Our Poets Poem by Lawrence s. Makola

The ancestors of our poetic origin
Caters during the Dark Age
The straight talkers of their times
Struggled, whipped, tortured and detained
For standing up for the truth
Some of them never came back
Others are swallowed by the earthly belly
While others are on wheelchairs

Gloom is well painted in their poems
While other poems have hope and dreams
About their country
As for Don Matter hope was never a subject
As he said Remember to call at my grave
When freedom walks the land

Our poets came and made a mark
They pave a way for the present generation
But we fail them
Mattera again said let the children decide
But instead we make it worse
Xenophobia the first failure
Julius malema’s kill the Farmer the worst
The shoot to kill no comparison

Let us use our minds rather our power
Let us use the pen rather the sword
Like our fathers did;
Tatamkhulu Africa- The prisoner
Sandile Dikeni- Love poem for my country
Modikwe Dikobe- grave of unknown white man
Mafika Pascal gwala- Kwela ride
Stan Mutjuwadi- Take for ride
Mazisi Kunene- Congregation of the story-tellers at a funeral of Soweto children
Ben Langa- For my brothers (Mandla and Bheki) in exile
Don Mattera- Let the children decide
Gcina Mhlophe- Sometime when it rains
Seitlhamo Motsapi- The man
Mbuyiseni Oswald Mtshali- An abandoned bundle
Lesego Rampolokeng- History
Magoleng Selepe- My name- Nomgqibelo Ncamisile Mnqhibisa(maria)
Mongane Wally Serote- Hell, Well, Heaven