art by banksy
seeing you …
seeing you,
wraps my day in blanketed warmth,
seeing you,
feeds a hunger buried deep,
seeing you,
radiant in my dreams,
so close, so far,
scorches me, that burning furnace, an unquenchable desire,
the endless supernova of your ravenous fire …
art from google
a baobab tree – art from google
Passion …
undulating, lengthy, scorching kisses,
peppered with sensuous caresses,
with you, i am one,
a bouquet of feelings, infusing every pore,
our bodies in unison, fused at our passionate core.
scribbling verses on on your fiery skin,
dedicating odes to you, my love,
melting into a poem of desire,
burnished against our writhing bodies,
inflamed, on fire.
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these nights of hungering need,
these days aching to upon each other ravishingly feed,
swept up by our orchestral crescendo,
the symphonies coursing through our veins with greed.
no scribbled verses may even begin, to convey the heat of our shared cauldron,
we become one, we are one, when the stars in the sultry nights disappear,
our sweat trickling off our flesh,
the sparkle in your eyes so crystalline, so clear.
though the years have vanished and slipped into cupboards to sleep,
though the wrinkles have imperceptibly on our brows begun to creep,
we have yet many moons to savour,
bathed in moonlight of our hearts beating as one,
within each other so immeasurably deep …
art from google
“Irises” by Vincent van Gogh
an unashamedly mushy lovey-dovey scribble …
I want you in my arms tonight, I crave your touch ever gentle, ever so feathery light,
I want you to kiss me hungrily beneath our African night, I want to sip the nectar glistening on your lips so bright,
I want all of you and more, I want to pick up seashells with you on our talcum shore,
I want you to clasp my hand, your fingers intertwined with mine, I want to be dazzled by the love we share, a flame that continues to brightly shine,
I want to escape this daily grind with you by my side, deep into the recesses of our souls, where there no longer is the need to scurry and to hide,
I want us to make love, our bodies and minds and hearts becoming one, I want to feel the heat between us like the blazing sun,
I want to promise you love forever more, a vow, an oath, kept safe deep within our core,
I want to grow old with you, my love, my light,
I want to savour every moment shared together,
forever and ever, with the knots of love binding us tight …
“Wheatfield with Crows” by Vincent van Gogh
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from google
Drowning in her Eyes …
Drowning in her eyes,
eyes chastising me for looking away,
till my gaze got caught, in her eyes’ captivating sway.
“I fear I would drown in your eyes”, I said in a whisper,
“drown”, she murmured.
from google
from google
She is you …
They say she is opinionated, rude even, and lacking all tact,
they expect her to be demure, to brew tea and cook, so that suitable suitors she may attract.
They castigate her for not following the norm,
they expect her to weather the relentless storm in hushed silence, with acceptance and aplomb.
They dismiss her for being “loud-mouthed”, for speaking her mind,
they demand from her the acceptance of the gnawing shackles that to her bind.
Yes,
she lives in gilded cages, while the blood in her veins rages,
she is condemned to the countless leaking, freezing, boiling shacks, facing horrors untold,
she is used, her body abused, to be bartered, battered and sold.
A single mother, she is savaged by their barbed whispers, their narrow, antiquated attitudes,
while on mother’s and women’s day they pummel her with their hollow meaningless platitudes.
They speak disparagingly of her flouting cultural, sectarian, and their narrow-minded claptrap,
even as she wrestles the demons, the indignity, the trauma of the punches and kicks, the slaps after slap.
They damn her for unclipping her wings, as she soars free into the open sky,
all the while our silent complicity,
kicks her to the cold ground where she is expected to cower and lie.
She is you, and you are her,
and may you continue to be,
unflinching, unbowed,
and always, always true.
from google
from google
The Shame of All Man …
There is a shame that must be felt, by all Man the whole world around,
a collective, gnawing, nauseating shame,
for Man’s actions over the millennia,
Man must face the unsavoury truths and share the repellent blame.
There is a complicity of silence, a screaming silence, the mute hushed cowardice,
of billions of tongues sewn shut,
a shrieking deafness, of Man refusing to hear,
the disgust of the predatory stares, the abhorrent cat-calls, the sick eyes that linger and leer.
There is a common affliction, an accepted conceit, the obscene display of Male Power,
the barbed words lashing out, the sewage slipping and dripping,
the fists, the palms, the kicks, the slaps, the “you are nothing without me” drivel,
all the while expecting the women to stay silent, to patch their bruised faces, and in corners to curl up and shrivel.
We are in the 21st century, with human beings walking the moon, of hybrid cars, of vulgar jewellery of diamonds and gold,
of bazaars where women are bought and sold,
of places in technologically advanced cities that glitter at night,
where young girls are shredded, their innocence torn out, all within plain sight.
There is the new Man, who barters and buys women on e-commerce stores on the world wide web,
the new slavery with airplanes the new slave ships,
the places women cannot vote and young girls cannot attend school, under the convenient guise of religion, of tradition, of culture,
while Man holds sway, infecting each generation, circling each struggle for equality and emancipation like a diseased vulture.
