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The point of differentiation,
not the point of contention,

the point of no return
continuation relative
to knowing subtle forces

ostensibly contained
in the whole truth,
and nothing but,

to which no doubt,
you are personally sworn,
under penalty of cognative
cacaphonic gnosisnot cough

to reembodeize, embody abide
completely centered, self aware.

Then, the fiber that fuses string
theory and determinism hooks
a loop in time's SYTF problem set,

so the set that made young
Earl Russell paradoxically famous,

from now on, one may learn and learn
from now on, until one disintegrates,
dissipates as cloud forms disperse,
to show us how it works, wooly

clouds meeting the reflected wind,
and the winds from the pacific,
pour down one side of my valley
and up the other side, to make those

parrallel feathery shapes one can watch
form on fine days
with nothing needing done,

if the determinists are right, what matters
if I use my time chosing to bend clouds

into vast wings involved in making me think.
I invested four hours watching clouds while listening
o Long Walk to Freedom,
Mandela makes me think free will is most probably our choice.
- what difference does anything make if nothing really matters?
In summary, the main difference between energy and momentum is that energy is proportional to the velocity squared, while momentum is proportional to velocity. Additionally, energy is a scalar quantity, while momentum is a vector quantity.

AI-generated answer. Please verify critical facts.{its the spin, init}
For we so fearful, let me lead with caution
to the truth your mind feels needs protection
We’re fenced
in and can't get out to be fully liberated.
Yes, fully, not this half liberated we overexaggerated
which made us blind to our institutionalized minds.
The Phala-Phalas know this, so this gang always reminds
us about 27 years, making us their voter slaves.
Until we realise Mandela took his party with him in his grave,
there's a Hendrik that keeps our rainbow apart.
Even if unity is the deepest desire of our hearts!
This poem is relevant until another GBV case takes the nation's attention away...
Vivian Zems Jul 2020
In life’s rearview
Rosa refused to stand
Nelson paid the price for his land
King’s dream was shattered by a bullet
which birthed more bullets for the chocolate man
Until we said NO MORE!
We worship the net
We understand the reason why google starts with 'go..'
We give the 'd' while praying in our inboxes,
The only place we think under, these boxes.

I was blinded by the Jozi city lights,
Chasing false fortunes,
Got lost in people's comments and complements.
Last time I closed my eyes I was somewhere in South Africa.
Today am somewhere on google map,
Planting trigo-station every time I get high.

If you find me standing before the burning bridges,
Show me a path leading to the South Africa Mandela was talking about.
aurora kastanias Jan 2018
Grazin’ in the grass was mellow indeed
when you blew into your trumpet
blaring sounds of peace. What a trip!
Just watchin' as the world goes past,

you used to say playing notes of jazz.
Music of resistance for a tortured land
imbued in the blood of its natives bashed,
by the impudent high-handed little white man.

As your grandmother cared for you and miners
in illegal bars, piano keys enticed dreams of hope
for second class citizens silenced by oppression,
while the chaplain gave you your first instrument.

Little did you know the melodies you’d pour
on the rampant fires of blatant injustice.
Little did you know the strength you would instil
embodying possibilities, shedding light on the obscure.

Soweto blues you composed as Miriam gave
her voice to screaming mothers to cry out,
atrocities in town. Bring Him Back Home
you sang from afar until they did, and you

returned to see the prisoner walk free,
down the streets hand in hand with Winnie.
Only afterwards I heard your words and will
to show the people just how

wonderful and excellent they are.
A message I cherish and the reason why
many will remember you, your tune your smile,
as he who kept the torch of freedom alive.

A baobab tree has fallen indeed.
dedicated to Hugh Masekela
Mister J Sep 2017
That steamy weather
That moist air
Your addictive kisses
Your lingering touch
Your mesmerizing eyes
Your porcelain body
Your seductive curves
The way you hold me
And cherish me in your arms
The way you smile at me
And how it takes me away
How it blew my mind
And dulled my senses
I wish I could press rewind

How vivid it was for me
Everything you made me feel
And yet how come I alone
Have these memories of you and me?
Went to the weird side of the internet, found this "phenomenon"
They say "You can't stop me."
They mean "Pleas try and help me."
They'll tell you "Go away."
But pleas understand they want you to stay.
Because they feel alone,
and loneliness gets old fast.
Because in their heads they see nothing
but, the stretch marks on their legs.
The thoughts that run through their heads,
are about the fact that they cant go out with their friends
they have to save up to be able to afford food instead.
Don't look down on them because they work.
Don't look down on them because of their race.
Don't look down on them because you cant face
the fact that when they grow up...
They'll have more caricature in their pinky toe
than you ever had with that fake *** face....
And even if they fall down.
Get nocked down and locked away.
Some wont turn out ok
but you'll have that one, the Mandela of today.
Don't act like you would have turned out any better than they did.
And I hate to say this...
But my generation is ****.
Grow up, get over yourself....
I thought we were better than this....
Intoxicated with
'Might is right! '
The moral dwarfs,
With beefed up muscles
And iron fists,
Drove home fright
Killing and leeching
Alienated natives
Day and night!
They brutally
Subjugated many,
With bare hands,
For God-given freedom
Who have to fight!

Up on gaining
Back freedom
Revolted by
'An eye for an eye! '
Mandela the moral giant
"Retaliation what for
and why?
A moral dwarf, like
Degrade myself must I?
Though I was robbed of
Sunlight from a lullaby
Almost to the day
I die!
The 'peace and considerateness'
Placard is what we must
Worldwide hover high!

All of us are on our way out
Let us make sure
Behind us we leave
Days bright!

Also we must not forget
Among the white
The presence of
The moral giants
Who fight for
Blacks' right!"
In remembrance of the freedom icon Mandela of South Africa!
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.
Chose to write this poem for Freedom Day celebrated on 27 April. It celebrates freedom and commemorates the first post-apartheid elections that were held on that day in 1994.
Ana Dec 2015
"I seem to recall a world where people weren't such a-holes all the time, but maybe I'm just paying more attention" ~ quote by some guy smoking a cigarette outside of a restaurant
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