Wednesday, 29 February 2012

Tweet Poems - #TheSincerestFormOfFlattery

U grabbed my words 
the moment they left my lips, 
made me pair of wings 
I could fly the distance with.

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Sunday, 26 February 2012

Tweet Poems - #FallingInLove Pt 1

is the Ultimate Muse. 
The blood and the bruises are the war wounds 
from engaging in battle with Creativity. 

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Thursday, 23 February 2012

Tweet Poems - #Flirting

He took my temperature by w th creativity of a plank.
Wud have preferd if he'd left the tree in 1 piece,
left the leaves 2 rustle

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Tweet Poems - #NotOfLikeMinds

Ur words r either lead or flotsam: dense sunken cynicism 
or forgettable debris of plagarised helium 
My #TimeIsShort mafren

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Monday, 20 February 2012

Tweet poems - #Tattoos

She sed u not only commit this image 2 ur skin,
u document ur ability 2 make choices made from voices within.
B sure 2 listen well

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Tweet Poems - #Untitled

Love: if its put where its appreciated
u'll c a return

If not, it'll be a breeze
smellin of bread bakin
perplexin those that missed the offerin

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Thursday, 16 February 2012

Estar - The Star of Creativity Pts 1, 2 & 3

I was commissioned to write a piece in 3 parts about creativity and its holistic value in the community for the Arts and cultural building Podium Mozeik in the Netherlands for their 5th birthday.

Haytham Safia - U’d
Peter Prommel - Percussion

Thursday, 9 February 2012

"What the guide told me", a poem - Haiti revisited

"She is still here," said the guide,
points to the girl a short distance away.
The naive nuance of her laugh
travels on the scent of the insouciant breeze
A friend was braiding her hair. Then
she stops. Playfulness halted by a rigid chill . 
The skinny friends big eyes blink slow, 
enough breath space for incredible memory to be made real 
then she hugs her shoulders
wipes her face. They do not see
me watching.

There are no locks.
There was no knock,
just a hiss 
as the venom slid under
her mouth mashed 
by hot palm
her tongue 
in her belly now
"No!"exploding - 
shards - pinned 
under fathoms of poison
passing into her
stripping innocence from her bones.

A malignancy lingers,
a ringing residue, a hum that numbs the passing of that night.
It died a mournful death in a culture which celebrates
greetings from ancestors, who wait with a blanket
and sweet water in clay bowls.
A sad crossing from girlhood to womanhood,
a yard before her third menstruation,
a story away from joyous excitement
of her full blossoming.
Image source: Dangerous Camps. Click to go to article
"She is in the camp still. She has no-one, but she is brave."

The teeth went deep, 
the injection was clinical-
the venom clings.
The buff of a waterfall from free flowing virtuous rivers
over vertiginous ridges 
won't scourer her clean,
but the children will still play and women reason
rubbing suds and laundry on the rocks.

Her smile has returned - the soft measured plosives
of a friends careful words burst her absorption.
The skinny girl pecks her forehead,
returns attention to her hair.

And so it goes, till when she's ready
to release: grey stillness, intermittent flares of light - blaze.
She fights back the scent of semen - a chemical burn
on her virginity - the stain that spoiled a vista
of fresh vestal verdancy, now a wizened rainforest
on the broken belt of the coast seen from the satellite
of intermittent disembodiment

"It could be anyone.
The epidemic is spreading,
no one is safe these days."

"What is the antidote?" I say out loud.

"No one knows
yet. But the women have strong spines here."

written By Zena Edwards©

Written in response to the shocking reports of the rape epidemic in the settlements camps post the January 12th, 2012 Haiti earthquake.

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