Poem: Beautiful Mistake

I'm gonna embrace you

Even though you're wrong

I'm going to make the

Beautiful mistake 

Of colliding with your body

In the daytime

And in the middle of the night

I'm gonna let you

Take over me

Like a shadow of the alps

Over the earth below

As the sun sets behind it

I'm gonna let you

Change colours on me

And repaint me

Like i'm your muse

I'm gonna be at your disposal

In the name of youth

And for the sake of a thrill

I'm gonna be your teenage dream

Making you scream my name

With your fingers 

Walking through my head

Like a clan of warriors

Across grassy plains

I'm gonna give you a 

Reason to remember my name

Forever

©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2013

Poem: To The Words in My Head- Raeez Jacobs

I can't find the words

My world's gone weird

Momentarily

I thought you reappeared

And set my bed ablaze

With light followed

By sparks 

Made my heart ricochet 

After all the times i called

The nights i read your name in prayer

And gave up everything

So that i could have you

Or a little piece of you

You came like the war

I was never prepared for

Held me by a gasp

And took my breath away

Stunned and impassioned me 

My lips quivered to live in the shadow of the lips you pouted

In my world with the sun setting

In the scotch whiskey air

You gave me dreams 

And all i desired was the touch of your hand

And now i have you

And that i'm  yet to understand. 

©RaeezJacobs.Poetry. 2013

Poem: The War of Words

The War of Words -  Raeez Jacobs

The words flew from everywhere

Adjectives from stray storm clouds

Rattled our tops as we made our way

Hurtling from the raging water canyons

Coming down like dragons cast out of heaven

Metaphors alluding to defilement

Came up whenever it could

And juxtapositions were made

Giving the enemy just the right amount of wind to cause great paroxysms 

In a place where such sentiments weren't  even imbibed yet

Where composition of closely-related summarywas narrated 

Not where descrption was experienced, profound, and institutionalized by deplorable jargon that always begged to differ

There where all the innuendos,

 the negative antecedents,

and the hypocrisy is housed

Chaos couldn't describe

The riots surging from our minds to our hearts

And back, continuously

Like warriors stampeding close to a target they had long been waiting to assault 

We hid wherever no words manged to fall

Usually crammed together

Trying to undetstand what characteristic common amongst us could appear so grotesque to them

Why all the hate?

We slurped on each other's tears

Fearing our extinction

Recalling old times when childhood would be perfect to not being able to feel what the heart didn'tknow yet

 

But the words sauntered through gaps and crevices

On the backs of ghost snakes

Whose venom would manipulate us

To give away  ourselves

In exchange for becoming,

Not even just like others,

But becoming them to their core

What for? 

©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2013

Poem: Melody from Beyond

all the altercations snake their way up
rising in twirls, excited as smoke
moving towards the periphery of the cup
around which your lips go perched
sealing off the last words e'er your voice hath spoke
and the soliloquy faces all but just smirked
hanging dust-made tapestry about the air
some of 'em dirt stupor gets entwined in your hair
there's no face slashing open 'cross the dawn
by every recurring incessant darkness you buck and mourn
emaciated to the Egyptian skin of your bone
morose and near some decrepit state of ash
you leave yourself alone
entombed in the derogatory situation, devoid of cash
without a currency, bereft of value
see how eyes and dreams have defiled you
none novice creations gleam in your stride
playing a million dizzying rounds of Jekyll and Hide
waiting on some revelation or some ulterior significance
heart-closed to your widespread malevolence
with your own expression mocked in the enrapturing flames
praying they'll remember you by at least
one of your many names
erstwhile they become oblivious to your disposition
thinking in alternate patterns of consciousness
you forget how it was you who urged the superstition
by which you are disbelieved and tossed about the malice

