Archive for February, 2016

lime … … …

lime … … …

tangy, with a dash of a catch, this life, these bare feet on cosmic beaches, seeking something – elusively rare – that first rush of something, when love flutters by,



tinged with a bitterness of all that,

all that yet to unfold,

a sourness perhaps, who-knows-maybe, an organic, green, fragrant, splash of effervescent lime,

to counteract the woefully horrifying, uncouth even effects of pulsing, teasing, corrosive time,

worse only is the attempted scribble to make sense of all that, in a pompous haste of rhyme … … …

the scabbard of time … … …


courtesy google

times, like idle rhymes, flow,
inuring consciences, feeding on apathy, to grow,

time, the scything blade, slices through ramparts, leaving the scabbard bloody red, retreating as it departs,

time, peels off the veneer, refinement laid bare, the grotesque masquerade, in which we all our parts must share, the sorry charade … … …

symphonic silences … … …

symphonic silences … … …

it felt, as it should feel.

it felt a calm, the rarest kind, one that cannot be left behind.

those symphonic silences, that time, are all that i savour, in each scribble, in every rhyme … … …

sentinels … … …


Wisdom of Confucius

thoughts whizz past, embers meant never to last,

leaving memories behind, grappling fears in spaces of the blind,

memories, with all their nostalgic tugging,

stand blurred, hazy sentinels against excessive lugging,

sentinels, silently harbouring, threads of you, and of me,

sentinels, hewn into our being, protecting  the persistence of memory … … …

haggard hope … … …


Billie Holiday by Banksy

trudging along, vanquished attempts at being strong,

stumbling through, the fogged gaze of the untrue,

falling down, picking up pieces of my broken frown,

standing up, in the sleety rains, clinging onto hope’s slippery reins,

today, tomorrow, as warm blood flows through these veins,

haggard hope, a constant, remains …
… …

the turquoise turret … … …

bubblegum clouds drizzle cotton-candy floss, blurring my view,

liquorice asphalt twists, a slow burn, igniting memories of she, ashenly charred, akin to her tresses auburn,

as i pompously peer from atop my turquoise turret, all that lies between i and she, are my walls secured, my defences, obscured … … …

cellophane dreams … … …

cellophane dreams … …


sandpapered raw,
emotions, sentiments, wounds cutting to the core,

afloat in cellophane dreams, fantastical flights, asphyxiating me in these hollow nights,

sealed on dotted lines, signed away, the simple freedom of hoping for a gentler way,

when cellophane dreams are stacked with a shovel, thrust down souls inured, left emaciated in the dirt to grovel,

lost in the blur of today’s lies, tempus fugit, they say, shedding some pain as time continually flies,

to a nearby space, trapped within my bruised face,

i am human,

i am also, a part of your human (race) … … …

crimson rains … …

blood-red tears trickle down a million cheeks,
a drought of apathy reeks,

the summer palls, inhumanity appalls,

as wounded earth soaks up crimson rain … …

cinnamon clouds … … …

cinnamon clouds … … …

cinnamon clouds, shrouds,
cardamom skies, as moist eyes,

shed tears along this  cobblestone pathway, where vanilla dreams lay,

strewn, broken, wounded by harsh words spoken,

leading me to this day, today … … …


Old Sof’town*


In old Sof’town,
the jazz struck chords,

the jazz lived, it exploded,
out of the cramped homes,
rolling along the streets,
of old Kofifi,

in tune to countless blazing heartbeats.

In old Sof’town,
Bra’ Hugh breathed music, Sis’ Dolly too,
and Bra’ Wally penned poems that still ring true.

In old Sof’town,
Father Trevor preached
equality and justice,
for all, black and white and brown,

and all shades, every hue,
even as oppression battered the people,
black & blue.

In old Sof’town,
the fires of resistance raged,

‘we will not move’ was the refrain,

even as the fascists tore down Sof’town,
with volleys of leaden rain.

In old Sof’town,
the people were herded,
like cattle,
sent to Meadowlands,
far away and cold and bleak,
as the seeds of resistance,
sprouted and flourished,
for the coming battle.

