Day: July 1, 2020

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Giving up is never an option. You have to be tenacious, and assertive about the actionsyou take. Your journey is not linear, it is a progression towards elimination of the larger issue: demonization and systematic injustice.

© Norma Bobb-Semple 2020

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

Belief in superiority and the right to dominate and rule is ludicrous and insane. We are all one whether we choose to accept it or not. No one wants to live in a war zone, not knowing when their door might be kicked in, and people with guns blazingput an end to their life. We don’t need to die gestapo stylewhile we are walking, riding, running, at home sleeping or relaxing. People deserve to live without thinking “Am I next.”

© Norma Bobb-Semple 2020

When i was a small boy, i used to hate every correction especially if it came from my father,
I had a strong belief that women should be respected more than men, but i was wrong!
Both parents are important, they’re the only people who will stand by you in your worst moments,
After anyone else has left, they will grab a seat near you, just to stay with you till daybreak,Summer is here, the trees are losing their leaves yet again,
There is an instant drop of lively plants on the riverbank,
We commence our journey to the farm, winding through the bushy table land,
Father used to let me sit on his neck from behind as we jostled through the woods,Like a young gorilla i would cling on his head to avoid toppling back,
He told me that, son, you see how dry the environs are, that…

When i was a teenager i used to play innocent when mama was home,
I was so harmless until my mouthy neighbour uncovered my true colours,
I used to follow Kasanga our able house boy as he drove the flock out for grazing,
We became friends as the days went by, so he would tell mum that I’m the best herdsman he’s ever met!

Mama didn’t realise that i used to blackmail Kasanga with four pieces of goat meat,
So, we left the homestead, headed towards Muooni river,
Nzilu was the name of our mighty bull, the only reason i tagged along,
Under his neck, rested a giant bowl-like bell that acted as a signal to strangers,
It was an alarm for any newcomer walking by to keep off, cos Nzilu was a mortal killer,

He had the physicality of the dark African buffalo,
When we arrived at the river…

If you think you’ve met good people here on earth,
Then, am sure you’re wrong, wait until you meet my father, StephenMusau Nthuli, you’ll have to reconsider,
Let me introduce you to the most adored school headmaster i know, Mr. StephenNthuli…,
He’s a middle-sized, soft-spoken man who up to today, walks upright even in his early sixties,

You’ll will find my father glued to his rectangular shaped 15 inch telly at nine in the pm,
Watching as well as listening to his “fellow learned friends” from the fourth estate, media,
If you want to make my father a friend, carry with you a big book,
He’s a big fan of literature, something i can feel disturbing my innermost soul,

Father would narrate his life story as we crossed our tiny legs near the fire place,
How our grandpa passed away and there was…

We used to wake up before the reveille of the military drum that awakened soldiers from sleep,
When the elderly acacia trees were shivering out in the cold winter season,
Begging for a cup of hot water as they produced a foul smell that burnt our nostrils,
Putting on a short was the first examination that teased a part of my brain,

Being an elder brother called for parental responsibilities like holding his tiny hand,
Kawasya my small brother was named after the ululating voice that he produced then,
You would take a sugary lollipop from his mouth but his bluster would attract thorough beating,
My father used to adore his last chubby son who would complete the quadrant,

Our shrimpy bare feet ushered in the inaugural slap to the wet land,
Treading through antelope paths that meandered through the forestland,
I used to believe that pocketing some white flowers…

[also in this form: fictionpostingon3119]

tag[s]: Fiction exercises on how to create justice, homeless fiction, displacements

Submitted to the cited: C.I.A. on 3119

Hello this is the leader this is a report on pursuant using name: Phyllis who is attempting unjust rapes in public with the use of the enforcement of “police” and other “authorities” such as “librarians” and as here opposed to police and authorities and librarians; difference verified on non-transferable entropy check. She who I believe is actually male is staying at a homeless provision in which I am enmeshed in deployment. Her accusations escalate with support of acting “staff” and “volunteers” End result is there is no way an actual homeless person would be able defend itself away from iterating rapes such is the “enforcement” On a personal note: She further pursued assault by stating that instead it is me hitting her, and that I…

[also in this form: fictionon3220]

[Dedicated to rrow, to malki, to rosyw, to monnyw, to branlea]

[cited: c.i.a. deployment basic line notes, Theme: I’m currently having phone problems the computer screen doesn’t work completely when I try to complete the application; but  it works a little ]

She was picky, sick.

Her bode wasn’t swearing in b dub;    it wasn’t the swearing that was so bad.

It was the umbertie and the saddened lazi where she felt that s he knew

Oh she knew, she knew

As it curves, it turns into a women; see look,

I swear it is that way, I promise you the path is there

You’ll definitely see a women, there I mean a woman there

Now, snort with your nose and pretend it’s me; and it’s not an accidental snort

Leachy

She said gramma ain’t about to come to your aid, you know what…

Jeggy wasn’t laughing at the cook; she thought it looked wet is all

all wet and cakey

why wasn’t the reason she felt around her friend

and then all the balls were bubbling and she wasn’t so sure

The smoke and the dots shining on the nail those birds and other

rodents

they are singing or is it called glistening in the pleasants

Sometimes the hill is Sandy

others it is benchy and lots of others

it has friends that are hoppers and pig-like

we used to,

we used to swim,

in iowa the pache-teco was a cube you could dawn under

We felled the rim wasn’t sandy but it was stony

a tony blue with boasts of cousins,

oh my, it’s about famil-e

it is

it-is

She said come on,

Come on in, that’s why we leave the door cracked,

open,

Oil,

Let’s in, stevenson we are

frieds,

Grandma…