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Days are long;
the sun is hot.
Everyone vies
for shady spots.

Bugs and flies
circle heads.
Sweaty bodies
take to beds.

A pool or sea’s
the place to be
With layers of sunscreen
basting me.

Patiently we wait
for night
When heat abates
and mozzies bite.

Welcome to the new year in our Gregorian calendar (there are over 80 different kinds
of calendars!).
Living in the Southern Hemisphere challenges most pieces of seasonal writing
(which celebrate by expounding on cold temperatures, snow, short days and toasty fires).
It is difficult to find a poem about January which looks like the current scene outside
my window. So, I wrote one. Happy (HOT) New Year.



You open the door for a new year,
and then proceed to devour the pigs.

Luring us into taking vows,
you yourself make promises,
each of which rings untrue.

uMasingana —
we will look at you with suspicion.
False in all your claims,
you drag your heavy feet
from one blistering day to the next,
beating on our heads with your thunderous fists.




NaPoWriMo — Day Four: In his poem “The Waste Land,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.”  Write a poem today in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why.

I chose January.  Here in Zululand, in the Southern Hemisphere, January is stifling hot and humid.  The Zulu people measured time by the moons and therefore had thirteen months each year.  January was “umasingana,” which means “peeking out suspiciously.”  January is not a month you can trust.

I also learned that “January” comes from the Latin word “ianua” (meaning “door”). I was taught that January was named after “Janus,” but that is apparently not so. (I learn a lot during GloPoWriMo!)