In old Sof’town,
the bulldozers razed homes,
splitting the flesh of a community apart,
only to raise a monument of shame,
and ‘Triomf’ was its ghastly name.


In Jozi today,
we remember those days,
and those nights of pain,
that stung our souls.
like bleak winter rain.

Yes, we remember old Sof’town,
as we struggle onward,
to reclaim our deepest heritage,
and build anew,
a country of all hues and shades,
of black and of white and of brown.

And yes, we will always remember,

and yes, we will never forget,

the price that was paid,
by the valiant sons and daughters,
of old Sof’town,

those vibrant African shades and hues,

of black,
of white,
of brown.

* Sophiatown was also called ‘Sof’town’ and ‘Kofifi’



raspberry leaves … … …



raspberry leaves whirl, as flavours of life,
yawning, begin to unfurl …

dusk falls, day palls,

each moment randomly twirls,

each minute unveiling fresh swirls


monday reading beckoning


talkin’ day-to-day walkin’ along blues … … …


nothin' like a train

scraping for scraps in the dirt,
sweat soaking my tattered shirt,

walking each day in and out,
never knowing what this life is really about,

paying the bills,
earning a wage,
battered blue by callous rage,

trapped in a rusty cage,
yearning to fly free,
like birds kicking the branches of a tree,

away, far away from the slavery of wage,
locked up, trapped,
trudging through it all, each and every day,

you see, i’m a-talkin’ day-to-day walking along blues,

bruised soles, from slip slidin’ in thousand dollar shoes,

trying to not look closely at,
the gilded prisons, the cars and this and that,

where feelings are numbed,
as loose joints are bummed,
and consciences are systemically dumbed,

cos’ they tell us to finish school, get a degree, cos’ you don’t wanna be a fool,

they tell us buy a car, rent a house,
adorn your bodies in silken shirts and a fashionable blouse,

while dying a little each day out and in,
cauterising feelings within,

well, i’m old enough now to not drink the kool-aid,
of consumerist addiction,
all of it just a flimsy band-aid,

to stem the humanity from a-flowin’,
cos’ as you know you can’t help no one,
till you yourself are someone,

so when will it all come crashing down,
tearing the cardboard smiles, exposing the plastic frowns,

i ain’t got a clue,
and i sure hope you do,

cos’ with you it ain’t never been ’bout the blue label we drink or the fillet-mignon we chew,

‘cos with you it’s always been about me being me, and you being you,

nothing fancy, nothing smooth,

‘cos with us, within us, it’s always been ’bout being true … … …


Cycads ...

shedding, detritus of day, of night,

moulting, masks veiling hope, light,

afloat, surfing silver-lined clouds, fleeing barren crowds,

together, two hearts, one soul:

complete, rendered whole … … …

fingers raw, bruised and sore,
masks stripped, truth tearing at the core,

feelings forgotten, discarded and rotten,
emptiness scratching at the bottom,

moments fungal, trapped in this desolate jungle,
scalding pride to ashes cold and humble,

dreams trashed, memories adrift, lashed,
wheels of lives callously slashed …

still, yet, always,

hope persists, through life’s turns and twists,
hope never dies,
hope resists … … …


alone, not lonely ... ... ...

May your smile never fade,
may you always be as you are now,

warm and kind,

true and filled with the generosity of spirit that defines you,

may your dreams soar into the boundless open skies,

and may the benevolent fingertips of time and of fate,

brush away any tears that should fall from your gentlest eyes.

May you forever stand tall,
may your head always be held high,

with stoic dignity.

May your past experiences be the stepping-stones that mark your path ahead,

may your heart be your guide,

your blazing beacon of wildly enthusiastic hope,

may your wishes be simple,
and may they come to be,

filling your life and your moments,

with joyous bliss,

where you truly feel free.

Free of the weight of yesterday,
free of gnawing doubt,

and may your being be infused,
with the softest serendipity,

so that you may spread your arms,

and to the heavens shout,

I am free,

I am me,

at long last,
I am standing tall,
never again to bow,
or to fall on bended knee.

