There is a gentle peace that emanates
from the things not wanted but needed
from the fortunes not sought but found.

There is a simplicity that is curled up
in moments not expected but offered
in intimacy not earned but bestowed.

There is a contented joy that gleams
in the bleak places where love grows
in hollow shadows filled with grace.

There is an unpretentious acceptance
of wisdom contained in a conundrum
of the sanctuary crafted in letting go.


I am becoming what I am, what I was
Concealed in distractions of my being
Let those who have eyes to see, see
Let those who hear reveal themselves
Speak, so that I might recognise you
Share your light that we might be one
Sit with me and with my tutelary deity
In the silence of that slow untethering
In the undoing of those who never were
I am hidden in the salvation of sacrifice
Oblivious to all but those who bring life


The brooding sky opens up its wings.
Expelling a heavy heart in teardrops,
splattering across filthy black lanes.
Leaving humans scattering for cover,
not noticing the salvation given them.
Do not shelter me from these torrents,
allow me to embrace a surging sorrow.
Let the cleansing sky tears cover me.
Hand your umbrella to the stranger,
and bestow your kisses to the night.

The Pink Cot

Always arriving at every word ever spoken
Bambi and the pink cot stand as a testimony.
The testimony to long summer Sundys.
Filled with the cries of cicadas, 
cicadas and the wrath of whiskey and pain. 
Hush now my child; no one is coming.
Your pastel prison of broken and futile dreams
will not arrest this brutal hurricane.
Raging through the dusty African Savannah. 
You, the symbol of a last hope destroyed. 
A creature never meant to be this.
Cicada sirens, the palpitating heartbeat,
echoing grief for what is invariably lost.
You, predestined to wander the earth,
tearing at the fabric of life. 
Oh, misplaced soul always arriving, 
but not belonging, somewhere. 


How must I disfigure my words
Conform endless unbound ideas
into tiny boxes of acceptance

How must I contort my essence
Submit the free-running child
to the shackles of conformity

How must I restrain my fiends
Imprison giants of creativity
in dark gaols of deliverances

How must I subdue my epiphany
Contour the remarkable enigma
into blasé shams of the known

Deliver my feet to the melody
Stretch out for me a universe
of open and magical unknowing


Letting go in soft slow motion
into the cold black weightless
into the serenity of stillness
into the safe quiet nothingness

Letting go of tauten demands
into a lull of thoughtlessness
into a truth of homelessness
into a chrysalis of awareness

An interlude of breathlessness

Letting go in gentle exhalation
into the brilliant luminousness
into the light of hopefulness
into the hand of boundlessness


The child becomes the man
the man carries the child.

The future becomes the now
the now grips onto yesterday.

The moment grows into a life
the life unravels in a moment.

The end just another beginning
the beginning simply an ending.

The pursuits we sacrifice for
the sacrifices we will pay for.

The pause that creates a bridge
the bridge that forges new ways.


Die mis gooi ń dik vreeskombers
oor die oeroue Jakkalsputz woestyn sand.
Die donker donkerte jaag selfs die windjie
sy moer in, oor ver toorende berg duine.
Velore heimwee neem ń plek by die vuur,
moepanie hout flame dans ń polka dans,
stoei diep rooi teen ń eindelose swart nag.
Mense staar verlore na ń swaar swart pot
plaas hulle geloof in die pot brood en bier.