Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

This is a call out for entries into the sixth part of The Quarterly Colour Series of Poetry, Indigo Smoothies. The Quarterly Colour Series of poetry are a series of free ebooks, published by Al Kags every three months. The first five ebooks of the series are Gray Spots, Blue Smudges, Red Streaks, Green Piece and Brown Steps that read by over 185,000 people worldwide. The ebooks are spread virally over email as well as posted on different blogs and web sites for Download. Feel free to download them from https://alkags.wordpress.com or http://www.scribd.com among other web sites.

The rules are, that you can download them for free, share them, enjoy them, republish the poetry in there – literally anything you want to do with them: just be sure to acknowledge the author and the ebook.

The theme for Indigo Smoothies is dialogue. In many parts of the world – from Pakistan to South Africa to Kenya to the US, there are important fundamental conversations that needed to have been had. In most cases having these conversations – about discrimination, about class barriers, about racism and tribalism and all these -isms would result in lasting peace and prosperity for the people there. But these conversations must be cordial and positive – they must not be filled with hate and bitterness and they must be sober. We call upon poets from all over the world to submit their poetry of such conversations and engage the world in dialogue – positively.

Please send your poetry in a word document to poetry@alkags.com. Be clear about your name (in the case of Stage Name preference). The selection of the poetry to be published is entirely at the discretion of the Al Kags editorial team

All entries need to be in by March 1 2008. Thanks, all of you that have sent us your poetry, and supported the series by forwarding widely and we are glad that you all have pushed the poetry to such great heights.

Many Thanks

Great artists become great because they were nurtured in some way by some woman or women somewhere, in the same way that great people become great because some woman somewhere cared. As she cooked and cleaned and bathed and rebuked and spanked and worked and pointed out where the other sock was, she had the presence of mind to make sure that that great person was safe and warm and cared for – so much that that great person became educated in the ways of life and gained the confidence that that great person needed to be great. It was her, that that great person ran to when that great person was afraid or hurt, her that that great person leaned on when there was no food or water or health or wealth or joy. It was some woman somewhere, who stood behind the scenes and ensured that that that great person not only became great, but remained great. And she did this, while walking many kilometers to find a health centre or water or firewood, while spending whole long days tilling the land then going home to cook and clean and pick after that great person and everyone else. She did this even when her spirit was low and her body was sore, she went out to work at the crack of dawn where she found she had to work harder than everyone else, prove herself at every juncture just so she could stay afloat and get ahead. It was her who made the great sacrifices, all the time, every time, and on the back of her sweat and blood and tears, that great person became great and remained great. She has throughout her life been the pillar that everyone leaned on and spit on, she was the cement that held it all together, whatever it was.

Wife, mother, sister, aunt, teacher, nurse, preacher, leader, friend – she made you great, all the while standing up straight, with a smile on her face and an uncanny grace in her step because…

She was, she is and she will always will be,

Essentially Woman.

Why should I apologise/ am i I not a soul like you?/ do I not like you cough in the midst of the dust thrown up by passing trucks and do my tears not stream from my blood shot eyes every time the carbon infested smoke invades my lungs? / Do I not like you scream at the onslaught of pain and do I not crave for the same things like rain? /

Why should I apologise/ have I not served you well? / have I not bent over so you could screw me over again and again/ have I not bent my rules to allow you to trample upon my soul to the extent that it is almost dead that I cannot breath that I cannot fight that I am lame that I am crippled that I am insane? Have I not let you believe by the look in my eytes and the disposition of my shoulders that I am benign?

So why should I apologise/ was the time not to come?/ do I not like you get tired and fed up my the many machinations and manipulations under guise of the alleged system/ that system that like you I have bent over for it to screw me again and again and again/ that system that has spewed from its bowels enough bullshit to make me cough like the passing trucks and to bring out my tears when its acrid smell invades my dying lungs my dying lungs that are dying from the trampling of my soul by the system the system that is screwing me over again and again and again

And why should I apologise/ did you not expect that I would?/ did you not sense that finally, eventually I would tire of your crap and stand up straight to allow your bullshit to fall off and that I would turn my face and look into your eyes/ did you not suspect that one of this days the look in my eyes would send shivers down your spine rendering you impotent and useless before my increasing strength reducing you to a quivering shimmering stammering pile of the bullshit that you spew? / did you not expect that finally eventually I would lift my hand up high and with the power of a dozen bull cranes or a few thousand horses or your gas guzzling hummer I would deliver the sucker punch that would cause your soul to tremble, your lungs to constrict and your tear glands to over flow and your voice to whimper and you to die

Why should I apologise for killing you? Why should I apologise for exterminating a rodent like you?

