YOUTH CATEGORY:

Jamie Davids – winner

Emihle Sigidi – 2nd prize

Danelle Snyman – 3rd prize

Zurayday Fortuin

Lukhanyo Gwebityale

Mothibedi Sefatsa

Zindi van Zyl

Lida Jansen

Olana Zilwa

HEARTLESS MOON

The moon’s heart is not so together and harmonious as you think

I tell you…she’s fickle, beguiling, perplexing

and

she’s never there when you need her

…like the other night when we’re walking home late

and our anxious angry, parents are waiting at the gate

and it’s dark, damned and dangerous out here in the Bush

But without the light of the moon

we’re not gonna get home soon

I’ll be in trouble for sure

But the moon doesn’t give a Tush

Then the next night she just pitches in the sky

without so much as a “sorry bro”

and as large, bright and beautiful as god’s eye

eaten into perfection by heaven’s scavengers

Giving power to plants to help then grow

Wolves howl at her feet

Her sharp rays pierce into my

yearning heart’s beat

to confuse me

so!

By Jamie Davids

Ma(an) hart van my siel

(ode aan my ontslape ma)

Die nuus van jou dood

was vir my soos ‘n geweerskoot.

HARD! SEER! En VOL PYN.

Ek was dan tog so klein.

Ma(an) hoekom het jy my verlaat

en alleen hier agter gelaat?

Ek mis jou elke uur van die dag

veral saans; as die maan skyn in die nag.

As die maan egter skyn

vergeet ek van al die pyn.

Ek wens ek ma(an) net een keer ontmoet.

Al is dit net vir ‘n vinnige besoek.

Ma (an) is die hart van my siel

en kyk elke dag na jou ewebeeld in die spieёl.

Deur   Danelle Snyman

WAX WORKS

When I look at the moon I see

it gazing back

reflecting the mystery of me:

I try to hide

keeping all the fears, tears and self doubt

locked tightly inside

But its at night

when the moon seeks me out

to open the padlocked gate

and let the nightmare escape

Like the moon that dwells in the darkness in order to be seen,

in those dark desolate, disheartened moments

it is through self-reflection

my hidden truths are revealed

And to my surprise they don’t they no longer frighten

they enlighten and thrust me towards the next phase

Now I awaken, rise, stretch, embrace and wax

into a transforming version of me

By   Lukhanyo Gwebityale

THE HEART OF THE MOON

Proud and high

the moon paints the sky

a colour so white and crisp

that it rips through the darkness

sparing no pardons

and later concealing the scars

by covering them with bright, beautiful stars.

With daybreak her last work is stolen by the sun

announcing that his work has just begun.

Willingly she then surrenders her throne

for a reason well known.

Once more

she

dies                                   rise

so                       can

her beloved

By   Zindi van Zyl

THE MOON, GOD, THE SEASONS, THE TREE, AND ME

NEW MOON – WINTER

IN THE BEGINNING WAS THE WORD

New moon – an idea, a code, containing, dreaming, imagining

like a seed in the dark waiting

like me incubating

WAXING MOON – SPRING

GOD BREATHING OUT

Waxing moon – ascending, awakening, expanding

like a sapling emerging, unfolding, stretching, rising, reaching, budding

like me growing, learning, becoming

FULL MOON – SUMMER

BEING

Full moon – realising, flourishing, shining

like a tree in full bloom bearing fruit

like me expressing, creating, excelling

WANING MOON – AUTUMN

GOD BREATHING IN

Waning moon contracting, refraining, harnessing

Like a tree dropping its fruit, shedding its leaves ready for pruning

Like me reassessing, letting go of what no longer serves my right of passage.

By    Olana Zilwa

running with the moon 

we ran with the moon along an unfolding shore of silver

no start to the race, or finish, unknown to each other

we ran

to beat the tide, to drown in a quicksilver sea

to meet our shadows in naked radiance

wheeling like gulls, smooth as seals, flying like fish

we ran

between two rivers, salt sucking at our footprints

feet scattering coins of water drops, bright as tears,

old as pieces of eight, young as bitcoin

at the fast moving ribbon of river, we pulled up, rearing,

milling like white horses, until at an unspoken word

we retraced our steps

moonwashed

ghost crabs at low tide

By: Sue Woodward

Lucifer, 1969 and the Moon

Some say Lucifer the devil fell

from the heavenly realm

for he saw himself as the source

of light, not reflecting divine fire.

In a cold war space race

fifty years ago, was it part Lucifer

that landed the Eagle lunar ship

so man could plant the Stars and Stripes?

When the first man, his heart thumping,

giant stepped first on our world’s moon,

did his boot scraping the surface

raise a spark of Lucifer light?

As our astronaut thrust a spade

into her crust in search of a sample,

he uncovered a heart made

of moon shadow and mirror light.

For the moon in all four phases and faces

humble powdery planet that she is,

does not see herself in such a grand way.

She bathes in shades of ambiguity.

She speaks to our planet in a tongue

that shifts the tides, calls night crops forth,

breathes to the rhythm of a woman’s cycle

and makes space for lunatics, lovers and poets.

By: Dorian Haarhoff

Belofte van die nag

As kind het jy

Donkerte leer vrees

slu-skakerings van swart en party-

keer ‘n visioen, ‘n gees

net soos die naguur wou

hê, want jy is geleer

om aan angs vas te klou

soos ‘n slaaf geïndoktrineer

om slegs bokant te kyk

verby ‘n volheid wat gietswart

verhelder, verby ‘n ryk

verlede, ver verby ‘n hart…

tot jou oor een nag in die wentelbaan

haar maantaal hoor en haar glorie verstaan

Deur: Tanita Da Silva

YOUTH CATEGORY:

Lukhanyo Gwebityale

Zu Rayday Fortuin

Jamie Davids

Mothibedi Sefatsa

Danelle Snyman

Olana Zilwa

Zindi van Zyl

Emihle Sigidi

Lida Jansen