Archive for November, 2016


Hasta Siempre, Fidel

​twilight bore down, night descended, empty, forlorn,


the light flickered, then was gone,


yet, wherever injustice claws into humanity, where dignity is tattered,


the furnace rages,


Fidel lives,

Fidel lives on


   _____________


(with thanks to John Steinbeck and Woody Guthrie)

farewell to a bird … …

​there was a weaver bird that took residence on the tree just overlooking my room. I watched it patiently build a nest … and then the heavens opened up and the rains came and in the deluge something happened. I don’t see the weaver bird, flitting around anymore. Perhaps the oblivious random machinations of nature wreaked havoc on my friends little nest. 


needless to say I miss my friend and can only hope it it soaring the skies, whilst building a new home. 


soar ever higher and near always free, my friend …

​rain trickles down window panes, mournful streaks of tears,


thunder booms, moans and ebullient sighs,


lightning blankets evening hues,

butterfly kisses on the canvas of nature,


a crescendo undulating beneath heaving skies,


as moments, days, years, and time,


simply flies …

the hydra …

​the hydra slinks, soaking up the hate filled air, its callous bombast thrashes against the ramparts of democracy, shearing off truth, leaving only putrid jingoism.


the hydra multiplies, slashing off its wretched head, only to spawn more rancid fascism, permeating through the breeze, infecting susceptible minds, weaving and bobbing as it makes its way through the corridors of power.


this is now. 


the hydra today.

rain … … …

​nature rages, lightning streaks the Joburg skies,


rain sweeps down, drenching empty boulevards,


wreaking havoc, oblivious, unfeeling,


as gargantuan monsters often are.

the weaver bird 

​there’s a weaver bird building a nest, just outside my window on a branch of the tree in the garden. 

painstakingly committed. tirelessly fluttering hither and thither to build its nest. 

if only humans could inhabit more ‘homes’ and not the empty shells we call houses. 

a wild rose … … …

​by your gentle love beguiled, a bee drawn to a rose in the wild,


believing oaths spoken, promises told,


with us together, side by side, to forever each other hold … …

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