- Raeez Jacobs

Poem: Felong of The Soul

Felony of the Soul 

desecrated, left-in the masses of the shadows you breathed
falling through the crevices you pulled open with your savaged hands
watching your smile melt like unfortunate currencies, killing all that survives in you too
glancing at physical karma bring down the frame of a picture that thought it owned its beauty
a picture that never once acknowledged its maker- gleaming before their eyes, radiating artistic lies
of a past that it had never lived through
of a heart it struggled to sustain heart, of a heart it hardened through some spite and loneliness-
leaning toward being coined a psychological monstrosity
falling and getting looked at all at once, and watching the ground shy away from the dirt of his fall
feeling in its dwindling heartbeats what rejection feels like for the very time
thinking then only in his despair of the day he committed that "silly little romantic crime."
but you insisted on arriving afterwards, painting the world sepia and black, eloping from time.

©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2013

Best Thing I (Should Never) Ever Had

Best Thing I (Should Never) Ever Had

that sunrise makes itself
apparent,

'remember that silver cloud?'

the voice breaks through
the already-shattered window
but first dances in the billowing-tube
of the wind-dancing curtain

making it sound so far-away, far-off,
as if its arriving through a century
of discombobulated traffic and space

my hands meet my temples
the gods are alive in my eyes
and those written letters never-sent
rise in the grains of wisdom
spilling from the ego that had long pushed me
the one that said, 'relent makes you look mistaken'
the one whose foot fell in front
of all the tombs I wanted to melt into

I know two things in this state
i know more than s'posed to me                                maybe
i should
less than i do
maybe i should listen 'stead o'know
maybe i that way i could help you go,

'No, I don't remember those silver clouds.' I mutter
and to that you would take off,
like an emotional kite into the night you lived trying to avoid
into the night we used to talk about; that made your skin crawl
and your eyes water like prophets, the night that was the dooms day
of our union-

'Maybe,' I'll add.
'If you promise me this one thing,
maybe just maybe, I won't 'em you
were the one who led me to bask
in the manila fold of your soul- in your furcula
of sin- tell 'em you bred the lie,
and I'll remember that cloud, boo.'

©Raeez Jacobs. Poetry. 2013.

Thoughts, and Unorthodox Hearts I

Thoughts and Unorthodox Hearts I

You have outdone yourself again

virile, tempering with whichever organs you can

as if you've grasped my twisted veins, my anatomy

as if you think you got a hold of me

tugging at my shoulders and pulling on my hours

defending your own ego, soliciting your powers

rising out the crack i made form

subject of illusion- embedded in the deception you deem a norm

graduating from the things i taught you

proving i was right though false, and all you wanted came true

falling from your eyes into your hands  and shaking them to their virtue

some wicked benevolence that would become our point of view

there’s nothing left to figure out, no more colours left to paint you

like a beast you’re eating at the hearts

that beat in the shadow of your soul

and drinking down the souls who make pilgrimages in your name-

burns your incense and coal

the aftermath of your love bursts into hellish flames

sweet adjectives die as i try to describe you by those names

language itself has escaped from your cavity of speech

hanging from your disorder, on the periphery of repentance border, with saints outta reach

the last sermon in the word you hold dear is yours to preach

of your lacerations, guilt, and how you were defiled and misguided

growing into who you had turned out to be in the world you say they conspired

you said your ex burst like a firework the minute you walked away

some intended story of loss that would make me stay

and i sat in the fold of your shadow, head against your arm till night became day

oblivious to the curses flying like winged blood cells through your core

if only it were possible that each heart had its own door

i’d never make it known that i stood behind my own, eyes to the scarlet floor

awaiting some promise, expecting something better than i know

willing to go wherever the music and the beautiful things go

falling into your unorthodox dispositions

laying in the wait of your prolonged decisions

regretting harder than a god who created a devil about his people

chewing the ashes of, and tasting the bitterness of literal evil

i’ve misled myself by this, spreadeagled at the foot of some steep hill

with tomorrow at the top, today at the centre, and yesterday on the ground

in a cube of silence, deaf to my own words, only my breaths and heartbeats make a sound

