Pontsho PCP Pusos
Biography of Pontsho PCP Pusos
Pontsho writes poetry both in English and his native Setswana. He is a well read poet and has written extensively on the evolution of Setswana poetry. He also coordinates poetry clubs in Botswana.
Pontsho's poetry may be considered as a lighthearted look at life. His poetry and his style is not about being taken seriously, but more about laughing at oneself and their life.
His multiple blogs on poetry can be accessed by searching the Web using his names.
Pontsho PCP Pusos Poems
If Love Be So Kind
If Love be so kind As to return my misplaced feelings That strangers trod and trample Unkindly in the heat of summer
I Took Her
She showed me her naked flames In the dead of winter And begged me to not douse them “At least not for tonight”.
I Saw You Packing
I saw you packing Your overnight case Was that love? The red item you put at the bottom!
I Recited A Poem
I recited a poem As her expensive boyfriend half watched Behind his Hustler sunglasses And sat conversing with his single malt whisky
I Came Before She Did
She called me With her starved tummy With her pointing breasts With her blowing lips
How To Loose A Friend Quickly
When the talking is quite Of stories of loves And how eternally we are bound Each to their own love
Who met happiness recently? The puffy-eyed Young couple next door, Or the noisy
She What a sack of hard muscled manhood! Why does he lion me so with his catlike stare?
Five Ways To Have Love And Keep It
There are many ways To finding love When it comes to having love And keeping it
Because I Love You
Today I saw a bright-yellow cactus flower Cuddled between a group of hardy thorns Remembering your farrowed face I grimaced and plucked it out for you
As To The Moretlwa Tree
As to the moretlwa tree We get pulled by the bountiful Sweetness of the fruits And forget all about the ants
A Thousand Ways To Die
1. Find the one Call and inbox her Dine and wine her
Here Is To Friendship
Here is to friendship and his social calls To the forgettable girlfriend introductions And the noisy games with the boys To the draining Sunday lunches
We All Look Above
They stare Their eyes burning holes into me Some searching me Others looking right through me
The Loving Hunters
When the hunters are gathered
In hushed tones
Behind the thicket
Each signs out his intended prey
As the prey gaits about unawares
Bokima singles out a clay dark buffalo
Its thick and juicy rump
Parts the air effortlessly