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I’m taking a break for the Easter weekend, but here is a poem that I will leave you with.

A cello in my mind

In my mind I hear a cello play

a different tune each day.

It tells of lost memories, loves

and divine mysteries from above.

Each pull of the bow against its taut strings

makes it mournfully chant or alluringly sing.

For what reason does the cello play in my mind?

What does it seek to find?

Some desire inside that could possibly be mine?

If only I knew why the cello played in my mind

so if not to be free then to have some solace to find.

We’ve reached our goal… now what?

In the past few years, I have watched with Obama’s election and re-election and the progression of South Africa and have pondered on how often nations or people groups will work for generations to achieve some sort of goal, whether it be equal rights, democracy or independence, and once that goal is reached and the euphoria dies down they’re left the fundamental question: ‘‘now what?’’ I’m sure you’ve seen an example of this somewhere today, such as in Egypt where attempts are still going on to unseat the government put in power. It can be spotted in the history of Africa after liberation as a prime example.

The point I’m trying to make is that we as humans have a tendency to accomplish something and then don’t know how to build on it afterwards. In sport countless teams or athletes will have that moment of long-awaited glory before flopping the very next season: Everton F.C.  in the 2005/2006 English soccer season, Manchester City F.C. currently, Jensen Button… the list goes on. In literature the success of J.D. Salinger’s novel, A Catcher in the Rye caused the author to become more reclusive and not publish another novel.

To have some kind of meaningful life we need to update our aims constantly and never be satisfied. Always be ready to answer the ‘‘Now what?’’ question in all situations before it causes us to digress and stunts our inner growth.

I  wrote this three-haiku poem in the light of Egypt when it overthrown Mubarak and had elections, South Africa’s present state and as a connection from Civil Rights era to now for African-Americans:

Struggled gains

Today in freedom

we meet each step conceited

delighting in our gains…

Yet, our young soles lie wounded

scarred by memory;

bleeding, from our history…

Today in freedom;

we walk masked from growing pains

brought with struggled gains…


Pontificis electione versus indictatus (A verse indicted for the papal election)

Here is a poem written in honor of the new pontiff Francis I and his recent election as the first non-European pope in over 1000 years.

Notes from St Peters square

In the midst of a chilly nightfall’s


We wait as children of God; pilgrims to the


Within the watching colonnade,

hands are wrapped and mouths move silently

over a simple rosary.

We gaze upon a lonely chimney, waiting for it to

signal the arrival of the light.

For that old flame which glowed within this theocratic

micro-state has dimmed.

It must be relit by a new light that will burn a hope in.

‘‘Look upon yon chimney breaks!’’

‘‘It be a holy smoke so white!

Like the very heart of Christ!’’

In a colonnaded square of cheers and screams,

clustered with the ignited hearts of burning devotees.

The light from the window of that St Peters balcony erupts;
its doors open:

‘‘Habemus Papum.’’

In this dark, wet night of the world, a candle dances again

that will burn a divine hope in.


A poem on how reflections match realities. Note the interesting tree shape of the poem if you will.

From that chestnut tree

It is so that I see from

that chestnut tree,

The dancing of light

an image so bright.

I see a reflection of

some strange character

staring back.

And like some contagious disease

his dreams, failures, loves and pains

become mine.

Him… that stranger staring back.

And from atop that arboreal tower,

two eyes meet…

And in some wild rush like one on fire;

We jump

and connect.

Together we touch that reflective surface,

that mirror-like screen

And then my eyes open…

Gone is that strange character.

For he is now a completion of me.

What is poetry 4 — Creative expression

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

The poem, ‘‘i thank You God for this most amazing’’ by E.E. Cummings is one of my favorite poems. Free of punctuation and rigid structure, it thanks God for his influence on nature and the poet asks whether he or anyone else can compare to him. It will provide an introduction for the final segment of the series, ‘‘What is Poetry?’’: Creative Expression.

Most of us see poetry as being similar to most female fashion, it must stick to the rules and try not to be so rebellious. However, there are certain forms of poetry that are maverick and do not stick to the rule limiting a poem to a single idea. This form of poetry is called abstract poetry. The basic idea of abstract poetry is that it can not be literally interpreted and is chosen more for sound than meaning. It may contain streams-of-consciousness and unusual images that force the reader to think about what they are reading.

Here is an example of abstract poetry from the final stanza of T.S. Eliot’s poem The Hollow Men:

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

In essence, a poem like this could be considered an example of ‘secondary’ poetry, in which the poet has reached the hight of his or her craft and has moved away from the simplicity and restriction of ‘primary poetry’ they may have learned in elementary and high school such as:


It is rainy and grey.

I hope and pray

I can go out and play.

But I’ll have to stay inside today

‘Cause it’s rainy and grey.

If poetry is meant to be a creative expression, I feel that it should be brave enough to break the rules, test the boundaries of form and, if necessary, oust grammar from its versed equation like the first poem has done but at the same time not burying its message under a worded marsh-pit. With proper restraint in tandem with some of the unbreakable rules of poetry(having a subject in every stanza or half-stanza is one) new movements, styles and formats can be born that appease purists and mavericks alike.