i can hear how nervous i am, i can hear the sound of nothing

breaking against the silence like if a spectre ever had to sing

i glance toward my sides and see the world you’ve left me in

and think of the things i had dreamed of, the placed i wished i had seen

and you were my binoculous not my guide

walking within your step, not right by your side

taking in the world through your eyes

as if when we merged we metamorphosed to smaller floating skies

looking down upon all the things that mean little to what we wan’t

though as the moon emerges behind a lone cloud of grey

i feel my weight dwindle down and my wings have gone away

and i fall but you still hang in the clouds with a smirk about your facade

aghast by your unorthodox eyes and heart, hitting the ground twice as hard

with nothing left to console myself by

no answer in the book, to the question why

and some unorthodox history, by which to remember you and i

 ©Raeez Jacobs. Poetry, 2013. 

[Poem] If We Had It

We heard the sounds call out
they came from the night
-screams, scratches, shrills
and ghost-like whisper winds

we were growing impatient
our hearts yawned like sighs
and died down like flames
in the morning

      after the rain

we chewed our fingers
like cherry rosaries
it was never our intention
the angst lived on
they put up with the pretension-
the rise of incessant deception

and we were scared
for a while            at least
on the backs of our phobias
in the heart of our minds
losing it
losing enough of it

to know

we didn't have it all

©RaeezJacobs. 2013. Poetry

[Poem] Toffee Skinned Goddess

Six-legged, nine arms

a goddess stuffed through

a dazzlig cincture

one-eyed in your shrine

choking on the brine

swirling like the twist

of a ballerina with sharp points

in the metro of your throat

jerking like a wind-smacked

postal pole with all your scarlet

letters turning upward like a UFO

and then raining down on you

like festive confetti

returned to sender

the repeat offender

calpable bender

with a little bit of she

in your masculinity

your skin is made of toffee

shining like vanilla floors when the

sun hits the windowpane

there ain’t no virgil going down

up your alley in your temple

but you feel the flame

feel the burn

as the torrent makes folds

and bangles of your loose

skin

you can’t grow accustomed

to the feeling

and your ears deafen

as you eavesdrop on the

screeching conversation between

your bone and your pulled muscle

that tear each other to shreds

while you try catch the drops of

confetti but they slip through

your fingers and disappear in the

palm of your hand

 ©RaeezJacobs. Poetry. 2012

in between the silence

You break my heart
and then keep quiet

you used to be a king
with your horses and your castle
you used to rule
over the land of my soul
you made me feel whole
you were the keeper
keys in your pocket
my photo in your locket
my image in your head
you used to love
as i was the best thing
you ever had

now

you break my heart
and then keep quiet

©RaeezJacobs.2012.Poetry

[Poem] Where the winds rape the shell

She wakes to the sound of nothing;

yet today, the world is her only song-

to which she- lone heart as a once-boat,

must travel beyond her path.

The Gods delude her, though even

she is excited by

their seasons, and how they force the tide

to reach a high, outside the window; where the winds rape the shell.

She speaks in one voice only; the tongue of the seas-

the mermaid upon the sand, like a goddess.

It is the feel of the town, and the breath of the

city through which her eyes

kiss the dawn.

