A flower for a fairy princess
When set out to
Write this poem I
Was lost in the blue
Mists of the mean blues
Years ago in
The years gone by
And the sorrow of
My lonely fairy situation
Was filling my soul with
The stormy wild tones
Of lonely abandon
But then a mighty fairy
Princes filled with
The mighty rhapsodies
Of your promising love
Came to gladden
My poor lonely heart
And a fairy priestess
Who sang like a goddess
With The Lustre Of Your Eyes
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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For The Love Of The Money And The Car And... Sex!
It's a triumvirate of evil and
It has spread it's disease throughout
The strata of every country in the world
My friend if you have chosen to live your life
In unfashionable deep spiritual contemplation
You can without fear call it the axis of power and
Greed and lust for historical purposes
And go on and cry for the world sister Bettina!
And weep for Humanity with his insatiable greed for
Money and his criminal longing for material things
And his animal lust for the things of the flesh
Oh weep for humanity!
For it is Mankind who suffers His own self inflicted
Wounds and the money lenders have corrupted Humanity
And there are huge technological advances made and
The spirit of Humankind gets even more corrupted
And the sex industry feeds the insurance
Companies and the death factories of the mortuaries
With the corpses of the hundreds of thousand who
Succumb to the ravages of AIDS
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Banished Fairy
Banished Fairy
I have given
the loyal
Servants their
day off
Because I want
to think softly
about you baby
My mother is worried
About the state
of my mental health
And I can't help
Myself because
I have my sights
Firmly fixed on you
You yummy orphan of
The clouds
You alone son of Heaven
You rule my mind
Banished Fairy
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Money First And Love Last
Girl
Use your body language
Show the cleavage as much
As you can
The newbie has money to burn
Get rid of the poor rat in your life
And live in luxury for as much
As your beauty outlasts his pockets
But
I love Ricky and although he's poor...
Girl!
It's a simple point of money first
And love last my child
In this world
There's no love for charity
You re not gonna marry yourself
Into dwindling fortune and
Stark poverty right?
No child of mine will involve herself in
In the scam of marriage for
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Returning From A Mountain Retreat And Finding You Not There
The old valley at Machayeng! So
Full of the bones of the warriors
Of our forefathers who in death
Trouble not the living.I wish people
Would respect the dead and it's wrong
To turn the graves of the dead into
Places of worship for the living
My friend! I challenge you to visit
The caves at Meqheleng! They are majestic!
The rock formations are intricate man!
I never in my life thought that nature
Could be so soothing to the soul
And it's sad and I am back in the sad
House.And I thought it was a sad empty
Threat you were making.And it has happened
And you have gone.And three sad years have
Passed and I have even forgotten in my
Sadness what it's like to make love
To a woman.But sad seasons come to pass
And sad men too pass away.And they live
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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(Hate Poems) He Hates You He Doesn't Love You
You have joined this miracle
Cure church of the designer pastors
You say you're praying for him
That by the power of some mysterious
Force he'll change he'll love you...
He smells of cocaine and alcohol
He orders you out of bed at gun point
He rapes the other woman in your presence
You keep mum you refuse to give evidence
You say you're saving your holy marriage
The marriage has been a sham since the
Day he raped your own daughter
You live in cloud cuckoo land
You're abused and you deny this
Fact of your daily beatings
He broke your arm and he cut your
Achilles tendon and still you refuse
To see that your life is in danger
You're one of those women who think
That the more the so called husband
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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To whosoever cares
Hold me now
(Yes hold me tight)
Don't let me go
We have tried so hard
To make this
emerald love work
But the evil universe
in it's blind pursuit
Of our downfall still
refuses to give
Her stamp of approval
Hold me here
(Yes hold me close for
the benefit of you comfort)
The environment in which
we want to plant the seed
Of this love and watch it
sprout into full life
Is not conducive to our
kind of full blown romance
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Passion is a criminal
The whole Commission Of Romance
is a stitch-up joint operation by
Senior members of The Love Police
Who have ganged up to make sure
This our romance does not proceed
Lift your head and see who has come in
Thus old Passion is their star witness
Passion cannot be trusted my lady
Passion is a criminal and the full
might of the law must be unleashed to
Bring steamy wild Passion under control
Such mild measures like priestly
Intervention vis-a-vis their surveillance
Are bound to bounce back and fail
They are not enough to catch Passion
And convict him and give him his just
Earned and deserved life sentence and
Of greater importance is to arrest
him and without the lengthy to and fro
Frothy fruitless arguments of the jurists
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Winds of rebirth
The invirogating winds
Of sweet rebirth are blowing
Our noble sons and daughters are
Drinking from the great well
Of united opposition of fighting
Over trivial things
The early morning breeze comes
To comfort your children great
Mother Africa
The beautiful sea wind opens
Her loving heart to you mother
The North wind of peace asks
You to be merciful Mother Africa
And teach us to love one another
So.Blow.You winds.Blow in
The winds of rebirth and love
And fraternity and universal justice
To the children of the world
We don't want to wallow in poverty
And grim squalor and exploitation
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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I'll Let You Know
The real owners of that house
Wherever they are they're still running
There's a man in that house now
By day he sleeps soundly you'll
Swear he's the harmless unarmed angel
The young girls in the neighborhood
Are pretty they like to experiment...
At dusk he sharpens his butterfly knives
Towards evening the wild partying starts
I'll let you know how it all operates
At night falls the interlude of the creepy
Interlude and at midnight comes the eerie
Blood curdling yells oh no no
In the morning he arranges the flowers with
The broad friendly smile on his priestly face
You would be swayed into confessing that he
Is kind hearted uncle Joe next door
I'll let you know Matamati
In the night begins the blood curdling yells
Your own daughter was reported missing
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poem by Ngaka Motaung
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