly the right time, I could possibly be your one and only valentine.
I think I finally understand it now, I’m a hopeless romantic who insists on remaining hopeful.
Let me tell you about my version of events while we listen to Emeli Sandé on any given Sunday.