A Collection of Original Poetry by Students of Ladysmith High School

Wednesday, 4 April 2018

You Are Golden ~ Marlize van der Merwe

My heart, my kindness things that are righteous
I write this poem to you, I hope that you like it.
Kissing your lips, holding your hand
You've made this broken guy into a once again wholesome man
You're sweet and kind
You're that sweetheart of mine
Like a brain tumor baby you stay on my mind.
I love hearing you laugh and seeing you smile
You've made me feel what I haven't felt in a while
Loved and appreciated
Thank you Baby I appreciate it!
This may be just the beginning I'm hoping it won't end
Thank you for keeping it real showing me others were pretend
If you need a hand baby both arms to you I will lend, extend
You're my love, my boo, my best friend
For you I am grateful
I'm hungry for your kisses
Your lips are so tasteful
What you bring to the table sure is a plate full
When it comes to your heart I sure am not playful
I will not toy with your emotions
Because Honey you fill up my world like the Oceans.

© Marlize van der Merwe

Grade 10

Poetry Writing Month

Today is the anniversary of Maya Angelou's birthday ~ 4 April ~ and I make this call to my students of poetry to pick up your pens and turn your thoughts into art. Poetry is the finest form of the written or spoken word, and everyone is capable of the achievement - be it one poem or thirty.

This is your forum. I am your editor. Send me your poems!

The Poetic Stranger

I am the worm in the heart that feeds on death
cocooned in the silk of evening tears;
I am the dormant corm deep in the bitter mire
of every deserted battlefield;
I am the black eagle, storm-divided from my mate
flying an uneven course with bent wings;
I am the rocky outcrop above the vale, the vantage
of lonely height, one misstep from the plunge;
I am the poetic stranger you may pass on the street
whose words you’ll never read.

But my mind is open wide to the page of your need;
my eyes have looked upon your death and seen release;
my heart has been dismantled, so that yours may mend;
my body I have consigned to the trenches,
to the worms’ grim feast,
so that a single creative truth
may emerge from my life’s work
like the carrion butterfly rising from the corpse of history
that knows yet how to fly and shine blue.

© K.L. Clark


Monday, 2 April 2018

Thursday, 29 March 2018

Thoughts on Suicide ~ Anonymous

There was a time when I had had enough
There was a time when it was a bit rough
There was a place where I made a small salty puddle
There was a place where I hid my trouble
There was a day when I had my head down
There was a day when I didn't smile, when I didn't frown
There was a night where I sat in the darkness
There was a night where the stars were not seen
There was a person whom I'd miss when the time had come
There is a memory I have that can never be undone.

I saw the rope in my head
I saw the knife in my bed
I thought of all the ways to stop my heart
Spill my blood
Break my neck, spine,
And anything else that is tied to my life.

There was a moment when time slowed down
I imagined the gun in my hand
The gun near my head
the barrel on my skull and trigger pulled back.

I imagined death, my death
I saw myself fall with my eyes closed
Very slowly, with a hard thump
The pool of red grew
I looked at my lifeless body: no pulse, no breath, nothing...

I came back and saw my surroundings: the green, the blue, the yellow
And the colourful land in front of me was rich with life.
I thought of the funeral: who will attend and who will not?
Who will put effort into making salty water because of heavy emotion?
Who will be there when I go down?
Who will shovel sand on my new home?
Who will decorate my new patch with bright colourful flowers?
Who will miss me?
So suicidal...

© N.M.

Grade 11

Our Tales - Luyanda Mbatha

We have entered the night to tell our tales
             Dressed all in black,
Only our eyes and teeth could be seen
             Armed with ideas in mind
Darkness was our only hope to find a solution.
So, burning of tyres brought light
            And vision to our destiny.

We had been silent for a very long time,
            They had forgotten all about us.
It was because our dilemma had been ignored.
We had to remind them, that we are
            Still hungry for free basic education.
The generation of our grandparents
            Fought for our rights.
Blood was spilled, for us to have
            A bright future but yet they still act
            Irresponsibly towards us.

The burning desire of reaching our destiny
            Has chased away fear
But we know that we would not cross
The night without the company of the police.

After hearing sirens, we ran for our lives.
           Gunshots followed with rubber bullets
Grenades had already been thrown at us.
           As the youth, the majority had entered the night
To tell their tale, but only the minority remained
           To tell our tale.

©  Luyanda Mbatha

Grade 11

Wednesday, 28 March 2018

Tale of the Disillusioned Nation ~ Sphelele Majola

We have entered the night to tell our tale
The tale of a disillusioned nation:
the cellphone orientated,
SWAG-obsessed generation.

The ones who hide behind status updates
and the most recent trends,
in an attempt to feel important,
to feel loved and appreciated.

But, this kind of attention is temporary and fake.
Sure, it gives momentary satisfaction
and, somehow, happiness. It also has
a lifespan that is outlived by a fruit fly.

They go through all of this, just to have
disappointment, pain and depression
as the fruits of their labour,
and barely achieving anything.

Yet through it all they still persist,
work harder to make their mark.
Whether it's for the right reasons
or the wrong ones.

At the end of it all, what really matters
is not the reason behind their pursuit
but the fierce determination to keep on pushing
regardless of their circumstances.

Their 'never-give-up' attitude
is a trait that most have all but lost
to slow progress and
difficulties on their journeys.

This tale shines a light
on those who keep fighting against all odds,
never giving up,
with a greater and more worthy purpose in mind.

This is for our modern day gladiators
whose past is mightier than the sword.

© Sphelele Majola

Grade 11

We Have Entered the Night ~ Philisiwe Mavundla

Of how thankful we are to our descendants
that they have carved our path
changed our future
and rearranged our stars.

But you have taken that away from me
told the past as my story
and refused me the right to be

We are a new chapter
although still separated by stereotypes.
Stereotypical you.
Stereotypical me.
That is not who we want to be.

We want to be engines which
drive our world to a new beginning.
This is the big responsibility
and I tell you
we fear failure.

© Philisiwe Mavundla

Grade 11