Shosholoza (African Rhythm)

Shosholoza
Kulezontaba
Stimela sibuya e South Africa
Shosholoza
Kulezontaba
Stimela sibuya eSouth Africa…….

Wena uya baleka
Kulezontaba
Stimela sibuya eSouth Africa

Sithwele kanzima, ooh ah (4 times)

Etshe!
Shosholoza

poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Unchained Melody (Parody on 'The Streets of London)

(John London’s Radio Talk Show when he was
accidentally locked in the toilet)

Did you hear the shrieks fo London
From the toilet in the station
Calling for Jon-Jon
To come and set him free.

Armine let forth a sigh
Should it be one or two-ply
Nobody worried
The show must go on.

So how can you say
You were lonely
…and things about
where the sun don’t shine…..

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poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Christmas in Africa

Christmas in Africa
under a Southern sky
On an evening warm
we all recall
A tiny infant's sigh.

Christmas in Africa
under a Southern sky
Where people rejoice
with heart and voice
In a wondrous lullaby.

Chorus:
Woza moya oyingcwele (Come Holy Spirit)
Al-le-lui-ui-ia.

Christmas in Africa
under a Southern sky
Where mountain mist
meets the seaside kissed

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poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Johannesburg!

Johannesburg (Lyric)

Johannesburg
Johannesburg
I’m here and starting to shine
Like a chandelier
You spark the atmosphere
Come on! Let our talents combine.

Pink satin tights
Bright city lights
Oh wow! But I’m doing fine
I feel so lyrical
And it’s a miracle
To see these gumboot feet of mine just fly.

Chorus:

There is this big band sound
That’s playing all around

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poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Butterfly Friend

Butterfly friend, how well do I know you
How long will you stay is the question I ask
Butterfly friend how well do you know me
How long will you love me
Do I love you too?

Butterfly friend, there poised in the shadows
Which of the blooms gives the scent you prefer?
Butterfly friend from flower to flower.....
How long will you love me
Do I love you too?

You of the beautiful bright coloured wings
Take of my sweetness:
Soar to the sky
Whilst I, on the sidelines, keep track of your flight
Take of my sweetness
And fly!

Butterfly friend no more in the shadows

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poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Peace - My Beloved Country - South Africa 1994

Somewhere an eagle flies
soaring o'er the dappled skies of Africa
Somewhere a tortoise cries
ploughing through the vast disguise of Africa.
A springbok dies and a day is born
The sun comes up to greet the dawn;
A child is sighing like a bird
And a nation is sounding a very new word.

Somewhere an apple train
waddles through the winding plains of Africa.
Somewhere a sparrow feigns
acting out the birthing pains of Africa.
A lizard leaps to his mother's scorn:
'Farwell, ' she says to her first born
A breeze is lifting a newly-fledged bird
And a nation is sounding a very new word.

Somewhere a new sunrise
burgeoning before our eyes in Africa

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poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Valentine's Day at the Whistle Stop Cafe (for my Granddaughter)

Your Valentine, my Grandma said, will be one who loves you true
He'll cook and clean and wash your smalls and not forget the blue.
Adored you'll be, my angel child, from morning until noon
He'll tease and tickle and paddle you, with love and an ice cream spoon.

Your Valentine, my Grandma said, will always let you speak
When he returns from work he'll smile and not let forth a squeak.
Admired you'll be, my angel child; he'll breakfast you in bed
Then after all the paddling's done, he'll stroke your pretty head.

Later........

My Valentine, Oh Granny dear - he said he loved me true
He never cooked and never cleaned nor thought about the blue
He snored, he did, Oh Granny dear - from morning until noon
Then had me bake a creme brulee whilst he licked the ice cream spoon.

My Valentine, Oh Granny dear - he never let me speak
He took me then he left me then he took me more each week.
He burped non stop, Oh Granny dear, and made noises in the bed

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poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Farewell Blythe Spirit

This poem is dedicated to James Clarke, South Africa's funniest columnist on his semi-retirement from The Star with my gratitude for allowing me to contribute so much of my nonsense verse to his Stoep Talk column for so many years. The practice of writing Mary Mary verses and parodies and all sorts of 'pomes' as he calls them was invaluable.