This is a wish both simple yet elusive,

a wish that only you can make true,

by simply being,

the kind,

gentle person,
that is you … … …


high at 34 thousand feet


weekend reading





my wishes are simple,
desires few,
gazing upon a leaf,
nourished by dew.

my wishes are simple,
dreams hardly grand,
hearing birdsong in this desert,
together, hand in hand.

my wishes are simple,
my heart calm,
resting with you ‘neath this palm,

years rattling bones,
wrinkling skin,
greying our hair,
ever so thin … … …


my bipolar haze … …

watching the stars fall,
scorching these nights,
the manic days,


yet she remains,
a constant,
an anchor,

in my bipolar haze …

A Tribute to Bruce Springsteen … … …

it was a rain-swept monsoon day,
way back then, so many moons away

when i felt the music strumming in my veins,
setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins

you sang of simple truths,
your verse spoke to people just like me,
in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night,
as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone’s plight,

‘bobby jean’ spoke to me,
of that girl down the street,
glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet,

and ‘the river’ that flowed through my ever-barren heart,
led me down further roads of thunder,
when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on,

and never to surrender,
to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run,
while i danced in the dark,
with memories vivid and stark,

even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark,
and then a ‘human touch’ came along,
and ‘better days’ seemed real, not just words in a song,

and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes,

as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies,

in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned,
as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned,

and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up,
working on a highway of scattered ideals,
and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup,

well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road,

with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad,

but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night,

just like the ghost of that old tom joad.


For Wendy Cope
(b. 1945)

(Inspired by her poems ‘Bloody Men’ and ‘Flowers’)


I may not have brought you flowers.

I know I was always late.

You tolerated my moodiness,
and my ever-increasing weight.


You said men were like buses,

and you had grown weary of waiting,

Of putting up with my quirks and my fusses,

though we barely knew we were dating.


Ah, but we weathered the squalls;

Your patience has always been saintly.

And now that old age palls,

our tiffs are recalled only faintly.


We laugh at youth’s follies and know,

the beauty we had sought unaware;

It’s as wide as a calm river’s flow,

and as timeless as our years of care.

(Inspired by Wendy Cope’s poems ‘Bloody Men’ and ‘Flowers’)


Special thanks to Donald Webb of ‘Bewildering Stories’ for kindly editing this poem

Infinite tendrils,
weave exquisite patterns,
forming an immaculate, delicate sheaf,

while morning’s dew whispers,
tales of forgotten woes,
left scribbled on every leaf.

Murmurs float gently,
across solitary trees,
to distant forests deep and dense,
teasing the waving grasses,
while coquettishly inflaming every sense.

Listen! For the murmurs whisper to us all,

listen carefully,
as the whispers recall,
the crushed memories of the lovers’ call.

For the whispering leaf shares,
a story that may travel,

to you, to me,
if we still our minds,


gaze upon each leaf,

if we can be hush,
if we can still marvel.


in the debris of the past,
scraps of casually discarded emotion.


in hastily trashed yesterdays,
an inkling of moments flung away.


in heaps of rubbished words,
that tiresome sigh of defeated thought.


in the layers of moulted skin
the wilting self that once was true.


in the reflections between the ripples,
for the whispered pangs of roaring desire.


in the blank eyes streaming endlessly,
an echo of the faintest sigh of new life.


Searching … … …

feelings, ragged,
splintered, sandpapered,

velveteen gentleness,

swirling tongues of fire,
serenading sensuous brushstrokes,

on canvas,

whirling, afloat,
on an old bridge not far from where she used to live,

imbued with life,

a symphonic crescendo, of shared heartbeats,

fading between notes, entwined,
an orchestral rising,

conducting passion,
electric sparks flaming into musical echoes,

at the precipice,
beyond the rains, of dazzling rainbow hues,

lost in void, eternally,

scalding the depths of rhyme, ravaged by the endless song and dance and mime,


for a prolonged, privileged, generous bouquet of shared time … … …

Tempestuous waves lashing,
weather-beaten shores of being,

smashing cliffs,
futile defences.

Feeling erosion,


donning my armour,
shielding me,

from cold,
wet waters of fate,
until now.

