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.
Bound
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
Reclamation
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
Pause
The child becomes the man
and,
the man carries the child.
The future becomes the now
and,
the now grips onto yesterday.
The moment grows into a life
and,
the life unravels in a moment.
The end just another beginning
and
the beginning simply an ending.
The pursuits we sacrifice for
and,
the sacrifices we will pay for.
The pause that creates a bridge
and,
the bridge that forges new ways.
Precense
Skin,stretching over old hard wood,
the slow heartbeat.
Drumming, through rhythmic flames,
in empty spaces.
Exhaling, echoed peaceful breathing,
murmuring nights.
Stars, shimmer bright peace blankets,
the unbounded.
Human, centred blissful twirl dancing,
in serenity.
Blankets, soft encompassing embrace,
singular moment.
Jakkalsputz
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.
All is well
All is well
in a sunrise
and a sunset
All is well
in a beginning
and an ending
All is well
in the joy of laughter
and the sorrow of tears
All is well
in the flowers of spring
and the gold of autumn
All is well
in a rowdy gathering of friends
and the solitude of contemplation
All is well
because one is only known
in the reflection of the other
We; are lost
We cling so tightly to our truth
that we miss insight,
wisdom,
nuance.
We long for a world in our image
so we remove different,
other,
foreign.
We don’t want to be wrong,
so we insult instead.
We don’t want to self reflect,
so we don’t listen.
We; are lost.
I’m still here
Your pure cotton shirt catches the wind,
unfurling a sail on a mediterranean road. With a bright sunny nonchalant freedom
you toss away words, happy apple cores.
Be yourself, share yourself, be vulnerable,
each a final testament of an impossibility.
I cast a smile at your brown eagle eyes,
the warrior in me bravely chiseling away.
Faggot, sissy, stop crying, be a real man. The child feebly asks you for compassion,
as he blundering tries to heal old wounds.
Paper Cranes
I hang my hope on the wings of wild paper cranes.
Dancing regally in the wailing white winter snow.
I pray to the gods of the forsaken and the unbelievers.
Living in a darkened land of black and white desolation.
I bend my tired fingers around the folds of a thousand words.
Bringing you back to me in the colourful blossoms of spring.
Picture Credit: Vincent Manier
Yaku 