Blog
That Still, Small Voice: AVBOB's mini-competition evokes deep personal reflection
Wed, 23 July 2025
The second AVBOB Poetry mini-competition of 2025 has concluded, drawing over 100 heartfelt entries from across the country. Rising to the top were three talented poets from Gauteng whose powerful poems captured the judge’s attention. The winners will receive prizes of R1 000, R700 and R300, respectively.
Poets entering the mini-competition were encouraged to tune into their creativity to sharpen the focus on their own values in a time of great noise from influencers and advertisers. Fortunately, poetry has always provided a reliable tool through which to clarify and deepen our feelings. Poets switched off their devices, walked in nature, or entered places of solitude and worship to meet the challenge. Quiet promptings informed the personal insights and wisdom that appeared in the submitted entries.
The AVBOB Poetry Project is pleased to announce the winners of the “That Still, Small Voice” mini-competition:
First-prize winner
Collen Molahlehi was born in Letlhabile, near Brits, and is now in his final year of mechanical engineering at the University of Johannesburg. His poetry appears in various anthologies and online poetry platforms. Poetry gives Collen a powerful tool to create order out of his memories and feelings, allowing him to feel heard and seen.
“Poetry channels my hopes, fears and aspirations. It provides an outlet when I’m overwhelmed and helps me heal,” he says. “The AVBOB Poetry Project has been a source of encouragement. My first publication in the AVBOB Poetry Library in 2020 made me feel relevant. It boosted my confidence and inspired me to keep writing. Thinking about the still, small voice, a space opened up in which I could reflect. I wrote honestly as I looked inwards.”
Collen’s poem is a poignant reflection on sorrow and solitude, boyhood and breath.
Second-prize winner
Hape Mokhele is an Environmental Health Practitioner, writer, award-winning performance poet, emcee and gender-based violence (GBV) activist who lives in the Vaal Triangle. Originally from Kutlwanong in the Free State, Hape aims to motivate and uplift the world. “Giving life through poetry in Sesotho and English gives me an identity. I find myself daily within the words I write on a page, gaining confidence, wisdom and healing. Poetry enables me to find my inner truth,” she says. “The AVBOB Poetry Project has become my home of expression.”
Hape’s poems feature in the third and fourth volumes of the annual anthology, “I wish I’d said…”. Her poem, ‘The voice that didn’t shout’ is a call to solitude and slowing down. It is a worthy reminder of the power of turning inwards.
Third-prize winner
Ayanda Mlambo lives in Lenasia South and is awaiting her graduation from a business management course. “Although I’m currently unemployed, writing poetry keeps me going. Perhaps, I will write an entire poetry book,” she speculates. “For most of my life, my words never quite made sense. My answers were always wrong and I was never chosen for anything. But poetry gives me hope now. I write hoping a reader will truly feel something.”
The AVBOB Poetry Project has been an eye opener for Ayanda, creating a way to consolidate her sense of herself as a writer. Ayanda’s poem starts strongly from the viewpoint of an observer caught up in the fateful events of 16 June 1976. Modern day protesters will find resonance in this account.
Liesl Jobson reflected on the mini-competition: “Many writers demonstrated a clear effort to express meaningful thoughts and emotions. However, poets aiming to enter poetry competitions and seek publication must delve much deeper into this art form. It seems that too few poets have immersed themselves in broad study or wide reading. I encourage them to seek out the many free online resources that give them a chance to listen to and learn from great poets.”
The AVBOB Poetry Project blog offers a wealth of articles and interviews that feature South African poets and creative writing teachers. Its educational articles inform, inspire and support poets at every stage of development. For poets wanting an international flavour, the Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org) podcasts and recordings are of the highest calibre and cannot be too strongly recommended.
The next AVBOB Poetry mini-competition for 2026 will be announced at a later stage. For details on how to enter, visit AVBOB Poetry’s social media channels.
Poets entering the mini-competition were encouraged to tune into their creativity to sharpen the focus on their own values in a time of great noise from influencers and advertisers. Fortunately, poetry has always provided a reliable tool through which to clarify and deepen our feelings. Poets switched off their devices, walked in nature, or entered places of solitude and worship to meet the challenge. Quiet promptings informed the personal insights and wisdom that appeared in the submitted entries.
