Deem.lit.org

18/11/2022

It has been two solid years since the last offering. After the sabbatical, the Author of Murder Me comes with another title on his wrist, Gangaidzo ramazwi launching on the 25th of November LitFest Harare.

27/02/2021

Wilson Tinotenda Waison: Author THE MARECHERA IN ME© Wilson Waison® 2020 As I lay, striving to get my mind off the day’s memory, I feel the itching blizzard blowing in from the fu***ng window…

17/11/2020

12/06/2020

A LONE NIGHT
© Wilson Tinotenda Waison
®2020

To resume...
I am picking from a wrotten orchard
Bitter fruits to ease these hunger pangs.
Guts itching from the laceration
Hunger egged, lips cracking it's rim
And as I draw the twins back
in memory of a smile,
Blood ooze from the crevices
Saturating the taste bud with a sour taste.

I lay gentle
And await eschatology to claim the remains
Drinking from a bottle of anxiety
To get wasted in that state of uncertainty
And hope is a jinxed fate far fetched
Cracking loud farts from empty bellies
On a lone night

Lowlifediarist

21/05/2020

bring back my sanity

03/05/2020

Get your copy

Wilson Tinotenda Waison is a Zimbabwean writer. He is studying Mass communication with the institute of Harare Polytechnic. MURDER ME is his first poetry collection which is a dark satire of the sociopolitical and economic situations faced daily by the generality in Zimbabwe. The book fosters an intense gloomy atmosphere that vividly and ironically question much on the governance of the country in question which is Zimbabwe...

The book will be officially launched in June. And pre-orders can be placed to purchase the poetry anthology.

06/04/2020

© Wilson Waison
Let me die from its rage
I am no Lab rat which finds jolly from the syringe
I am also human, I see no colour lest it's red...
For we all drip blood when hurt. Bring back my sanity
Liberate me from this syndrome, slash global cooperation
Playing us like a solitaire, African mental manipulation

05/04/2020

Black no beauty Black is no beauty, It is displaced light that eggs darkness An evil, ill-omened that is gloomy It is not colorful yet its hue is violent. It...

27/03/2020

Poetry heals me when depressed, I seek comfort in my craft and for the past month I been working on a new form of a sestet which is unique and different from the usual Italian sestet.

A sestet is the name given to the second division of an Italian sonnet, which must consist of an octave, of eight lines, succeeded by a sestet, of six lines. The first documented user of this poetical form was the Italian poet, Petrarch. In the usual course the rhymes are arranged abc abc,

However my new craft rhymes with abcd ee, it has only the couplet which rhymes with ee.

1© Wilson Waison
This life is bitter
licking spoils of the revolution from the gutters
rich bastards ignoring our plight yet we irrigate
their plantation with bloody tears.
Can't we fight? To resist these dogs in black boots
Unleashed on us, breaking our backs, strained roots

In hopes to cement this form, I am writing a book entitled MURDER ME POETRY ANTHOLOGY which will only comprise of my sestet form.

Expect more in my forthcoming book...

24/03/2020

© Wilson Waison
I am an orphan!
Breast fed from a savaged ni**le
which secreted dry milk...
Suckling in turns of bitter truth;
Yet Escatology claimed most all that matter
And left me holding on a patched reality.

I never knew her cuddle,
But memories of those whom knew her
Gave sweet sensation
of a mother keen like an eagle.
A resemblance of a diva I longed to perceive,
Beauty that failed man from the West and East.

Told of her glorious maze in vain
How even the Queen could claim her own
But her demise came too soon,
too early as a catastrophe, devoid of love
I never knew her caress, coerced by the foster
And raised as a bastard in her courtyard.

I believe in her sepulcher she mourn
Crying dry tears from my groan
Finding this life an itch, yet she will never
resurect unlike Jesus she was a mortal...
Three decades past longing for liberty
To be fred from these chains, enslaved by sire.

