Daar in ń waterkant bar van die ou Kaap
Die plek van verlore siele en weeskinders.
Drink ons warm drankies uit ou bottels,
begrawe in goedkoop bruin papier sakke.
Jou siel val laat nag in uit die koue reen.
Nou kyk ek hier op na die ope blou hemel,
ek onthou, maar wonder oor ons kruispad.
Daar is ń woordelose roep in jou stem,
en praat jy onbewustelik jou pyn met my.
Die heelal hou sy asem op in my hart,
dit sien jou en wil sy arms om jou gooi.

That Thing

That thing lay trembling on a cold floor
The final desolate implosion of despair
It called for succour but you did not hear
It offered a hand to the abyss you crafted
That thing grew ancient and then perished there
The closing recital from the ghoulish elegy of faith
A celestial untiring lament gently stirs the sable dusty relics
A precious stone tumbles from the heart of that dead thing

Death Of A Brother

In a moment the deep known unknown collide, captured by a dome of muffled silence within a swirling sea of chaos and metal and a bloodied scull on asphalt.

Eternity painfully binds itself into a slow timelessness, outside the laws of nature into a cacophony of tears and blackouts and crying the impossible into existence.

Pushing away the heavy cloak of forever darkness, hovering over the battlefield of hopeless prayers and disoriented running and futile clinging onto life for goodbyes.

Nightfall brings tides of sleep and waking horror, a presence in the corner patiently repeating he’s gone and falling of a cliff and drifting into forgetting to remember.

Grief relentlessly stalking its bewildered pray, spilling into the light of every sunrise and threading itself through endless days and crashing into the brown box in a hole.

Eternity unwinds itself into the rhythm of time, unfolding into the guilt of life that remains and memories captured in scars and the loss of the what could’ve been.

End Of The World (Boarding School)

The world ended at dusk on a Sunday.
A mournful dusty red sun slowly dying
behind a cold silver barbed wire fence.
The child fractured into two at twilight.
A free barefooted spirit plays on a farm
as his clenched jawed mirror splinters.

The fabric that is love ruined in summer.
A slender, muted coloured, knotted cane
engraving painful abandonment in pairs.
The arrival of autumn leads the homeless.
A cavernous emptiness growing gradually
at the fortified gate of disappointment.

The doomsday crib of survival completed.
A protective shell to hide what is valuable
from the gnarling looters at witching hour.
The flowers of bereaved bloom in black.
A crude altar hastily erected in memory
of the premature death of the childhood.