-Raeez Jacobs

©Raeez Jacobs. 2012

[POEM] bangle Theory

-my decrepit state is an art form, and 
I will always allow myself colour; 
Bursts of laughter, toasts, 
Sex, and hope, in all that would come afterwards. 
I couldn't always cling to it, 
They say, the hands of a poet 
Is numbed, 
When the bangles of misery 
Begin wrapping themselves 
'Round the tattooed arms of youth. 
I still seek the truth, 
And lend myself to his jargon- 
Pretending to understand, 
Pretending to know; 
Keeping up the appearance, of someone 
Whose eyes, have a view of their head, 
While really, I know so little, 
That my bones crack whenever 
Knowledge jumps at me, 
From the pages of his biography. 
And secretly, I buck violently- 
Corner-to-corner, like a stone 
Underneath a floor, trembling by some vibration. 
And sometimes I even cry more than 
An appalled god, whose hair 
Was cut by his angels; whose followers 
Turned their heads, 
Whose heaven suddenly 
Became so earth, he had to stoop. 
I was a child of his parenthood, 
Taking baby steps, 
And tryin'a convince myself 
That, I will supersede 
The bangles of misery, 
By turning my tears into art.
         
                                                                  -Raeez Jacobs

© Raeez Jacobs. 2012. 

A night of poetry: book launch

Reading my poems, and others, in the 16th Edition of, Botsotso Literary Journal

Literary Journal, Botsotso, edition 16 cover

Oh so very New York, or London, of Johannesburg, to shower us with snow; coinciding with the highly anticipated launch of, prominent and striving, South African literary journal, Botsotso16. My own heart had been overcome with much delight, as the evening drew near. Melville was filled, for what was, arguably, one of the coldest nights, of the 2012 winter season. News of heavy snow storms were making headlines, across the country, and every single social feed- from Twitter to BBM- showed the reaction, from Joburgers; following the heavy snow. Yet, there I sat; a little too preoccupied, with attending the book launch, in which two of my poems, would be included, than to be fussed over the snowfall. Elation is not a strong enough adjective, to describe exactly, what I felt; no other synonym thereof, would suffice either.

So much to smile about

One of the poems, on Page 66

Nadia and I, looking rather panache, before launch.

The inside of the quaint, Cafe De La Creme, right next door to, Book Lovers, on the iconic; 7th Ave (or 7de Laan, rather) began to quickly fill, with poets, poet enthusiasts, and photographers, as my friend's and I walked in; a little later than the expected time of commencement. The man, I presumed, was the MC, had already made several announcements, and later, summoned us, to front row seats. Though I was unable to spend the entire evening at the launch, while there, I did get to listen, to some of the most beautiful pieces of prose, and poetry alike. Everything was genuine, yet still surreal, and for a while, I became rather overwhelmed, and walked out, for some fresh air.

With my doll and everything more, Chanelle, at the launch

INSIDE: Sophiatown Cafe. Pre-launch coffee.

It was exactly as I had always imagined it; the people, their expressions, clothes, and even the ambiance, were in line, with what I had long associated, book launch's with. Mostly, I was thrilled to have two of my closest friends, Nadia and Chanelle, right there with me. Their support will always mean the world to me. Later, I chatted with the editor, Allan, who also handed me a complimentary copy, of his very own anthology; There are two birds at my Window, before encouraging me to continue, submitting work to Botsotso.

POEM EXTRACT:Forever Young

Still afraid of everythin' around,

Closing our ears to every sound-

Can't hear 'em tell their daddies go,

Or hear 'em singing without any flow,

Or those ideas of drunk fortune, building lies

Without wiping tears from our eyes.

All the rebel theory, Bob Marley

Philosophy- you and then me,

And the death of detentioon,

Live in our souls, because we are deep holes;

Fillin' up with some black suspicion,

All our lives are based on supersition.

Forever young, toy boys kickin'

Laughter through the day,

Forever young, sweet-eye, lollipop lady,

Turning some of 'em eyes to clay.

Dressed like misunderstood icons,

Singin' all the war songs;

The bombs burstin' in air,

Giving proof, through the clouds,

That our flag is still there...

Forever young, always jittery and island-eyed,

So young forever, way after time died,

And we all will live as if we really tried.

