THE PEER C.OP 2014 LIT. TOUR:

Dear all, After a self imposed Hiatus, the dates are out for the 2014 talks, first half of the year. Anywhere near, let us engage, chat, discuss, and make the push for Comparative African poetry.

15th April 2014 —–> University of Kwa Zulu Natal (Durban) 3.30 P.M – 8.00 P.M @ the mdk hall.

17th April 2014 —–> Wits university,(S.A)  5.00 P.M -9.00 PM @ the wits great hall

2nd May 2014——> University of Dar esalam,(Tanzania)  3.30 PM- 5.00 PM

6th May 2014 ——-> Kenyatta University, (Kenya) 2.30 – 6.30 PM @ Harambee hall

10 June 2014 ——-> Dodoma social Hall (Tanzania) 4.00 – 7.00 PM

 

Feel Free to contact us below for more information

WALKING IN THE STORM

The falling whites are slowly becoming my undue stresses. Walking the lights off in Malmo. A rainstorm here a shine there would do better! Sweden is like a love gone sour-so missed, yet so unwanted! tsk!.

Don’t I just miss home.

Song to Solemnity (advice on a bye)

I would do a risk, take a felon on it
Run up the stairs to heaven, get that smile for long
Leave all unnecessary out, do the necessary for you
Just remember we was born to make mistakes
Like my own saying will do anything for you-I would have
For one kiss by the sunset on the lawns to the beach anything
My all star friends getting it all tied in the streets- talking you
We made rules and now we fear getting hooped by love
From smiling counters to counting rockers on the island
And getting us smiling, and getting us all feeling loved
Straight shooting boy, thought we’d never be this beloved
But now look at us mummy, For all we been through shoved
My heart stewed, my soul skewed, my mind brewed
My girl screwed, my daughter unborn, my son reborn
We lived for the righteous, we embody fate in this world
No matter how hard they pump, they never going to come like us
That’s a legend born, That’s a mystique reborn
I’ll live for the days, I’ll run for the heartless
Should you forget, I will keep them going-lest they forget
God forbid, our lives are intertwined-Forever

I know I’m your little boy
But this world raised me-us a little gory
Product of a dying breed, a little praised in glory
I might not always shout thug love to the womb
But for the life’s lessons and the tears shed in gleamers
Taught importantly to believe in the inevitable- always rise on
From bad examples to shrewd decisions and a poppa’s screwing
For the days you said a prayer for a lost sheep to running in the rain
Half naked getting all worked for a sick bastard running echelons
And when I was leaving you waving and crying
On nights stopping by seeing you smiling
The memories built a pillar so strong to erode
And rhymes and dimes will never say enough this
As a grown-up tweaking this and that
The world will never cave in on you for as long as I breathe
For living a life meant not for you
You made it look a rim shot blood eyed ogre
And the stars hold me in prayer for a same
I do own up on the love and thankfulness.

To a world that made a monster larger than life
I’m crying for the unborn bidding in abortion tents
Failing is the norm on the glock cocked concrete
You either make it and regret or fail and live again
And if time smiles on you and make it legal or illegal
Remember words o wisdom oft repeated
Nothing will save you from sinking but yourself
Not mummy, not pops, not girly, not homie
The world was meant to be, the word was meant to live
While some get paid, others get laid, and others get on a raid
Don’t just sit there and do something, pray for your soul
Life’s work was meant to be a lonely affair
Like they say reaching the apex and being it all alone
The snakes in the grass wait for such heels all alone
Shush a legion and you have me covered in fake imagery
Take a slot and look at that brother getting hooked
Just remember to point the glock the other way before you shoot
You’re my own race, so we get it straight in this race
Our time came and went; it’s your time to turn around
Just remember never to regret of the turnaround

For the dark concrete that raised me, a loner
A heart you would give anything for, a boner
Made men getting paid in hushed pounds,
Inch for inch the guns were better than roses,
Doused on ink stronger than teary love we all get,
Smiled under the starry skies telling me I would,
Then you never made it this far, Never made it real,
Dumped us all so young at the top so early,
To spend the bigger years searching for meaning,
To spend lifetimes looking for dope love
To run errands searching for friendship
True love and honor based on what I made not,
To the gleaming darks and coats in the dark,
You have a journey and a legacy to fulfill
Create more, live more, regret more.
The wise words of a former student

Elegy drawn on a waste paper

I practiced my poesy in the dark
Where I could fancy-free all at no cost
Waited in vain for Romeo and Juliet
And created sonnets on strings of wool.

In my written, writing for a distant love,
I screamed on the rhymes, blew up the meter,
And shaking in mute I saw the love wither,
Leaving me shame-faced on grand scales of a major.

At my first recital I called to jove, whistling a tune in silence
A fathom and miles away from reality
Under the towering voice of a literature tutor, I reveled in glory
Having forgotten the rules, the written word coming.

And I gave you ‘I shall return’, playing home and away
I accepted the elegy. And ran the whole ninety yards
Through the clapping I heard you, All lamed out, lifting my heights,
But the very people I trust brought me down, ‘the people I trust’ came to be.

I took a second chance-fatefully, but in fear now,
I saw the clarion call and the piper played me a tune,
The easy in me gone, feigned I loved again, and the ode was born in me.
Strutting stuff at my feet. They lord it on me now.

You who have always expected miracles
Sat on and played my muse and more
And watched life run out of me from Junior high,
But consider the life full of charm, an elegy drawn on a waste paper.

If we must die by Claude mckay

If we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursèd lot.
If we must die, O let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
Claude McKay

Genius By Mark Twain

Genius, like gold and precious stones,
is chiefly prized because of its rarity.

Geniuses are people who dash of weird, wild,
incomprehensible poems with astonishing facility,
and get booming drunk and sleep in the gutter.

Genius elevates its possessor to ineffable spheres
far above the vulgar world and fills his soul
with regal contempt for the gross and sordid things of earth.

It is probably on account of this
that people who have genius
do not pay their board, as a general thing.

Geniuses are very singular.

If you see a young man who has frowsy hair
and distraught look, and affects eccentricity in dress,
you may set him down for a genius.

If he sings about the degeneracy of a world
which courts vulgar opulence
and neglects brains,
he is undoubtedly a genius.

If he is too proud to accept assistance,
and spurns it with a lordly air
at the very same time
that he knows he can’t make a living to save his life,
he is most certainly a genius.

If he hangs on and sticks to poetry,
notwithstanding sawing wood comes handier to him,
he is a true genius.

If he throws away every opportunity in life
and crushes the affection and the patience of his friends
and then protests in sickly rhymes of his hard lot,
and finally persists,
in spite of the sound advice of persons who have got sense
but not any genius,
persists in going up some infamous back alley
dying in rags and dirt,
he is beyond all question a genius.

But above all things,
to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse
and then rush off and get booming drunk,
is the surest of all the different signs
of genius.

I am in need of a tainted flow

I am in need of a melody to flow
Over my fretful heart wrenched of thirst
Over my bitter head tainted with love
Flow with a soothing slow melody
swaying to the heed of broken souls
Of songs sung to lull the angels
And cool the reverb in my head
An as the quiver of the echo plays on, wait!

There is a dead end to some lull:
A spell cast on bitter hatred and truth
A heart foreboding it’s own call
To the end that is nigh and high,
And floats on the green coat for sure,
Held forever by peace on a junk love.