Thursday, 19 July 2012


I am a very active artist who loves her job. 
I lick my fingers and swoon after dipping them into a variety of pies. For more information about what I do aside from the musings on this blog, take a look at my other ventures. for life as an artist in this climate is varied and more multifaceted than even I could imagine. Keep up to up to date at

Wednesday, 13 June 2012

Busi Mhlongo is one of the most powerful women I have met. She was a giant on stage. In 2000, very early in my poetry writing career, I was lucky enough to be asked to contribute a poem her internationally acclaimed album Urbanzulu.
 The Track itself is epic and seemed to call for and epic poem - on that was declamatory and rousing.


Poem by Zena Edwards©  
There are problems in every home: Oh my people!
Family was the core of the heart's security and sense of belonging. 

Can you now look to your neighbour for help 
When the family pillar begins to chip and crumble? No! 
They too wear a mask of strained false contentment 
But cry for solutions to family troubles. 

Thursday, 24 May 2012

Tweet Poem - #smug

So what u want with me now? I ask Insomnia.
Nuffin. Jus to watch u twitch & fidget, 
Muck about on the internet & call it "research." 

Written by Zena Edwards©

The Perpetual Winter

Where do I begin?
Where do I place the pin
As the starting point to express
This state of paralysis?
Ice crystals wedged between
each each frightened vertebrae
I am inflexible. Today.

They marched for Trayvon.
We marched for Smiley.
The wind blew around our ears
Outside the yard.

They marched for Amina
We marched for Cherry
The water froze under
Our feet. We wore grippers.

Coughed up an ocean of Middle Passage sea salt
to melt the season
But the wind blew colder
So the thaw needed to be bolder
So we read Huey P, Malcom X, Hurston, Stokley
Whose hot words burst the river bank

Then the winter closed ranks
Horizontal sleet cuts
Marking trees across new backs
In the bellies of police vans
And out on the open road
The new frontier, the explicit cold

Written by Zena Edwards©

Saturday, 28 April 2012

Tweet Poems - # PeaceIn OurTime

Wen sanity weeps 
like a slick succession of roaches 
slippin thru a rip in humanitys skin, 
Great Minds coagulate round the wound of unreason

2 blot the bleeding with Diplomacy 
b4 She was kidnapped & gagged 
& could use both hands 2 stem the flow,
b4 politics tied 1 behind her back

& told her 2 row 2 the grassy bank of freedom 
knowing her boat wud only go in circles,
barnacles of conflict crusting its hull.

As the ripples distort the mirror
broken refractions of light
fall like pieces of a confused puzzle.

Come the Great Minds 2 still the water  

to mend the vista of magic
to exhale words in the order of reparation
to shepherd the chaos to calm
to halt the tumult 4 a moment's respite
to ensure we do not fear the well of silences to come

Saturday, 17 March 2012

tweet poems - #goodquestion

There's room. Snuggle up, sed imagination. 
They sed this womb can hold more than Life. 
What's more than Life? asked the child. 

Monday, 5 March 2012

tweet poems - #OutofRehab

It promised 2b spectacular! 
All fireworks, tinsel 
Bright coloured streamers
Each nervy step on2 the stage: 
an everyday

Zena Edwards© March 2012 

Saturday, 3 March 2012

Truth Hertz

I call upon Truth
Let your Self be known.

Do not hold your hungry tongue.

Truth, bear Witness
Offspring of Justice
Fathered by what is
Mothered by that which will always be.

Truth, principled whisperer of potent prayers
Pregnant as an overdue season
guaranteed to have its ripening.

Truth, monstrous ocean vexed by toxic lies,
Sucking lightening from the sky
In a clash, a mighty war
for the souls of humanity.

Truth! You are summoned
To shatter me with your song
Expose the right from wrong.

Blaring as your scream may be,
Ravage me.
Glaring beast, do your worst!

You might rip the lids from my eyes
Shred my lips so I cannot deny
Burst my ear drum, tear at my skin
Strip me to my bone, but
All illusions must be razed to the ground

I open my heart.
I let you in.

I stand firm 
in the roar of your electric wind.

Written by Zena Edwards©. March 3rd, 2012

Friday, 2 March 2012


Life told me to run on the elixir of the wind
Don’t look back. Everyone will be fine.
Stay on my toes. Keep my arms pumping.
Keep giving the heart new blood.