We'll say, the Star Spangled Banner still waves,

Ever watching the ramparts; still in the land of the free,

Forever young, you and me,

In this city of little kisses, and too much bliss,

Where the streets go leading 'em astray,

All is lost and forgotten in one day,

But there'll still be a museam of eternity,

Around all losing against the glare of infinity,

Because we don't want, so much as we wish and feel,

Not for the beauty before us; for the turnin' wheel;

Twistin' and turnin' through space,

Inside god's face,

Wishin' we could just run this place.

Some random hour, and a cigarette bites the night,

Without a heart in sight;

Just some laboratory babe, clad in white,

Secrety fooled, intentionally betrayed,

By some wild-head, ripped stunner,

Who has just never ever stayed.


© Copyright. 2012. Raeez Jacobs.


NB. [Rest of poem cannot be included, for reasons of; exclusivity and copyright, since it is currently under consideration, with a Johannesburg journal of literature.]

That Doll in the Window

I’m a pitied, dysfunctional, wound-up doll in a window;

Afraid to think of the many things my still mind doesn’t know,

With my attention sucked into the state I’ve been cast,

Bereft of any memories indicating clues to my past

They come to see me, day in and day out,

With their eyes dancing about my mismatched suit

While I invisibly cry to the revilements they shout;

Accusing me of having once lived the life of a brute,

It’s no wonder my life prevails in mute.

                                       - Raeez Jacobs

© Copyright. 2012. Raeez Jacobs

You're not a Poet, and you know it!

Poets are often viewed as the "eccentric", otherwise emotionally attached personalities, walking about silently, just looking for some inspiration...in everything. However, being a poet myself, the definition of the poet by the description above, is completely misconstrued, as a poet is not a particular kind of person; a poet is the soul of the person, and the writer merely transcribes from the soul- verbatim. Maybe I can't offer a better explanation, and maybe other poets or poetry enthusiasts have a different definition for what a poet is, but I know that I feel very much comfortable with the definition I've presented, and I aver that poetry, to me, is all about being able to express yourself without feeling shame nor any bout of guilt; a true poet will expose even the most grotesque contours of their psyche and spirit, however many times they may disguise it by witty puns or metaphors. The point is; poets are fearless people who want to confront and grapple with, they want to understand, break down and construct, simultaneously. 

Over the years I have fallen in love with the works of many a gifted poets and I have even been similarly inspired them; though not always by their verses, but sometimes merely from their drive and will to open up, even in the most closeted form. Poets such as; Theresa Davis and Patricia Smith are two African American poets with the rhythm and verbosity to ravish me, while Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde are the kind who offer an alternative view of their emotions, using different literary techniques, mostly understood through intensive discourse and analysis. There's a voice in each poem and I usually fall in love with a poem, or resonate well with it when I've actually understood what the poem is at least trying to convey- and when I say, "I understood," I am merely referring to ones ability to feel moved or touched by the verse and relate it back to your own present, past or future life, and in no way does understanding here entail, dissecting a poem, word-for-word; digging for hyperbole's here and metaphors there. 

Below are two videos from the American, articulate and witty poet, Shira Erlichman, whose poems I have come to learn of and love through searching thousands of poetry slam videos on YouTube. When I first heard Shira, most enthusiastically and passionately reciting her poem; Daddy's Parking Lot Sermon, I was instantaneously enthralled by her and have since gone on to include her in my Top Ten list of favourite poets. (Yes, I do actually have such a list). Her verses come with a twist; a difference from the norm, and are filled with the propensity to send the the imagination reeling. She is well articulated and exhibits a deathless confidence, which only adds ease to her works, meaning that her poems leave a lasting impression and are anything but of ephemeral quality. 

I've uploaded two videos of Shira Erlichman performing at two different events below, as I would like for you to see for yourself, just how much of an intriguing character she is, while at the same time, opening the doors in your heart and ears to imbibe the crisp nature of her work. I've also included a video of Patricia Smith, renowned African American poet, known for her calm recitals and her royal selection of imagery and personality within her poems. I have personally met with Patricia Smith, at a book launch and recital at Wits, and a while later she read one of my poems; proceeding to commend and compliment me, and since then I've just never been discouraged, because being called great by Patricia Smith in 2010, is just as great as it would have been getting called great by Shakespeare during the 1600s.