Wilson Tinotenda Waison is a Zimbabwean writer, page poet...

07/03/2020

POEM LIST
 Toxic love
 Be patient with yourself
 To the lady…
 How long are..  Practice what you want to see
 Nobody owes you anything
 When I tell you
 Be content with what you have
 My first love
 When he told me to go home
 You rejected your self first
 That is how you want to die
 Let go
 Be yourself darling
 Stock home syndrome
 I cut myself
 Order and chaos
 What are we fitting into
 Remember to love
 Wake up
 To the s*x manger
 Sorry not sorry
 There are times I wish
 To the man
 When we make love
 the approved manner
 These demons

07/03/2020

NOTES ON AUTHOR
Duduetsang B. Pearl Ntebang is a poet from the outskirts of
Moshupa, Botswana. A contemporary poet heralding her
concerns in her native language{English}. She is a decorated
spoken word artist, iconic motivational figure in the circle of art. Born in 1998, on 21
st of July. The first in a family of two. She
is currently undertaking her degree in early childhood
development.

29/12/2019

Title: The cactus flower
Poet : Osman Shato Mbindi

In that flower pot
There is a thick fog of smoke from within,
Do not ever think the cactus flower tholes
Wilts nor weeps
But it rather sucks life from the dark
Like the lush tree in the blue valley.
Unfortunately,
Only the black worm wriggles
On the bottom- walls of red clay
It groans and dances wild on glowing charcoal
With a roaming grey soul
weary of the "might".

29/12/2019

*On Loop*

Sleep in dark
Evade hell
Reality nightmares
Where dreams becomes fantasy
Worth staying under

For her words
Boils within my eardrums
Stabbing my soul with pains
As she pours her acid

But still stuck to the desire of heart
Yelling to be saved
Though unwilling to move

Mr T Mandie

29/12/2019

Burn the books

The sky's gigantic nose wept rain
Upon the co**se of the dead darkness
That clothed the unruly fateful night
Soaking through earth's dirty underwear.

We were never where we were, hurriedly, scuttling to the depths of Nowhere
As the rain flooded our moist minds
Washing us to the shores of our own existence.

The febrile night stared at our tiny feet,
Young lads lost in the forest of doubts
Weeping like skeletons in their graves
For a chance to burn all the books-
That taught the mind to doubt all things

Tafadzwa Lemuel Chiwanza

29/12/2019

As 2019 demise, Deem.lit.org is grateful to have managed to make a successful project.

Regards to the following contributors.
Mbizo Chirasha, Pusetso Lame, Wilson Waison, Gorata Ntshwabi, Edward Dzonze, Ashley Swiiss, Phodiso Modirwa, Nancy Ndeke, Andrew Huje, James Coburn, Takunda Gurure, Collen Gaga, Emely Makwasha, Gerry Sikazwe, Prosper Kavunika, Mable Chama

28/11/2019

As we celebrate the 16 days of GBV, let also the voice and the plight of the boy child be perceived.

17/10/2019

Contemporary poetry. Get a copy of sores.

Andrew Huje belongs to a new generation of Zimbabwean poets who are reinvigorating colonial English, returning to it a power reminiscent of the muscular style of the so-called Metaphysical poets of 17th century England. I make this comparison because there is something paradoxically archaic in their diction, echoes of an enforced British education, echoes not rejected but assimilated or panel-beaten, or both, as in these lines from Huje’s poem ‘Robbed’:
A catapulted stone hit my head,
Shut my brains and took my life a little,
Now I’m fallen as a grave….

In the majority of these poems there is a refreshing return (never a retreat) to domestic issues, the details, universally shared, of private lives – the joys and the woes:
You are the phoenix that always resurrects in me;
A corner shop I do not forget;
You are the sunset that cleans troubling winds.

Kudos to poets like Andrew Huje who are in the vanguard of escorting Zimbabweans away from the divisiveness of colonialism and nationalism.