I'm devastated - quite deflated
To know you are retiring
(I'd call you cool and not x-rated
but no, not quite retiring!)
What will I do, my heart screams out
With all my bits of writing?
The mini-comps, the tests of skill
That set my wits a-fighting.

I've got to know you pretty well
Sometimes I've even bitten
Your leg pulls and your jammy jibes
Ho! What I've almost written!
Important comps I've entered
Qwerty soup, perhaps a pun
And how to welcome tourists
Saying 'Voetsak' watch 'em run!

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poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Wednesday's Child (Sheffield Wednesday Soccer Club)

It eats soccer. It breathes soccer. It lives soccer. It fades when it's team fades and it blooms when it's team blooms. It has the letters S.W. permanently etched upon it's brain and it probably even arranges it's Monopoly money in S.W. formations. What is it, you ask? It's a soccer fan. You knew that, didn't you? But it isn't just any soccer fan. It is specifically a Sheffield Wednesday soccer fan. Or addict, for want of a better word.

Yes, of course, even I know about Liverpool, Everton, Arsenal and Man. United fans. They're the normal, run-of-the-mill type but Owls supporters are really Something Else!

I have had the somewhat dubious good fortune of becoming rather well acquainted with one of these strange 'animals' but until today, I'd managed to evade any one-to-one discourse on the merits or demerits of one man's passion for his team. On the face of it, you could say I asked for it. In a weak moment, I queried how his team had fared over the past week or so. It was like asking a hypochondriac the state of his health.

Well, there I was, supposedly having a cup of tea with his wife, my friend Sheila. But Sheila knew the signs and, together with two equally clued-up daughters, had opportunely beaten a hasty retreat into the garden. They had long since paid their dues. Now, it was my turn.

It was a reasonably tentative beginning. It is more than probable that Ken, the addict, suspected I would never stay the course but feeling somewhat emotionally trapped by the knowledge that he had no sons with whom to share his enthrallment of the game, what else could I do but don my interested-looking mask, take a deep breath and settle back to hear him out. By tacit consent, we both knew that I was a victim of sorts. Destiny rides again!

My heart sunk a little when I realised that he was starting from scratch. From the actual day when his team first started playing. His enthusiasm was boundless but somehow I found myself becoming absorbed in what he was saying. His eyes took on a bright, azure sparkle and his mouth was motoring at twice the speed of sound as it travelled back and forth in time. I stared in mute fascination. This was for real! This was the guy's life. Dear Lord, where was I when enthusiasm for anything was dished out? I raised my eyes Heavenwards and found myself looking straight into those of a grey, woolly owl who was peering down at me from a built-in show-case. The Sheffield Wednesday Football Club mascot. I knew I was a gonner when I found myself asking how the Club had come to be so named.

Sheffield Wednesday, as we know it today, Ken told me, came into being in 1867 as the football section of the Wednesday Cricket Club, which had been in existence since 1820. The cricket club had been the creation of a group of Sheffield craftsmen who gave it the name 'Wednesday' for the simple reason that that was the day when they took regular afternoons off to pursue their sporting enthusiasms.

Not surprisingly, perhaps, the meeting at which the football section was formed took place on a Wednesday and this, at a local sporting pub, The Adelphi. Members of the cricket club called the meeting because they wanted a way of keeping everybody together during the winter months but the step was probably partly inspired by the dramatic increase in football's popularity in the town over the previous ten years.

Ken's eyes misted over somewhat as he proudly told me that it had been Sheffield who had led the way in organised football even before the birth of the national FA in 1863. So Wednesday no doubt felt it appropriate to have their own football section. At the very least, it would mean that their players would not be tempted to drift off to other clubs at the end of the summer and forget to return in the following spring.

The founders could not have imagined that the infant football section would become the dominant partner. So strong, in fact, that within sixteen years it would break free and Wednesday Football Club would become one of the most famous names in English football - and a force in the professional game to boot (no pun intended!) Would they also have believed that the Cricket Club would survive only until 1924 and then die through lack of support, so that today, it is all but forgotten.

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poem by Margaret Kollmer
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