Enjoy.

Above: Erlichman performing her poem, Daddy's Parking Lot Sermon

Above: Performing, Six Tips for Straight Girls, at The Boston Poetry Slam

Patricia Smith performing, Blood Dazzler 

REMINDER: Botsotso16 Book Launch

Just a reminder, for anyone who might have already forgotten- the Botsotso16 Journal launch will take place on the 7 August 2012 at 17:30 for 18:00, in the enchanting Melville; 7 Ave (Cafe De La Creme) 

The night will feature recitals by other poets, and room for socializing, and meeting new, like-minded people. Two of my poems are being printed in the published journal, and I've been invited, as a contributing poet, to come, and receive my two complimentary issues, and recite one of the poems published. 

For more information, please click here 

What a Wonderful LAUNCH

On August 2012, 17:30pm for 18h00, Botstotso Literary Journal will be launching their 16th edition, printed journal, in which TWO of MY poems have been included! I am so excited and really looking forward to reciting as the launch, and meeting all the other published poets. Come through if you're interested, and share in this great moment with me!

NEW: Poem (Unwelcome Season)

Unwelcomed Season

You left the door

Ajar, in a half-hearted hug

To welcome

The sauntering

Chill of winter

Inside the dorm,

Consecrated by a former

Inferno,

Inside where I lay

Reminded of the year-long

Lengths

Within each and

Every day,

You left the door,

Ajar, in a manner most

Appropriate

Of those deemed

Imbecilic by our class

Whose actions

We fail

By strict attention

To our own regard

Of one another

And the accord

With the poems

Inscribed

Onto the

Gleaming

Sword,

You left the chill

To ice

The heat

Once circled

About our reclined postures

And our upward feet,

Freezing over

The exchange

Of words

Most gentle to the ear,

The songs willed to hear,

Played by the bands

Of union

Not about our fingers;

But invisibly roped

Around our bodies

Tighter than

The clasp

Of motherhood

To a son sent forth

To manhood,

Or the emotion

Within an empty

Cup after

Having granted

Thirst

To its last,

And only pair

Of lips chapped

By conditions

Most surreal and unknown,

You my love, had left

The door open

Inside my infernal dorm

Where all had been kept warm;

Even the memories

And the items upon the walls,

Just like me

Had unusually

Assumed some peculiar form,

Unexplainable even

By the word

Given in utter declaration

By the obscured mirror,

My love let the heat

Remain about my feet

While I accompany my comfort

Seated upon this chair

With orbs floating about my hair,

Keep your presence in

The testimony of that mild inferno

So that the cold remains

Stranger to all the beauty

In the this world

We know,

And

The shooting stars

At our luck-dependent glows

So suddenly through the night, hurled

To the moon and back,

Not as you

Have now,

From spite

Inserted before your grin

 A glare I had never

Yet clinked my glass of gin

To,

For now

This is that sin

Growing at your face,

Causing the cold to

Land death bites upon my neck

And occult marks along my back,

Shy of our romance

The cold is your pretence;

Leaving the door

Ajar

To let it in

As you would

A guest of foreign descent

Arriving by horse and cart,

The murky hands of winter

To freeze my emotion,

Perhaps of the idea

That I may

Dance to the cavalier

After the

Fury of cold’s entire day,

But I assure you

From the part of me,

Most known to your eye

Such an act,

Would be the reason

I mysteriously die,

And in the wake of night,

Wrapped in the arms of desolation,

Seeking closure

Shaking about as a clown on edge,

The question why,

Would leave you demented

Upon a precarious hedge, until

You too wish to close your inquisitive eye

Fold your arms, and die.

-Raeez Jacobs

©Raeez Jacobs. 2012. All Rights Reserved