The AVBOB Poetry Project is pleased to announce the winners of the “That Still, Small Voice” mini-competition:
 |
 |
 |
| First-prize winner | Second-prize winner | Third-prize winner |
| Collen Molahlehi | Hape Mokhele | Ayanda Mlambo |
| Cash prize: R1 000 | Cash prize: R700 | Cash prize: R300 |
First-prize winner
Collen Molahlehi was born in Letlhabile, near Brits, and is now in his final year of mechanical engineering at the University of Johannesburg. His poetry appears in various anthologies and online poetry platforms. Poetry gives Collen a powerful tool to create order out of his memories and feelings, allowing him to feel heard and seen.
“Poetry channels my hopes, fears and aspirations. It provides an outlet when I’m overwhelmed and helps me heal,” he says. “The AVBOB Poetry Project has been a source of encouragement. My first publication in the AVBOB Poetry Library in 2020 made me feel relevant. It boosted my confidence and inspired me to keep writing. Thinking about the still, small voice, a space opened up in which I could reflect. I wrote honestly as I looked inwards.”
Collen’s poem is a poignant reflection on sorrow and solitude, boyhood and breath.
I finally listened
Collen Molahlehi
I used to think the voice would strike me
viciously, like lightning tearing through a stormy sky,
but instead, it came to me, wheezing like steam
from an old stainless-steel kettle on a winter morning.
It said to me,
Sometimes the lump in your throat
is not meant to be swallowed.
And suddenly, I remembered the boy
who used to craft wire cars from coat hangers
while singing nursery rhymes to himself
in the yard when no one else listened.
And suddenly, I was sitting beside him again,
this time much older and much wiser,
this time willing to listen
to what he never stopped saying to himself:
Breathe.
You were enough before the noise came,
you’re still enough, even now!
Collen Molahlehi
I used to think the voice would strike me
viciously, like lightning tearing through a stormy sky,
but instead, it came to me, wheezing like steam
from an old stainless-steel kettle on a winter morning.
It said to me,
Sometimes the lump in your throat
is not meant to be swallowed.
And suddenly, I remembered the boy
who used to craft wire cars from coat hangers
while singing nursery rhymes to himself
in the yard when no one else listened.
And suddenly, I was sitting beside him again,
this time much older and much wiser,
this time willing to listen
to what he never stopped saying to himself:
Breathe.
You were enough before the noise came,
you’re still enough, even now!
Second-prize winner
Hape Mokhele is an Environmental Health Practitioner, writer, award-winning performance poet, emcee and gender-based violence (GBV) activist who lives in the Vaal Triangle. Originally from Kutlwanong in the Free State, Hape aims to motivate and uplift the world. “Giving life through poetry in Sesotho and English gives me an identity. I find myself daily within the words I write on a page, gaining confidence, wisdom and healing. Poetry enables me to find my inner truth,” she says. “The AVBOB Poetry Project has become my home of expression.”
Hape’s poems feature in the third and fourth volumes of the annual anthology, “I wish I’d said…”. Her poem, ‘The voice that didn’t shout’ is a call to solitude and slowing down. It is a worthy reminder of the power of turning inwards.
The voice that didn’t shout
Hape Mokhele
I almost missed her
buried beneath checklists,
echoes of borrowed wisdom,
and the endless march of becoming
what they said I should be.
She didn’t shout.
Didn’t wave red flags
or hold neon signs.
She waited,
patient as a prayer
in the back room of my chest.
I only heard her when the world went quiet
after the job title stopped impressing me,
after applause faded to ache,
after I tired of earning rest.
She said,
“Strip it all away.
Your worth was never woven into what you do.”
I trembled,
because I had built a home
from the noise.
She said,
“Let it fall.
What remains will carry you.”
I wanted proof.
She offered peace.
I wanted answers.
She gave me presence.
Now, I walk more slowly.
Softer.
Listening not for the loudest voice,
but the truest one,
the one inside
that always knew
how to bring me home.