I told Life but I cannot see the ground now.
It said you do not need to.
You have no business with it this day.
This one is for imagining.

Zena Edwards© 2012

Thursday, 1 March 2012

tweet poems - #temptation

The suck the pull the lure the open door
ajar enuff 4 muffled sound & dim lite 2 spill.
The gaping need 2 kno must b fulfilled

Zena Edwards© 2012 

tweet poems - #unsolvedmurder

He listens 2 th grass grow, 
bugs legs tangle in their blades, 
worms munch @ decibels. 
He waits 4 a quiet tht wont eva come

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Wednesday, 29 February 2012

Tweet Poems - #TheSincerestFormOfFlattery

U grabbed my words 
the moment they left my lips, 
made me pair of wings 
I could fly the distance with.

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Sunday, 26 February 2012

Tweet Poems - #FallingInLove Pt 1

is the Ultimate Muse. 
The blood and the bruises are the war wounds 
from engaging in battle with Creativity. 

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Thursday, 23 February 2012

Tweet Poems - #Flirting

He took my temperature by w th creativity of a plank.
Wud have preferd if he'd left the tree in 1 piece,
left the leaves 2 rustle

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Tweet Poems - #NotOfLikeMinds

Ur words r either lead or flotsam: dense sunken cynicism 
or forgettable debris of plagarised helium 
My #TimeIsShort mafren

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Monday, 20 February 2012

Tweet poems - #Tattoos

She sed u not only commit this image 2 ur skin,
u document ur ability 2 make choices made from voices within.
B sure 2 listen well

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Tweet Poems - #Untitled

Love: if its put where its appreciated
u'll c a return

If not, it'll be a breeze
smellin of bread bakin
perplexin those that missed the offerin

Zena Edwards© 2012 

Thursday, 16 February 2012

Estar - The Star of Creativity Pts 1, 2 & 3

I was commissioned to write a piece in 3 parts about creativity and its holistic value in the community for the Arts and cultural building Podium Mozeik in the Netherlands for their 5th birthday.

Haytham Safia - U’d
Peter Prommel - Percussion

Thursday, 9 February 2012

"What the guide told me", a poem - Haiti revisited

"She is still here," said the guide,
points to the girl a short distance away.
The naive nuance of her laugh
travels on the scent of the insouciant breeze
A friend was braiding her hair. Then
she stops. Playfulness halted by a rigid chill . 
The skinny friends big eyes blink slow, 
enough breath space for incredible memory to be made real 
then she hugs her shoulders
wipes her face. They do not see
me watching.

There are no locks.
There was no knock,
just a hiss 
as the venom slid under
her mouth mashed 
by hot palm
her tongue 
in her belly now
"No!"exploding - 
shards - pinned 
under fathoms of poison
passing into her
stripping innocence from her bones.

A malignancy lingers,
a ringing residue, a hum that numbs the passing of that night.
It died a mournful death in a culture which celebrates
greetings from ancestors, who wait with a blanket
and sweet water in clay bowls.
A sad crossing from girlhood to womanhood,
a yard before her third menstruation,
a story away from joyous excitement
of her full blossoming.
Image source: Dangerous Camps. Click to go to article
"She is in the camp still. She has no-one, but she is brave."

The teeth went deep, 
the injection was clinical-
the venom clings.
The buff of a waterfall from free flowing virtuous rivers
over vertiginous ridges 
won't scourer her clean,
but the children will still play and women reason
rubbing suds and laundry on the rocks.

Her smile has returned - the soft measured plosives
of a friends careful words burst her absorption.
The skinny girl pecks her forehead,
returns attention to her hair.

And so it goes, till when she's ready
to release: grey stillness, intermittent flares of light - blaze.
She fights back the scent of semen - a chemical burn
on her virginity - the stain that spoiled a vista
of fresh vestal verdancy, now a wizened rainforest
on the broken belt of the coast seen from the satellite
of intermittent disembodiment

"It could be anyone.
The epidemic is spreading,
no one is safe these days."

"What is the antidote?" I say out loud.

"No one knows
yet. But the women have strong spines here."

written By Zena Edwards©

Written in response to the shocking reports of the rape epidemic in the settlements camps post the January 12th, 2012 Haiti earthquake.

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