JOHN EPPEL, ZIMBABWE.

17/10/2019

Fiction writers its yet another chance to explore and explode with Whitepage.

30/07/2019

Evolutionary greetings to you all, REFLECTIONS is the project the team is working on yet to publicly publish in November this year.

Its a poetry serie, based on open theme and free page, the idea being the base of heralding different concerns from different voices. The book consist of more that 15 established poets and a few undergrounds whom both have done justice to the call.

Editors note: Wilson Waison
I am humbled and grateful to co-edit together with my team this delightful anthology of poems. With special thanks to Mbizo Chirasha and Andrew Huje for being the pilots of the project. On behalf of .lit.org I am very proud to have also Ashley Swiiss as one of our gest editors.

Contributors List:

James Coburn
Edward Dzonze
Collen Gaga
Emely Makwasha
Takunda Gurure
Kondwani Sichali
Andrew Huje
Mbindi Osman
Mbizo Chirasha
Muchakwa Tatenda
Nancy Ndeke
Sydney Saize
Mandhla Mavoluwane
Tynoe Wilson
Tinotenda Tavengwa
Prosper Kavunika

In November the book will be done, expect a good read
www.deemliteratureorganisation.wordpress.com

30/07/2019

Cupid's tale

My hind winds are failing the soar,
Am getting slim, the cherubic naked
Fading away, bow and arrow now
Heavy to carry around in our last
Line of defense, I am weary of the
Damned eros, is it not a battle field.





Copyrights Wilson Waison

21/06/2019

Andrew Huje belongs to a new generation of Zimbabwean poets who are reinvigorating colonial English, returning to it a power reminiscent of the muscular style of the so-called Metaphysical poets of 17th century England. I make this comparison because there is something paradoxically archaic in their diction, echoes of an enforced British education, echoes not rejected but assimilated or panel-beaten, or both, as in these lines from Huje’s poem ‘Robbed’:
A catapulted stone hit my head,
Shut my brains and took my life a little,
Now I’m fallen as a grave….

In the majority of these poems there is a refreshing return (never a retreat) to domestic issues, the details, universally shared, of private lives – the joys and the woes:
You are the phoenix that always resurrects in me;
A corner shop I do not forget;
You are the sunset that cleans troubling winds.

Kudos to poets like Andrew Huje who are in the vanguard of escorting Zimbabweans away from the divisiveness of colonialism and nationalism.

JOHN EPPEL, ZIMBABWE.

23/04/2019

____CHITUNGWIZA POETRY COMMUNITY ____

JANET
*Abandoned Bride*

Is it the offensive cleavage that scared the groom away?
Or the unusual blood-red colour for a wedding gown that made all desert the bride?
The photographer moans for his camera lens, her aggressive lipstick - too dark for a black woman - has blurred the lens' vision.
The real fault is us,
From her we expected too much she could not deliver,
Joy, warmth, protection failed to flow in her veins.
The was about to be proud mother of the bride had to slow roast herself,
To produce a well brewed bride,
The blood of her sons she used as seasoning for the brew.
If only that much she knew, she would have tried to become a better bride.
Cursed be her dependency syndrome
For it blinded her from seeing that the black 6 inch Chinese heels she depended on for beauty and support
We're too weak to sustain such a shouting behind.
The raucity of her English rusty bangles as they thumped the floor was ear piercing,
The echoes the Arabic crown made when it hit the floor traveled killometres from the wedding hall.
Marriage officer, please call a crane,
Only its power can lift our fallen bride.
Rise oh mother independence, the abandoned bride,
Allow our cracked dry lips to suck sweet sweat from your sagging teats,
For our thirst need to be quenched.

*Janet*

23/04/2019

____CHITUNGWIZA POETRY COMMUNITY ____

LEON MATEWA
ONE VOICE

One-Voice !