Armour pock-marked,
battle-fatigue claws at my throat,

a once orchestral crescendo of promise,

now jangling chords of dissonance,

beating deep inside my heart,

yet, yet,

stemming the cacophonous onslaught,

surrendering to the inevitability of change,

knowing, knowing,

that from the jagged rocks of memories,
from the frigid waters of destiny,
from the dissonance of infinite chords,

there always is,
as there always shall be,

the promise of a new symphony … … …

              A L W A Y S

Embers fade,
disappearing into the hushed night…

Petals wither,
falling on the soft grass…

Words pale,
obscured by the anguish within…

Faces blur,
dimmed by the galloping years…

Kisses lose,
the urgency of those bygone depths…

Feelings recede,
lying dormant in shielded vaults…

Love loses,
fatigued after numberless skirmishes…

Pain flees,
seeking new wounds to inflict…

Scars remain,
sentinels against,

the dilution of memory.

‘smile’, she said with a wink,

I smiled.

‘kiss me’, she said, pulling me close to her cinnamon lips.

‘kiss me’.
I kissed her.

‘I’m happy’, she whispered, her warm breath in my ear.

‘I am whole’, I whispered to her,

and to myself:
‘I am whole’.


Papa Francisco





U2’s 360° Tour
Soweto, South Africa
February 13th 2011

talkin’ Valentines Day bluesy blues  … … …

no more cotton-candy floss, away with the veneer,
banish the gloss,

i don’t want it if it ain’t real,
if it doesn’t make me sing,
cry, if it doesn’t make me feel,

lose the smile,
painted on, all the while, tearing up inside,
where i crawl away to hide,

so get rid of the flotsam, the jetsam,
the crap we shovel each day,
making a living,
absorbing the uncouth words the bosses say,

cos’ I’m sick of this parade, this grand jury, this empty soulless charade,

of the fun and games, win, win, win, or be a loser,
and end up in ashes burnt by the flames,

take me away, lock me up somewhere far, away from the booze, the broken hearts, the asphalt, far from the melting tar,

i can’t breathe here  no more,
with your cocktailed mocktails,
your canapes and your fluff,

i swear i don’t need any of this stuff,

so stuff it all and lets flee these concrete walls, closing in as dawn and dusk falls,

night in and night out,

i don’t want it no more, i want out …

… away from this city of gold,
where hearts are strung out in the cold,
and once a year chocolate shaped candies are sold,
and the lovers cling onto the fragile lives they tenuously hold,

i am tired of these fake verandahs,
faux-fur, purple blouses, brown shirts, club soda,

neatly trashed in recycled eco-friendly bags,

i want something real,
something truly true,

so c’mon girl,
take a chance on me,

i will have all of you,

far away we’ll flee,
where birds still sing free,

where we can be,
what we want to be … … …

sipping from your bounteous chalice,

nectar, sustenance,

imbibing tender love,

thirsting for more,
of you,
hungry, needy, greedy,

transcending this life,

these smiles on parade,
this shambolic, frigid charade,

thirsting for more,
of you,

within my being,
hewn into my core … … …

enveloping you … … …

… … … caressing seductively swaying marmalade roses,

teasing stealthily approaching moonbeams,

the smell of you lingers,

and on …

… awake,
emotions a-wander,

thoughts of you, seduce soul,
mind, body,


warmed, burning,
fanning embers of your furnace,
this ravenous fire,

this passionate glow,
enveloping your being entire … … …

The Saga of Romeo & Juliet on Valentines Day

that day of the year once more

the zombie-apocalypse-horde descend

foaming through aisles in this-or-that store.

they seek, perhaps, absolution for ‘that one time’ and, of course ‘those’ other times before

when you felt the splintering of your very core

while he mumbled apologies that sliced through your bone | your flesh like a saw

so, yes, it is ‘that’ day of the year once more

the cat’s night to sashay through the front door

knowing only too well she’ll find me right here looking the grumpy old bored boar

and now look who’s purrring like 1-coolcat flopsilly sinking to her majesterial floor

“oh please not the ‘I’m really not into valentines day blah de blah’, you old boar!”

that unwipeawayable smile seems to say

“who loves kitty hmm who loves kitty”

by then as was with the Borg

resistance is futile

so you flopsilly flop down next to her

and as she permits you to you to brush the now “greying-cos’ of oldage” lil’ hairs under her teensy furrry chin

you begin to hum a tune,

‘Romeo & Juliet’ oh yes that 80’s Dire Straits song …

“… and he says …

‘you & me, babe …

how ‘about it …”

“Romeo & Juliet”

Written by Mark Knopfler

From the Dire Straits’ studio album ‘Making Movies’

Released on 17 October 1980


“… A lovestruck Romeo sings the streets a serenade
Laying everybody low with a love song that he made
Finds a streetlight steps out of the shade
Says something like you and me babe how about it?