These are just some of the abominable truths we stand by and watch, as part of the passing parade,
while mouthing platitudes to “women’s rights” as on goes the self-deluded charade.
I am Man,
the one among multitudes who must share the collective shame,
the one among billions whose back must be crushed by the collective blame,
the guilty unprincipled, vile, apathetic, uncaring, unthinking disease,
the one who must tear open my eyes in order to acknowledge that Man sees.
I am Man,
and no matter what I think,
no matter what I believe,
it is from deep within my putrid soul,
that this cancerous sickness I must begin to cleave.
an anti-Apartheid poster and slogan during the struggle against Apartheid
from google
talkin’ 21st century walkin’ blues …
( inspired by Woody Guthrie, Hugh Ramapolo Masekela, The Amandla ‘ANC Freedom’ Choir, Huddie ‘Leadbelly’ Ledbetter, Pete Seeger, uMama Miriam Makeba, Vusi Mahlasela, Youssou N’Dour, Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Christy Moore, and far too many more to mention )
walkin’ down these jo’burg streets, where glimmering chariots and hunger meets,
talkin’ about these jo’burg boulevards, where few sip whisky while the many are pierced by jagged shards,
yes, just walkin’ down these suburban roads, where high fences shield the 1%,
while the generous ones roll down their windows to fling out a 20 or so cent,
they said that ‘capitalism with a conscience’ would lead to more equality,
now we know that those words were empty and meaninglessly shitty,
there is no ‘capitalism with a conscience’ to be found,
the system itself is designed to keep the have-nots manacled and bound.
doesn’t all this sound like familiar talk, wherever in the world you live and walk,
doesn’t this happen in your city too, no matter what the stock exchange wants us to believe is true,
as you go walkin’ in your countries and cities the world around, doesn’t all this talk of the economy seem like hollow mishmash sound,
doesn’t the shimmering of gold and diamonds, of fillet mignon and blue label neat, sicken you as you emerge from your cocoons onto the raw festering street,
yes, it’s the same the whole wide world over, the grip of need that binds like a twisted choker, while millions are wagered in casinos around the whole world on games of poker,
so yes we’re talkin’ 21st century blues, where crocodile skin footwear meet torn shoes.
johannesburg,
detroit,
lagos,
gaza,
delhi,
london,
freetown,
beijing,
soweto,
harlem,
the favelas,
the “squatter camps”,
the “inner cities”,
all these festering sores on all of our consciences, are just blabbered on about in countless conferences,
where the rich and powerful and the greedy, give not a hoot about the starving needy,
where men in suits sip wine and on fresh salmon dine, as the conveniently invisible ones magically appear for a quick shoeshine.
i’m talkin’ these blues not because i’m wise, or humane, or have something so different to say, no i talk these words because i know there is a better way,
a better path where hope lights the lamp of equality, where protest and songs and the fight continues for true liberty.
i’m walkin’ and talkin’ these 21st century blues, knowing injustice is unsustainable, where the 1% will and must pay their pitliless dues,
it is our common internationalism to fight and pull out the dagger of inequality, so all may share the bounties of this earth, with no need for flinging money at the odd charity,
it is a hope we must all carry deep inside us all, and yes they will call us impotent and naive, but these are the common principles and values in which we have no choice but to believe,
as we go walkin’ and talkin’ these 21st century blues, fighting the good and the right and the just fight, even as they call us naive, against the stilettos of greed that into humanity do cleave,
so that the dignity, the respect, the gender-rights, the stab of hunger, the being homeless in the sleet and the rain, is not taken for granted as the normality of this life, where bombs and hunger are no longer taken for granted as “theirs” and not “our” strife,
but where uBuntu* is practised from the cradle to the grave,
for that is the only way we can our beautiful planet, our sisters and brothers, our mothers and daughters and the women so very brave,
fight on, resisting the grotesque truths of our world and our realities from callous greed shake off these suffocating chains, the hideous materialism that we crave,
that are designed to perpetuate the tyranny of the master and of the slave …
* – uBuntu is a Southern African isiXhosa/isiZulu concept that espouses the “belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity”
from google
from google
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For Ernesto ‘Ché’ Guevara de la Serna
(14 June 1928 – 9 October 1967)
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The Wind Carries His Name …
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They shot him down,
to silence a man of flesh and bone.
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Even as the bullets tore through him,
the wind carried his name.
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Far across the weary fields,
high above the stubborn peaks,
over the blood soaked streams,
the wind carried his name.
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They shot him down,
to silence a man of flesh and bone.
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Yet the wind carries his name,
to you and to me,
to them and to us.
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They shot him down,
but his name resounds,
as it floats on the breeze.
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They still try to shoot him down,
to silence us all,
to stifle an ideal.
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But the wind cannot be stilled,
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and the wind carries his name.
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“Che” …
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from google
Scribbled Verse 
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