I note that the change of Africa is creeping out in strides.It is that same douce voice which the hope of any nation lies in-dreaded dolabra.
The blended tone of same calibre.

Nations,strong holds will surrender to these masterpieces of impact who are thirsty to quench the hunger of operation restore legacy ,for the voice of Rachel has been heard wailing in Ramah.

I noted that it is that homegrown of YOUTH TO POWER,ready to panel beat phenomenon of joblessness , impaired integrity and it's respect.
Oh !thy voice of real youths breaking chains and resurecting to power.

I note that the wisdom of the old is grey hair but the glory of youths is power.
Oh ! thy voice of youth to power"Imen mwe misepela".

By Leon Tinashe Matewa

23/04/2019

____CHITUNGWIZA POETRY COMMUNITY ____

TATENDA A MUCHAKWA
*DREAMS IN NATURE*

The pines, aggressive as erect tails cats.
Bob their tips when the wind freshens.
An alert breath like purring stirs below, where I move timid over humps of hair crips, shadow-brindled,heaving as if exhilarated muscular backs felt
The wisps of my walking.
Looking to sky,glaring then closing between the slow lashes of boughs
I feel observed:
Up high are oblong eyes that know, as their slits of green light
Expand, squeeze shut, expand that I stand there.
Suddenly I go, flick-eyed hurrying over fur
Needed that whisper as if they weren't dead.
My neck-hair rise.
The feline forest grins behind me.
Is it about to follow?
Which way out through all these whiskered yawns?

©Tatenda A Muchakwa.

23/04/2019

____CHITUNGWIZA POETRY COMMUNITY ___

MANDLA MAVOLWANE

LOVE TRIANGLE

I am in a polygamous relationship
Call it right or wrong.
I drink when I miss her
I miss drinking when im with her.
This love triangle is inescapable like the Bermuda triangle.

I am involved in a th*****me,
The alcohol gives foreplay,
Her seductive body releases my unborns,
Her curves resemble the perfect bottle.
Either im sipping curves or caressing curves.
Who can possibly say no to heaven on earth.

Too much of anything is sickening
Too much vodka makes me drunk
Too much of her makes me love.
I am sorry but im drunk and in love
Drunk in love like Jay and Beyonce.

What are the rules of love?
Can someone's beauty and soul make you drunk?
Can a bottle of vodka make you love someone?
I am in a love triangle,
Im in love with her and vodka.

23/04/2019

_______CHITUNGWIZA POETRY COMMUNITY ______

LAMUEL THE POET
CHIKOKIYANA

Chikokiyana

The sweetish stench of Chikokiyana
Stroked my nostrils
As I entered the tavern
My throat thirsting spiritually
For the tenderness of Doro rematanga;
A traditional blend of rapoko millet,
Water and mealie meal.

A cursory glance at the brewery
Was greeted by a bubbling drum
Dancing to the blazing Msasa wood
My heart ached in me
For I knew it took seven days
To brew and I was thirsting unquenchably.

I took off my kufi hat in despair
I had travelled for miles to get here
I sighed heavily and ran my fingers
Across my clammy face
As I opened my somnolent eyes
Yellow teeth were beaming at me,
And I obligatorily smiled back.

Tavern wh**es smell rotten
But they are earnest company,
So I started flirting,
And she stroked my legs until
I was determined to bed her;
For a few dollars I secured her services

Lamuel the Poet

10/03/2019

Get your own copy of the new book by M. A. Mavolwane, The Psycho Poet.

Ghetto Symphony is an anthology compiled and edited by A. Mavolwane with assistance from Emily Makwasha and Waison Wilson.
http://www.africanbookscollective.com/books/ghetto-symphony

Ghetto Symphony is an orchestra of short stories and poems which vividly portray the socio-economic situation affecting teens and young adult groups across Zimbabwe. It is a compilation of an underground poet’s readings and writings which highlight the restrictions faced daily by the masses, and a...