Nothing attracts me more than prowess and dexterity. For with these critical and creative ingredients. We are profoundly psyched up AND our literary consciousness is re-wired. WORLD PLAY IN A WHIRLPOOL is an all-powerful, sweet but infectious read, it haunts the reader forever. It tastes mature like red wine in old wineskins. It smells seasons like first drops of the first rain. Thus, is a scorcher, it strikes the nerves like the giant tongs of the sun during the dry season. It’s a metaphoric blast furnace that blazes and fires up iron hearted earthly dwellers into a repentant humanity of pure steel, we are baptized by the intriguing imagery as we are ritualized by the smoking waters of satire. We are born again. WORLDPLAY IN A WHIRLPOOL is heavy with subject matters that transcends from hope, death, disease, ecosystem, cultural anthropologies, biblical allusions, psychical exercises, climate change, menacing pandemics, positive change, race and perception change. WORLD PLAY IN A WHIRLPOOL is poetry that coils your heart caves and you vomit the bile of sins. It blows up your mental boxes, you shiver and weep. It rips off satans doeks to expose zealots, charlatans and political maggots corrupting and rotting the beauty of this our beloved earth. It fumigates the pandemic infested air as the earth fails to breathe due to unbridled human cruelty and wanton sin. It exposes the now sorrowful baldheaded landscapes, once shining with the verve of flora and fauna. The whirlpool arouses the skeletal sandy riverbeds that were once upon havens of laughing hippos, cackling water hens and dancing fish. it is poetry that weeps and as such wiping tears of bereaved mothers that lost so many lives during the menacing seasons of the cantankerous corona virus. It is a beautiful but heart-rending epitaph to black lives lost in barbaric racial battles, a touching eulogy to the earth succumbing to the dramatic effects of climate change, heatwaves and hurricanes. This Wordplay is an embodiment of promise, lost hope, love, loss, pain, sunset and moonshine. It is a spiritual whirlpool to transfigure ill minded political goblins and evil-minded war devils to repent from terrorism and warlords. The lyrical dexterity is superbly concocted with reason , history , spirituality ,identity and more WORD PLAY IN A WHIRLPOOL is a collaborative venture of Kenyan Poetry Tigress Nancy Ndeke and the Colorado Rockies Poetry Lioness Susan Joyner-Stumpf (Review by Mbizo CHIRASHA
FRANCIS OTOLE is a fast rising African Poetry Voice. I call him the Poet of. His verses raves the mind and shells the heart box like Afro-Jazz.And the rhythm is the soft rain sound of the MBIRA- a thumb piano. The burden of truth carried in his poesy is hefty , bone cracking and heavy to carry in our ever pain scalded souls. The simple -deep lyrics are classical, educative and entertaining . Here verbal dexterity is laced with with human reason and the preservative is dramatic humor. OTOLE writes about life , humanity , spirituality reverence and confessional poetry. FRANCIS OTOLE is the Guest Editor of the BRAVE VOICES POETRY JOURNAL June edition.
Mother Africa survived the trauma of clanging chains of captivity during SLAVE TRADE , shackles of colonialism and winced from beatings of hard bolt nut clenched fists of apartheid. Children and grandchildren of Mother Africa watched helplessly her sorrowful dance to the acoustics of sufferance. Still , Africa remain resilient against beauty - smashing punches from kindred’s of neo-colonialism : global village, digital revolution and consumerism .Mama Africa’s groin is ripped apart by her triplets totalitarian regimes, economic malaise and moral decadence. Today Mother Africa of pyramids , Africa of Nefertiti , Africa of Lumumba , Africa of Mandela ,Africa of Kambarage , Africa of Lithium , Africa of diamond and Africa of uranium wallow in murky waters of poverty ,chronic civil wars and deadly epidemics .Young and established poets contributing to this Brave Voices Poetry Journal 65 Edition, AFRICA IS A POETRY REPUBLIC dipped pen tongues into dimples and crevices of our Mother Africa . The poetic tongues then spat their snort of satire and the saliva of paradox onto our mental inboxes. Tonight, we are pilgrims to the poetry gods and goddesses, we trudge through shrines of metaphor, altars of irony, mountains of hyperbole and forests of rhythm until we reach to the zenith of the POETRY REPUBLIC-Africa .( Editor of Brave Voices Poetry Journal).
MOZA IS OUR COUNTRY : 2019 arrived with omens of bad luck of death, hunger and disease. Maybe Gods are angry or bad devils are at it again. The wings of Cyclone Idai, Satan’s angel washed away the soul, breath and glint of Moza. Moza twice died and was raised by our Gods of resilience. Today we are warming the heart of Moza with metaphors of hope and we also mourn the loss of those buried in unmarked cemeteries of IDAI and KENNETH. We write these messages to massage the bruised confidence of Moza and with the hope that Moza will rise again from cinders of despair. We are African griots grieving with you Comrade Moza in this moment of forced silence and we shall dance alongside at sun rise. We say to the people of Mozambique Together We Rise. To those souls and spirits wiped away by the devils wing, we say Rest in Peace and we implore the Gods to calm your anguished spirits. ALUTA CONTINUA, land of the brave. From Tete to Sofala, Maputo to Beira, Chimoio to Manica, Nampula to Gorongoza. We say MOZA is our country .ALUTA