Hape Mokhele
I almost missed her
buried beneath checklists,
echoes of borrowed wisdom,
and the endless march of becoming
what they said I should be.
She didn’t shout.
Didn’t wave red flags
or hold neon signs.
She waited,
patient as a prayer
in the back room of my chest.
I only heard her when the world went quiet
after the job title stopped impressing me,
after applause faded to ache,
after I tired of earning rest.
She said,
“Strip it all away.
Your worth was never woven into what you do.”
I trembled,
because I had built a home
from the noise.
She said,
“Let it fall.
What remains will carry you.”
I wanted proof.
She offered peace.
I wanted answers.
She gave me presence.
Now, I walk more slowly.
Softer.
Listening not for the loudest voice,
but the truest one,
the one inside
that always knew
how to bring me home.
Third-prize winner
Ayanda Mlambo lives in Lenasia South and is awaiting her graduation from a business management course. “Although I’m currently unemployed, writing poetry keeps me going. Perhaps, I will write an entire poetry book,” she speculates. “For most of my life, my words never quite made sense. My answers were always wrong and I was never chosen for anything. But poetry gives me hope now. I write hoping a reader will truly feel something.”
The AVBOB Poetry Project has been an eye opener for Ayanda, creating a way to consolidate her sense of herself as a writer. Ayanda’s poem starts strongly from the viewpoint of an observer caught up in the fateful events of 16 June 1976. Modern day protesters will find resonance in this account.
Soweto’s streets were burning with voices
Ayanda Mlambo
I didn’t even know there was a protest.
I’m the quiet one,
book tucked under my arm,
never chasing noise.
But today, she knocked,
My friend with eyes full of fire.
“Come, just once,” she begged.
So, I went.
The crowd swelled,
chanting names I hadn’t heard,
fists raised, banners flying
and then,
gunshots.
The world shifted.
Feet pounded pavement.
We ran.
And then,
a sharp, hot sting in my chest.
I remembered something from Reader’s Digest:
When you’re about to die,
Your brain shows you your best moments.
And there I was – eight again,
barefoot in the kitchen,
my hands too small to hold the pot,
laughter spilling like sunlight.
I knelt beside her,
me, the girl I used to be
and whispered,
“You were always enough.”
Sirens howled in the distance.
My eyes fluttered shut.
But before the dark could take me,
not loud, not urgent, but steady:
“Tomorrow isn’t promised.
But today, you lived.”
Ayanda Mlambo
I didn’t even know there was a protest.
I’m the quiet one,
book tucked under my arm,
never chasing noise.
But today, she knocked,
My friend with eyes full of fire.
“Come, just once,” she begged.
So, I went.
The crowd swelled,
chanting names I hadn’t heard,
fists raised, banners flying
and then,
gunshots.
The world shifted.
Feet pounded pavement.
We ran.
And then,
a sharp, hot sting in my chest.
I remembered something from Reader’s Digest:
When you’re about to die,
Your brain shows you your best moments.
And there I was – eight again,
barefoot in the kitchen,
my hands too small to hold the pot,
laughter spilling like sunlight.
I knelt beside her,
me, the girl I used to be
and whispered,
“You were always enough.”
Sirens howled in the distance.
My eyes fluttered shut.
But before the dark could take me,
not loud, not urgent, but steady:
“Tomorrow isn’t promised.
But today, you lived.”
Liesl Jobson reflected on the mini-competition: “Many writers demonstrated a clear effort to express meaningful thoughts and emotions. However, poets aiming to enter poetry competitions and seek publication must delve much deeper into this art form. It seems that too few poets have immersed themselves in broad study or wide reading. I encourage them to seek out the many free online resources that give them a chance to listen to and learn from great poets.”
The AVBOB Poetry Project blog offers a wealth of articles and interviews that feature South African poets and creative writing teachers. Its educational articles inform, inspire and support poets at every stage of development. For poets wanting an international flavour, the Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org) podcasts and recordings are of the highest calibre and cannot be too strongly recommended.
The next AVBOB Poetry mini-competition for 2026 will be announced at a later stage. For details on how to enter, visit AVBOB Poetry’s social media channels.