My friend, anonymous new person out there. Do not be afraid of coming over and making poetry with me. Because rhyme and music and rhythm and smiles and silence and movement and stillness makes me breathe and twirl. The band has started to play, I have walked over to you and extended my hand, dance with me.

So what, you have only seen me once before? Did I not make your skin tingle with trepidation and sensation? Did I not make you sing on a carpet to a crowd indifferent? and while we were together, did you not smile with abandon and find a small part of you that lay within you hidden from common view?

Yes, stand up and dance with me as the band plays. Come, let us together learn each other’s steps and turns as we twirl in this life’s ballroom. It may be a day, maybe a year, maybe a century but then, the depth of looking into your eyes is likely to last forever.

There’s already a mark where you touched me and seared your prints through my skin. There’s already a picture lodged indelibly in the recesses of my memory, one so powerful, I don’t know if I can rid myself of it.

Ah, release yourself and come away and dance, lets see how the music plays, lets see where it ends – if it does.

Come on; come, lets dance.

After collating all the data, I am happy to let you know that the immediate past Quarterly Colour Series ebook, Green Piece, was read by 175,000 people across the world (maybe more but this is from the people that fed back.) It has been a great success and it is because of your support. The series has drawn the attention of diverse people in the world, some of whom have communicated great things about the series.

This is a call out to all poets – professional and amateur.

The time has come to publish the next book of the series, Brown Steps, the stuff that drives our lives. Brown steps is about social issues – from politics (in general), issues like corruption and all, the idiosyncrasies of life, the gap between rich and poor etc. I’m hoping that the submissions will not be the usual cynical, bitter submissions on politics and rich people but that it will also have some easier to read stuff on our lifestyles (rich or poor), our cultures, our histories, our people. I’m looking for fresh perspectives and delivery for the poetry that talks about the stuff that drives our lives.

The Quarterly Colour Series is a series of poetry ebooks that are published by Al Kags every three months. The first of the Series was Gray Spots (https://alkags.files.wordpress.com/2006/09/greyspots1.pdf), the next was Blue Smudges (https://alkags.files.wordpress.com/2006/10/blue-smudges-3.pdf),  then came  Red Streaks (https://alkags.files.wordpress.com/2007/02/red-streaks3.pdf)  and last quarter there was Green Piece (https://alkags.files.wordpress.com/2007/05/green-piece.pdf). If you haven’t read them, do read them and share them.

The poetry is distributed for free via email and the rules of engagement for all is read it, share it, republish it, recite it, do what you want with it – Just ensure you say where the poetry came from and who wrote it. The writers retain the rights to their work. The published work is selected entirely on the editor’s discretion. Do forward this call out as widely as you can.

If you are a poet or simply dabble in poetry and would like to get read by a lot of people, feel free to send your work (as many poems as you wish) in a MS word document by Monday August 13 2007 to qcspoetry@gmail.com.

It has taken a long time to release this ebook. Finally, a few weeks late, I present Green Piece, the fourth ebook of the Quarterly Colour Series of poetry. We were late this time because we had an overwhelming response of writers this time. The book became too big for email. We have been trying to make it as small as we could and attached, find the result of our efforts. Thank you to those who have sent us emails and posted on my blog and other places asking for this. Your support is immeasureable in its effect.

The Quarterly Colour Series of Poetry is a series of poetry ebooks compiled and published by Al Kags. The ebooks are written by poets who want to share their work with the world. They are then distributed by you to your friends and them to their friends and so forth. In many cases, many of you tell us how many people you sent it to.

The first book of this series was Gray Spots, then Blue Smudges, followed by Red Streaks, which was read by 136,000 people at last count. The rules are simple. The poet owns their work. You will share it, republish it, enjoy it, recite it, whatever you want – all you have to do is to acknowledge where you got it and who wrote it.

This quarter, we feature poets from Nigeria, Tanzania and other African countries who sent their work in. If yours did not feature, its not lost, it will be used in future.

Thank you for your support. Thank you for making the Quarterly Colour Series What it is.

Download:Green Piece

This is a call out for entries into the fourth part of The Quarterly Colour Series of Poetry, Green Piece. The Quarterly Colour Series of poetry are a series of free ebooks, published by Al Kags every three months. The ebooks are distributed for free, organically via email.

