I started my poetry blog “Nomzi Kumalo, What Are You Waiting For?” because I did not know how else to get through what I was going through, sober. This was 6 years ago, today.
I had buried my dreams so deep inside of me that life eventually shook me so hard, to the point of surrendering my written words to you. This daily practice became my way of opening my heart and remembering the way to my dreams.
Do not underestimate the power of writing down your own words. The daily practice will positively impact different aspects of your life. Start writing and gathering all the thoughts that you have written throughout the years. Speak into a voice recorder. See what happens.
Got my first ever release concert, 26 February 2020 at Herr Nilsen, in Oslo. It will be cool to see you, so come and say hello. Buy your tickets by clicking below.
Also, my poetry book is marinating and I can’t wait to get it ready for publishing and share it with you. In the meantime, please feel free to connect with me to build something by clicking below. Thank you for being here. Thank you WordPress. Love always, Nomzi ❤️🥰💖🌸🌺💓🥳❤️🥰❤️💓
I registered on WordPress 5 years ago. It is truly wonderful to see familiar faces from back when I started. How far we have come. It also feels good to welcome new faces here too. Love is everywhere you look, it’s true.
Jot down words on a piece of paper. Start writing and see what happens to your life.
Wishing you good health and all the best in 2019 🌸
I am happy to announce that I was published in Ons Klynti; an independent South African cultural magazine. To have my poem Schizophrenic times printed in this issue is fabulous. The magazine is published and launched annually at the Oppikoppi music festival in South Africa.
Thank you so much for appreciating my work like this and thank you for your continued support here on WordPress. Read more about this contemporary online magazine @ Ons Klyntji
I am thrilled to finally be able to have time to announce that I was published in Ons Klynti; an independent South African cultural magazine. To have my poem Blue is the quietest colour in print in this issue is still like a dream. I keep looking from time to time to check that it’s still there. The magazine is published and launched annually at the Oppikoppi music festival in South Africa.
Thank you so much for appreciating my work like this. Read more about this incredible magazine @ Ons Klyntji
Life can get challenging sometimes, so when it does, find the light; in a poem, a song, a good conversation, a shared meal, rest, under a tree or by the sea.
I remember going through a painful period in my life that pushed me to write my first WordPress post about returning home to South Africa, essentially to myself. Some day I will tell you about how poetry chose me back then. For now I keep writing and editing my poetry book.
Over 1000 followers later, I am truly grateful for your support, guidance and inspiration 🌸
I hear the church bells ringing
And the birds take flight into the cold spring skies
And of all the things that I wish to do
I want to know what it is like to soar with you
Through the mundane things of this world
Because masturbation is not love
Pornography is not love
Equality is not love
Love is free from our imagination
As free as the rain that falls from the heavens
Mountains valleys oceans alleys
She can not be rented nor invented nor paused
So forget about yesterday and tell me about now
What brings you pure joy
Call each and every ugly part of me
Until there is none left for me to cling to
Until they are no longer mine to carry
Free to be of what I am made.
I dedicate this poem to those who have called my ugly; and in so doing have awakened me to my humility; my true calling. From the time that we are born our lives are abundant with gifts. They will misname them. Our work is to rise above that.
I used to dread the dreadlock until I let my locks, my hair grow out on its own. So that I can let you know that I too am love. Be gentle with yourself. There is courage and freedom and inner peace to be gained from this.
Forests of dark coily hair jerseyed
Into the fabric of my immigrant life
Understanding what is my ground
Something that’s not yours to name.
“Be careful of your thoughts, for your thoughts become your words. Be careful of your words, for your words become your actions. Be careful of your actions, for your actions become your habits. Be careful of your habits, for your habits become your character. Be careful of your character, for your character becomes your destiny.” Ancient Chinese philosopher, Lao Tzu.
I am inspired and eternally grateful for each and every one of your posts that plant seeds of endless possibilities for my life: your precious reminders to keep receiving, creating and giving. I am considering to translate a selection of my poems into Norwegian for them to be published in a book at a publishing house here where I live; connect with the people who I live with. I am also aware of the fact that my readership is mainly english speaking and Norwegians do speak and read english.
Perhaps to focus on self publishing an english poetry book is the way to go. What am I waiting for?
The bullshit of the week begins effortlessly
The printed word declares fear on the world
And at some point we feel the accountability
Close our eyes so we can play hunger games
While the obese stuff their muffle in protest
Dear God give me the strength to know you
Above agendas tripping all over themselves
Beyond all the seductions of his entitlements
Into the season of Your mercy and Your song
Because love is all that I seem to recognise
And Frida’s red ribbons
For each man who is looking for art
When respect was never found in looks
For each woman who is looking for security
And love was never found inside books
Romance for what it is worth has left us divorced
Where everything better is waiting in another place
When we have yet to learn to stay
Where pure joy is.
A crisp breeze of new love on its way enters the kitchen windows
Rustling handwritten notes along the wooden breakfast table
Winter turns to quietly summon all her workers once more
Without any reason.
The oceans swell
As tears become saltier with loss
And bodies crash behind wintry doors
Groping for any familiar textures of humanity
That these foreign lands begin to recall
For mothers and fathers who abandon understanding
Just to smell the soil of a better life.