About Me

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Johannesburg, Gauteng, South Africa
I am a white African. Contradiction in terms? I think not. Sometimes my blog will be serious; sometimes sad; sometimes irreverent; sometimes witty; always my truth simply written.

Sunday, June 17, 2018

Grief Deferred

Solar plexus punch.
Breathless incredulity
clutches crumbling straws.

You – left – me
for eternal tomorrows.

my muted mantra.

Chitter chatter clatter
sympathy, shock and hugs.

Weep they say.
Grieve they say.

my muted mantra.

leave – me
to wail
to grieve
to rend my hair

Someone sits
where you would sit.
Occupies your space
in my world.

Anguish. Breathe. Leave.

Pitter patter platter
casseroles, snacks and cups.

© Marion Friedenthal

This poem is for those who wish to grieve in solitude before facing the world after the devastating death of a loved one.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

2 Poet Mondo

if our earth explodes
will its fragments disappear
forever lost in darkness

Not sure if I've got this right in respect of the sentiments expressed, but anyone is welcome to add the 2nd stanza for this Mondo in the comments? Details regarding Mondo:

Mondo comes from the Zen practice of rapid question-answer between Master and student. Often the answer would be in nonverbal form such as pointing to a natural object. The poetic tradition of the Mondo is similar in nature, it can be a single line containing statement-response such as "summer sun sets, I am done". Such lines are often found in the Renga. But it can also be a 2 stanza poem written by two authors, one asking and one answering. The answer of course should reflect the spirit of the Zen student taking understanding from nature.

The Mondo is:
1. written by 2 separate poets, one asking, one answering.
2. 2 stanzas of 3 lines each, 19 syllables or less, often 5-7-7, sometime 5-7- 5 is used for each stanza. The first stanza is the question, the 2nd is the response.
3. written in the spirit of Zen, responsive through meditation and observation of natural surroundings.

Cabalistic - Acrostic Dectina

a sign
before we
all leave this place
lest we be forgot
in the time still to come.
Secrete our rituals in great rock
that all may know we once were here.
Invincible warlocks, hear me now -
Carve a sign before we all leave this place.

(All rights reserved) 

The Acrostic Dectina is a poetry form invented by Philip of Poet Freak.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Truth that shames

I see it now
a cross
silhouetted on a hill

I wonder
if I had been there
would my love

have spoken out
tried to defend
rebuked the crowds

would I
have cowered
invisible in shadows

as they crucified
the one whose example
taught me how to love

how to speak out
how to defend
how to rebuke

weight of Truth
drags on my chin
bows my head

till all I see
is blood in the dust

© Marion Friedenthal

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Till death do us...

consciousness filters
through woozy senses—
succumbs to a shroud of
terror that engulfs, consumes,
any semblance of sanity;
as rough wood remains

unmarked by shredding nails
panic scrapes across torrid
vocal chords, unable to even
ripple sound as suffocating
death lurks in rhythmic doef —
doef — doef — of soil slowly
obliterating makeshift coffin
(All rights reserved.)

Thursday, March 24, 2011


six young girls…
breakfast cereal smiles
malleable playdough
trusting in a woman
where did you go?

ring a ring a rosies
a pocket full of posies

six young girls…
lured by a woman
many years ago
drugged and raped
where did you go?

atishoo, atishoo,
all fall down

six young girls…
snatched by a woman
many years ago
did her lover kill you?
we’ll never know.

(All rights reserved.)
This poem is dedicated to the following girls who were abducted in South Africa during the late 1980s.  They have never been found.
Tracy-Lee Scott-Crossley, Fiona Harvey, Joan Horn, Rosa Piel, Odette Boucher, Yolanda Wessels
This has been substantially reworked thanks to the input of my poetry friends (from Facial Expression Poetry Circle) - Luke Rapture Elk, Maggie Garavaglia, Julie Watkins and Beth Winter who helped me improve on my original poem... Thanks guys.  I think it is so much better now.

Monday, March 21, 2011


beyond white
tinged with grey and pink
rain-washed blue
peeks through

fresh breeze dawn
punctuated by
sporadic bird calls

unwelcome sound
of city traffic
flips my mind

to a time

of innocence
when chirruping hosts
nested in

fleeting silence
between darkness
and dawn
alive with joy

tranquil past
rarely revisited

pain of
going there
runs too deep


(All rights reserved.)