The first three ebooks of the series are Gray Spots, Blue Smudges  and Red Streaks each of which was read by over 25,000 people worldwide. Red Streaks was distributed to a whopping 120,000 people. The ebooks are spread virally over email as well as posted on different blogs and web sites for Download.

Green Piece is an ebook about all things Green – Green money (dollars?), Green envy, Green nature, Green emotions…. While General in nature, it is recommended that the poets try as much as possible to tie their poetry to the theme to increase their chances of publications – but no need to worry, if its not suitable for this book, it is bound to be suitable for a future book so it is not wasted. 

All entries need to be in by April 05 2007. The editor reserves all discretion with regard to what poems are placed within the book.

To submit, please send your poetry in a word document to qcspoetry@gmail.com

 Thanks for all the support.

Broken

He woke up in the middle of the night and realised what this nagging weight has been in the deep darkness of his spirit – his spirit that has been flying for weeks. He realised that the pain has been there all along and that he was alone. It was a robbery – a highway robbery that had taken from him everything that he would have normally had, everything that for years he had taken for granted.The robber had come into his fortress and taken his wealth of spirit, his breadth of joy, his ease of living, his wallet of fun, his package of smiles and his most prized possession: his ability to love. In exchange, the robber shot into him the desperation to simply be alive, more than adequate measure of pain and the feeling of failure. At every turn, the robber dogged him with taunts of his impending expiration and at every turn he fought the obstacle and struggled to keep his possessions.

At every junction, the robber reminded him that he is alone, that no one noticed his fight, his trudge and at every junction, he had no time to look around whether others fought by his side – he just tried to keep whats his, his sanity, his happiness.

At every crest the robber said, “hark, you lose.” and at Every crest, he triumphed. He jumped over obstacle after the other, through forests and storms and raging rivers and falls. Through thorns and falling rocks and icy snow and dry deserts, he fought battle after battle and won.

And he finally reached the end of the earth – at the white sandy beach abreast of the clear blue sea under the beautiful clear sky and under the comfort of a palm tree swaying in the cool tropical breeze, he slept – exhausted. Now he awoke, dazed, and he realised that the flight was just a dream.

That his companions were no more than figments of his imagination and looking around, he saw his tattered cloths and wounded self and he saw that he was alone. He looked at the sky and saw it was never clear but cloudy and laden with lightening that would soon strike at the core of his heart.

He looked at the sea and saw the storm that was brewing and the tides that would cover him.

He looked around and he could not find shelter, for he could not rise. He knew then, that the robber has won. He was broken. He has lost more than he had.

Despite winning the battles, the soldier knew it at last: he was broken.

And he lay back down and gave in.

Red Streaks

Please find attached the latest addition to The Quarterly Colour Series Published by Al Kags, called Red Streaks. The Theme for Red Streaks is all things Raw, Rugged and Raunchy but presented in a tasteful the most suggestive way possible. This ebook this time features writers from Uganda (for the first time) Rebecca Rugyendo and of course Sandra A Mushi from Tanzania.

Red Streaks is the third of a series called The Quarterly Colour Series. The first two were Gray Spots and Blue Smudges and they can be found on my blog, https://alkags.wordpress.com . The general idea is that the books are spread out organically – by you forwarding it to your friends and them forwarding them to their place. Please feedback as to how many people you have sent it to – so we can compile that data to know how many people received it.

Gray Spots was read by 16,000 people and Blue Smudges by 26,000 – all thanks to you.

The next ebook will be Green Piece. Green Piece will be about all things Green – envy, dollars, nature and anything else you can think of as green. Feel free to submit your poetry to alkags@gmail.com and we shall likely publish it.

Download: RED STREAKS

she loves me, she loves me not,
so go the questions in my head
tying my emotions to a knot
driving me right round the bend
for my fault it is that she’s  not
joyful around the bed
even  though it gets so hot

For I would build a mansion
for her I would  buy wings
But then I am no mason
not more than normal  beings
i have but mere passions
laced with fear and things

and now,
she cannot hold
or touch and i’m not bold
to do much more than bow
and tell her just how
i miss her conversation
her life and her elation
her smarts and  her sensation
when sponaneously she touches me
and fire touches my soul

Oh yea, Oh lovely maiden
come back and love me maybe
lest you find i maddened
my spirit is heavy laden