Broken Shell - Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Cease searching for the perfect shell, the whole
Inviolate form no tooth of time has cracked;
The alabaster armor still intact
From sand’s erosion and the breaker’s roll.

Mangroves - Kenneth Slessor

These black bush-waters, heavy with crusted boughs
Like plumes above dead captains, wake the mind...

Whited Sepulchre - John Ngong Kum Ngong

I know whited sepulchre
you do not feel anymore
the touch of our done fingers
which for want of acceptance
cling to the wall of furore.
For close to sixty years
now we have lived like internees
working our fingers to the bone
for idiots to reap the harvest.

Watching the River Flow - Jaime Saenz

When the hour comes I'll speak with you, watching the river flow, at the river's edge.

I Have A White Rose To Tend (Verse XXXIX) - José Martí

I have a white rose to tend
In July as in January;

Teach Me Peace - Nathan

Mother, teach me peace.
Everyone is making war, and we hardly ever see peace.
At school, I learn these things…

Mother Africa - Ribka Sibhatu

Cradle of mankind
baobab of the soul,
in your savannahs
and sacred forests
death dances.

The Fence - Lenrie Peters

There where the dim past and future mingle
their nebulous hopes and aspirations
there I lie.

A left hand made verse 1 - Kato Javakhishvili

As human creatures do not recognize each other
I think: it’s time for us to stand one after another.
And some time ago, - it was when
I was wrapped in your body as in the wool blanket

Caudal (The Fortune) - Miguel Ángel Asturias

To give is to love,
To give prodigiously:
For every drop of water
To return a torrent.

This Is The Dark Time, My Love - Martin Carter

This is the dark time, my love,
All round the land brown beetles crawl about
The shining sun is hidden in the sky

No words - Olufunke Kolapo

Today, I have no words
Qualified enough to describe
The depth of my pain

To the cushag's friend - Cushag

O the cushag flower in a fairy bower
Would shine like a star of gold;
But when it grows in the farmer’s close
‘Tis a shocking weed, we’re told.
Yet common things
May have their wings
To help our souls above;
And wayside weeds,
Like kindly deeds,
Spring from a father’s love.

The High Peak - Bruce Levitan

A mown field with black-wrapped bales
Like pieces from a checkers game, thrown by a giant;
A sky of monochromes: chalks and shales
Arching above the High Peak hills, brooding and defiant;

Where am I from? - Fatoumata Diallo

Where am I from?
I come from these people who get up with cows

Unsung Hero - Mwiza Mnyuma Sambo Mhango

"O God, bless our land of Malawi."
a prayer for a warm-hearted nation,

For Us, Life - Jang Jin-sung

Every morning
when I wake
I shake my brother
to and fro – his lungs are weak.

Sea Grapes - Derek Walcott

That sail which leans on light,
tired of islands,
a schooner beating up the Caribbean

If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller - Moncef Ouahibi

In the morning, when water was falling in threads, I was putting my first sentence in order
I would write it and cross it out to write it

A Memory - Yi Chongbo

I'll never forget the boy
who slept here last night.

One Day In June - Ebrahim Al-Arrayedh

One day in June
Her shapely hand was raised, and waving still
To those colourful columns filing past

"Fire" First State: Voice of Panic - Rogelio Sinán

Soundless, moanless, wordless sirens
silent song that was heard by death alone
nailed agonies into the night.

Phobia - Abigail Lim

The tears I shed tonight
Are not ones of sadness
It’s a stunning realisation
Of what I fear most
That one day you’ll betray me

Slow Dance - Charles Mwewa

Like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle,
Flesh to flesh, skin to skin

Night Has Fallen - Raage Ugaas

Night had fallen and behind closed doors everyone was sleeping
Thunder called out with a clamour of rain like shots from a thousand rifles

Veni Creator Spiritus - Charlemagne

Creator Spirit, by whose aid
The world’s foundations first were laid,
Come, visit every pious mind;
Come, pour thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make thy temples worthy thee.

Promenade of Solitary Death - Edouard Glissant

The sad boy has not moved
On a lake of roses, strewn
With pale bodies in the rosebushes
Funereal bay it has remained

Namibia - Mvula Ya Nangolo

I’ve returned here for many a reason
I’ll certainly live here for many a season
Like thousands of others I hear its heartbeat
My heart opens up when I am in the mountains
Where I can be alone with my thoughts