Juliet says hey it’s Romeo you nearly gimme me a heart attack
He’s underneath the window she’s singing hey la my boyfriend’s back
You shouldn’t come around here singing up at people like that
Anyway what you gonna do about it?

Juliet the dice were loaded from the start
And I bet and you exploded in my heart
And I forget I forget the movie song
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet?

Come up on different streets they both were streets of shame
Both dirty both mean yes and the dream was just the same
And I dreamed your dream for you and now your dream is real
How can you look at me as if I was just another one of your deals?

Well you can fall for chains of silver you can fall for chains of gold
You can fall for pretty strangers and the promises they hold
You promised me everything you promised me thick and thin, yeah
Now you just say oh Romeo yeah you know I used to have a scene with him

Juliet when we made love you used to cry
You said I love you like the stars above I’ll love you till I die
There’s a place for us you know the movie song
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong Juliet?

I can’t do the talk like they talk on TV
And I can’t do a love song like the way it’s meant to be
I can’t do everything but I’d do anything for you
I can’t do anything except be in love with you

And all I do is miss you and the way we used to be
All I do is keep the beat and bad company
All I do is kiss you through the bars of a rhyme
Julie I’d do the stars with you any time

Juliet when we made love you used to cry
You said I love you like the stars above I’ll love you till I die
There’s a place for us you know the movie song
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong Juliet?

A lovestruck Romeo sings the streets a serenade
Laying everybody low with a love song that he made
Finds a convenient streetlight steps out of the shade
Says something like you and me babe how about it? “


you good people have yourselves a special valentines day too!


unashamed mush ,
drowning in your eyes, tongue-tied,

you said i was a lush,
intoxicated by you, was i,

but instead i lied,
calling you my pineapple crush,

when all along i was afflicted,
with nowhere left to hide,

adrift in the swirling sea of your love,
and though,
tempus fugit,
time flies,

i still feel that rush,

gazing into the ocean of your eyes,

reducing me still,

into an unabashed lush,

so forgive me this scribble,

this ode to you,

and all this unashamed mush … … …

A Simply Schmaltzy Scribble

my loveliness, you …


various strands,
hewn by the gentlest of hands,


your hands,
tender, warm, soft,

absorbed deep,
beyond sleep,

into my being,
my mind,
and my soul,

leaving me warm,
aflame with desire,

infused by your love,
within me,

within my mind, body, soul,

my being,

whole … … …

the fire rages,
inflamed by you,

the furnace scorches,
ablaze with your love,

the love abides,
today, tomorrow,

and only with you,

my loveliness,
ever by my side … …


artist unknown

my loveliness waits,
through decades of lost haste,

through trials and grief,
peaceful days and dire straits,

my loveliness waits …

i wait …

through decades past,
for kisses meant to last,

i wait,

to hold my loveliness,
in these lonesome arms,

i wait,

transcending lust,
overcoming desire,

i wait,

to be scorched,
in the furnace of her raging fire … … …

[ Andy Dufresne (Tim Robbins), in a letter to Ellis Boyd ‘Red’ Redding (Morgan Freeman) ]

Dear Red, If you’re reading this, you’ve gotten out. And if you’ve come this far, maybe you’re willing to come a little further. You remember the name of the town, don’t you? I could use a good man to help me get my project on wheels. I’ll keep an eye out for you and the chessboard ready. Remember, Red. Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this letter finds you, and finds you well. Your friend, Andy.”

