Tag Archive: economics


Who Killed the Marikana Miners?*

who killed the miners at Marikana?

definitely not the executive

nor the executives
far removed from the grime
and the slime

Who killed the miners at Marikana?

not the Prez
and not even the Press for a change

strange

so who killed the miners at Marikana?

the unions perhaps
or the errant miner
led astray

in that obscene demand for better pay

who killed the miners at Marikana?

not armed cops,
firing bullets of lead into the back of the head

execution-style it’s been said

who killed the miners at Marikana?

it seems no one can be found

as bodies decompose deep under gold dust ground

while families grieve

there
ain’t no one around to take the fall

so
who killed the Marikana Miners?

no one

no one at all

* inspired by the protest song “Who Killed Davey Moore”, a topical song written in 1963 by American folk singer/songwriter Bob Dylan.

kleptocratic ungovernance …

the 1%.

snouts deep,
buried alive,

all conscience excised,

seeking more,
always seeking more.

the 99%.

shrivelled shadows,
tucked away under underpasses,

seeking enough,
always seeking just enough.

Empire

empire …

crackling embers of empire,

spew noxious toxicity,

lashing,
weatherbeaten faces,

scratching,
gnawing,
crunching marrow,

burrowing deep,

slaying,
praying,
selling,

wearing down,
laboriously,

chilling the furnace of principle,

doused by carbonated fizz,

rendering consciences inured,

consciousness cremated,

ash rising,

ascending,
exalted,

amidst hazy,
blurred,
just out-of-focus,

silhouettes of humanness,

shred,
minced,
chewed,

spat out,
cast aside,

stripped off the moulting skin of greed,

left out to bleed,

as vultures skulk,
& currencies’ sulk,

– markets open,

– the horde pounces,

scalping,
remnants of dignity,

as sweat pours off backs,
& as innocence roasts in shacks,

as the cacophony grows ever more shrill,

buy!

buy!

checking-in all humanity,
left to suffocate,

in a cashiers till,

as we writhe,
entwined,

savaged & ravaged,

by the diktat of Profit,

while,

innocence starves,
emaciated,
discarded,

flung into the cesspool of want,

trampled upon,
barbecued on Capitals spit,

while hollowed souls,
wracked by inert life,

seek respite,
from want,

hunger,

from ceaselesss,
merciless strife

The Markets Are Down 2% …

Banish the hubris,

Toss away the choice words,

Spoken by rotten, broken tongues.

Silence the chorus of appalled shock.

Shred the sermons,

Burn down the gory edifices:

The churches, mosques, temples,

And the muted Gods they mock.

Drain the sewage.

Flush away the insidious odour,

Seeping up from malls, homes, carnivals.

Put it in a closet and weld the key in the lock.

Shut it all off.

Turn out the lights.

Pull the damned plug …

… but hold on to that blue-chip stock

May-Day!

May Day!

A distress call,
echoes over the seas,
working men and women,
shackled, bound by wage slavery,
rise, as one, united, voiceless no more.

‘all frequencies jammed’,

‘we apologise for the inconvenience’

May-Day!

South Africa: Freedom Day April 27 2013

1.

On the 27th day of April in Nineteen Ninety-Four,

Freedom was won, at long last.

The battles were many, the foe brutal,

Apartheid tore our southern tip of the continent of Africa apart,

it’s notions of racial-superiority,

its religious fundamentalism,

its fascist tendencies,

its beastly nature,

ripped the flesh off the skin of our collective selves,

but resistance to tyranny has always been a basic human aspiration,

and so resistance flourished.

2.

Ordinary folk,

school-teachers and machinists,

nurses and poets,

labourers and engineers,

lawyers and students,

resisted!

We remember you today,

as a copper African sun shines bright this Saturday morning in April of Two-Thousand and Thirteen,

we honour you, who fought,

Comrades all –

Walter Sisulu,

Nelson Mandela,

Joe Slovo,

Ahmed Kathrada,

Bram Fischer,

Steve Biko,

Solomon Mahlangu,

Vuyisile Mini,

Denis Goldberg,

and many many more,

those we know and love,

and those whose bones have now settled in our rich African soil,

those who died,

those who were executed,

those who were shot,

those who were tortured,

those who were killed,

and the countless who are still tortured today by the swords of memory,

the emotional and psychological torture,

that still rains down on the valiant ones and their families.

Families!

Families fractured, broken and scattered throughout the world,

fragments of a sister’s laugh, a daughter’s smile,
bite as harshly into the soul as did Apartheid’s cruel lashes of violence.

So many died, too many died,

and I remember them,

Dulcie September – Assassinated in Paris

Steve Biko – Tortured and Murdered in South Africa

Solomon Mahlangu – Hanged by the Apartheid State

Ahmed Timol – Tortured and Murdered

Bram Fischer – Died in Prison

Hector Petersen – Shot in Soweto ’76

David Webster – Killed

and many many more,

their blood flowing into the soil of our ancestors,

our country, our South Africa,

for all South Africans,

Black and white and brown and all the shades of humanity’s mosaic.

3.

Now we reflect,

now we must dissect,

the fruits of freedom,

thus far,
much has been achieved,

yet,

the struggles continue,

for employment,

health-care for all,

shelter and housing for all,

and my compatriots have earned it,

they have stewed in the mines,

deep beneath the soil,

for shiny metals and glittering glass.

The revolution is a work-in-progress,

true liberation shall be economic liberation,

where each and every South African,

can walk the land of our ancestors,

truly free.

We SHALL overcome!

Amandla!

Mayibuye-i-Afrika!

The Struggles Continue, Comrades…

I Don’t Care

I Don’t Care

I don’t care,
if you’re battered black and blue,

I don’t care,
just as long as I can drink and screw.

I don’t care,
if you’ve lost your damn job,

I don’t care,
you’re just a kernel off the cob.

I don’t care,
when I see you begging in the street,

I don’t care,
I get to suckle on capitalism’s raw teat.

I don’t care,
about the elderly, the poor, or the weak,

I don’t care,
if the earth will be inherited by the meek.

I don’t care,
if the climate is warming, I’m so much cooler,

I don’t care,
in my penthouse I’m the boss, the only ruler.

I don’t care,
for those rolling for scraps in the muck,

I don’t care,

I really don’t care, cos’ I don’t give a fuck.

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inspired by Bob Geldof’s “The Great Song of Indifference”