– from ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ (1994)


The Shawshank Redemption 1994

scattered beings,

unlike trees,
tentacled roots,
firmly entrenched,
in this earth,

we walk alongside trees,

embroiled in turmoil,
we hate, waging wars,
we discriminate:


rootless, we flounder,

racing through lives,
rootless, unencumbered,

seeking a home,
eternal exiles, uprooted,

skidding, smiling,
killing, proselytising,

inured by dogma,
anaesthetised with learned prejudice,

basking in the illusion, that we, us, i am surefooted,

yet remaining exiles,
all, together,
bound together by gravity, unable to soar into boundless skies,

tearing each other apart,
unafraid, surefooted,

my country right or wrong,
my religion the only one,
my culture the best,
my tradition superior to all the rest,

my book the word of god,

smugly uprooted,

unlike trees,
deeply rooted,
fanning out like banyans, free,

not us,
paying dues, settling scores, doling out fees,

meandering through bylanes of isolation,

smug, arrogant,
assuredly surefooted,

in the only truth of my culture, my tradition, my race, my people, my religion,

my god,

have we forgotten the trees,

chopped down,
without sorrow,

once firmly rooted,
now flotsam, jetsam,

like i, you, him, her, us and them,

uprooted, snuffed out,

dragging along dead wood,

pompously preaching the rootedness,

of culture,
of tradition,
of race and of religion,

while we remain,

exiles all, blasé and smugly surefooted,

sowing division,
waving flags,

my country right or wrong,

ignoring the lesson of the trees,

of what it really means to be firmly rooted,

posturing instead, ideological fantasies, religious fancies:

i am right,

and thusly so,

you are all very wrong …
… …


      the taste


scribbling odes


on bare skin:

my muse

         my muse

        the fabric
       of my soul





warm of heart, yes indeed,
luscious sparkling eyes, so difficult to read,

tender, kind, a generosity of spirit radiating gentle care towards species fragile,

with a dryness of humour that will forever make you smile,

almost impossibly irresistible,
elegant, classy, beautiful, attractive, sexy, sensually alluring, and oh so much more,

with wild beauty,
from the sunkissed beaches of Mandela bay, wind-swept Havana way,
sweltering nights of Polokwane far away,

this whole wide world and more:

that’s enough – geography can be a bore.

Now this person you most certainly know,

like an ocean of desire that perennially shall flow,

the mystery is before you, dear friend, so good luck to you all,

may your sherlockian deduction not hit a brick wall,

but friend, know this well, that in those beautiful eyes you may willingly drown,

wishing to never see, on that gorgeous face, even the hint of a frown,

and so,

the clues are here and there,
a quarter here, and there,

her name is ?

take a chance,
live a little,



love somebody if you dare … … …

barefoot in the rain … … …

tiny splashes,
toes teasing toes,
as the rain lashes,

dancing under moonbeams,
hazy lazy clouds dripping nectar,

cheek to dripping cheek,
your hands in mine,
your eyes sparkling with a fire divine,

dancing barefoot in the rain,

with you, my whole, my own, my life,

dancing with you,
barefoot in the rain,

toes tickle toes,
far from this life’s pain,
away from the strife,

with you, within you,
I have found renewed life … … …

the jo’burg rains

after the Jo’Burg rains…

…last night’s rain lashed the city less like a whimper and more like a good solid hearfelt cry

while lightning whipped and cracked through the jo’burg sky

as the rain-gods of africa blessed us with their bounty from way up high

they say the gold beneath our feet attracts the electrical storms that are so fierce

the very tempests that stab my soul and into my fragile heart pierce

for the thunder that rolls and rumbles is loud enough

to proclaim that the hard rains that are gonna fall are going to be biting and rough

and though the streets of jozi empty rather soon

the clouds darken and the smell of humid hope inflames our oflactorial senses as we await the miraculous boon

and then all hell breaks loose and roams the streets of my beloved jo’burg wild and free

and the rawness of it all is a sight to hear and sense and feel and to in awe see

for the rain and the thunder and the lightning is frightening at times

slashing through the ash-hued skies and stripping me of my pitiful rhymes

for the force of nature is then pure and clear to behold

and in silence we stand and watch as the water drenches this crazy beautiful city of gold

a jo’burg shower is a sight to soak in and to absorb and to feel

for it has the primal energy to dazzle and frighten and make each and every one of your senses reel

and so…

I hope it rains again on this overcast and cool saturday

so to the gods of africa I say a silent prayer and say

all praise to you for blessing us with a land and a sky and a people so true

ngiyabonga, kea-leboga, ndo-livhuwa, siyabonga, dankie, thank you

thank you

thank you…

jo’burg breeze

tasting you,
                     breathing you,
                    feeling you,



swaying in the jo’burg breeze,
             for just knowing you,
          infuses emotions of mirth,

of simple joys,

                         of peace …

on hope: tomorrow is ours.

years ebb, flow,
tangoing the same old dance, rehashing the same tired show,

temporarily anaesthetised,

cured, from the accursed affliction,
buy, drink, eat, and buy some more,

as the machine grinds flesh and bone,
rendering hearts frigid as stone,

years like tides, slip away,
sweeping this beach of dreams,

common dreams, shared through the uBuntu of being human,

hope, for a less harsh world,
more food, less war,

education, not the burning of books,

treating each other as human,
shedding the cloak of indifference,

to revel,
all of us, the people,

bathed in the warm light of true freedom, real justice,

as bigotry, hatred, racism, misogyny etc etc etc in the corner cowers,

for we shall always,
always, be many, many more,

for tomorrow shall dawn,
and the future is ours …

when you kiss me,
beneath our shared African skies,

fattened drops of nectar – heavenly rain,
like honeyed-corn,
fell upon us,
blurring our eyes,

drenching you,
and i,

together, momentarily,
and eternally,

though perhaps still,
’tis illusory,

a sliver of time,
razor-edged, real,

perched between:

passionate reason …
desirous rhyme …

nostalgia tugs


whisking the mind away

custard-apple evenings

monsoon drenched rain

whistling between trees of rhyme

peacock feathers
lying listless

beaten as these lines

and still beyond it all
past rainbows fractured

the sun still shines

mending soggy feathers


always alone
on cardamom clouds

leading me here

to now.

this moment
vacuum sealed

incense-smoked paths


ever on

dreams strewn asunder

as heartless time
tireless time

rages on

shedding fatigued smiles

over the countless


just as morning sashays and twirls
dust clouds of trepidation swirls

another day infused with light
hushing the whispers of covetous night

where hopes are paraded like wares
and dreams traded as blue chiselled shares

when all of this and all that jazz
raises the din to an unbearable razmatazz

humaneness getting lost amidst the incessant din
wearing each others patience thin

till night swoons back into view
thankful that todays tears were but a few

and so it goes on and on and ever on
far too many battles fought for the war to ever be won

till it all comes down to this hollow grand charade
trumpeting the crudeness of the passing parade

till leaden hearts fall faitigued to the ground

rotting as the vultures circle around

waiting for the flesh to rapidly decay
chewing and spitting out souls decapitated along the way

is this the living of life blabbered about in verse and in song
when each being survives the tribulations of the wrong

even as we sputter on in the gutters
gulping every breath in doleful stutters

lambasting him and her and them all as convenient nutters

panting as down go the fragile shutters

wistfully trampling on hearts of glass that shatter

but who cares in any case what really is the matter

expecting no peace as howling winds screech and batter

each fragile heart grinning insolently
like the maddest hatter

yes this is life they say

this is life

devoid of mirth yet mired in aching strife

when night falls
the wolf calls

to renegade souls on the run
unfurling banners beneath the hidden sun

writhing underneath the detritus of the days
moulting skin left on gypsy highways

seeking refuge
reeking of perspired moonshine
traipsing hither and thither walking the line

till dawn slips past
moments meant never to last

scraping the veneer down to rust

lost in shorn flakes strewn in the dust


be my valentine ... ?

Valentines Day Redux … … …


that time of year once more,

the expectations to do this, buy that,

begin to tickle and murmuringly gnaw.

should there be roses, and if so could they all be red,

or fragrant petals strewn all across the bed,

with some catnip on the side, pretty please and with sugar,
and dollops of whipped cream,

for that,
I do know,

would be my cat’s Valentines Day dream … … …


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