Old African Elephant

vultures

hover

circle

hover

assessing

life span of

breathless

bull elephant

clinging to

tenuous life

release

looms

closer

closer

distressed

hyenas

giggle

nervously

as matriarchal

herds approach,

close ranks,

protectively

shielding

proud old bull

vultures

hover

hyenas

giggle

(All rights reserved.)



Metaphor written, with love and respect, about Dr Nelson Mandela - Madiba - when the media camped outside Milpark Hospital after he was admitted during the week of 28 January 2011.  Viva Madiba Viva.

In African fables the elephant is always the wise chief who impartially settles disputes among the forest creatures....  In the African fables, the elephant is usually described as too kind and noble, so that he feels pity even for a wicked character ...The Ashanti of Ghana relate that an elephant is a human chief from the past. When they find a dead elephant in the forest, they give him a proper chief's burial....

http://www.a-gallery.de/docs/mythology.htm

Hyena giggle:  The giggle is a high pitch, staccato sound that is not communicating a good time. In fact, it is commonly produced by distressed, or submissive, animals in situations where they are both excited and conflicted between approaching and leaving the situation. For example, giggles are made by submissive individuals at a kill waiting their turn while being chased away by higher ranking animals. http://www.acoustics.org/press/155th/theunissen.htm

brunfelsia pauciflora

stumbling blindly

through a veil of tears

searching for the sunlight of tomorrow -

longing for the darkness of yesterday

and the illusion of warmth

in a cold embrace

brunfelsia pauciflora is the botanical name for the Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow plant

(All rights reserved)

Snoring

Snoring! Snoring!

Oh, dear God, I’m tired!

His jaw should be wired

This man once desired.

Snoring! Snoring!

I just want to weep!

This guy is a creep

He won’t let me sleep.

Snoring! Snoring!

In my marriage bed!

I’ll chop off his head

Sleep in jail instead.

Snoring! Snoring!

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

(All rights reserved)

ME C/F

gave mother
hell, from moment
of dry birth when
arrived kicking and
screaming and haven’t
stopped since

well, except for the first
decade, more or less, till
love and trust were abused, along
with shapeless young, body -
went off the rails big time after that
disrespectful, lazy, wilful, sad -

marks dropped off at school,
rebellion against parents set in,
promiscuity started rearing its
ugly head - took immense willpower
not to submit to the clamour of
over zealous hormones – by age

twenty six had been around
the block a few times and
so fucked literally, emotionally and
psychologically, drank three dozen
schedule fives on road to oblivion –

stomach pump was not much fun -
pipe down throat, watching tranquilisers and
anti-depressants that had almost
dissolved totally in the acidic
stomach contents - fuzzy little
blotches spreading feelers - almost

succeeded, slept for three days,
maybe more – time disappeared – spent
seventeen years telling incompetent
psychologists how screwed life and mind
were - told by one arsehole
with a degree, but little intellect,

that reason for all the guilt was because
there was enjoyment associated
with the sexual abuse of a child – enjoyment of
the destruction of a trusting soul –
stupid bitch – relegated her to obscurity
searched for and found a real shrink, not

a pseudo-shrink – this one actually
helped - in less than twelve months
panic attacks, emotional confusion,
self-destructive behaviours were
under control for the first time
in more than three decades of

courage in the face of fear
guilt in the face of innocence
inferiority in the face of ability
derision in the face of love -
yet some things remain forever,
until death offers ultimate release

from the recurrent fear that brain
damage was self-inflicted, and
from daily haunting by someone loved

who, finding a joyful soul,
crushed the life out of it

 

(All rights reserved)

Cause and Effect

multi-nationals’

profiteering
exploitation
sweatshops

boycotts

altruistic
endeavours
hurting

whom?

 

(All rights reserved.)

Unlikely

consolidate the
year’s news events

the inhumane
indiscriminate
causal murder

watched, daily,
on TV news,
as innocence dies -
B-OOM.

palatable doses
for captive audiences
vicariously

observing
death
destruction
anarchy;

docile
stupid
uncaring

superior species
propagating

bloodshed
hatred
wars

consolidate the
year’s news events?

unlikely

 

(All rights reserved)

Ambush

sun sets
the blue ablaze
as predators eye snacks
at african cocktail party.
crowded around the muddied waterhole
revellers intuit too late -
whirling in fear, they flee
straight into death.
sun sets

 

(All rights reserved)

 Thanks to friends at Facial Expressions Poetry Circle for their valuable advice on this one.

 

Cycle of Life - Tanka - Metaphor

spring frolicked within
autumn’s colourful shadow
absorbed winter’s vibe
while summer detested them,
desiring autumn’s freedom

 

(All rights reserved)

 

D.I.Y. Relationship

Dreamy eyelids disinclined
to acknowledge whispering clothes,
belt buckle snap,
creaking hinge,
engine roar;
silent echoes
ech-o ech-o
vivify;
languid stretch,
sighing breath,
feet stumbling across the room;
bleary road map eyes focus.

Crisp money;
scribbled note;
“Buy yourself something nice -
happy anniversary,”

seeping sorrow.

 

(All rights reserved)

Thanks to Jean Elmond of Facial Expressions Poetry Circle for rearranging this for me. He has given it life.

Day of Knowledge 2004

8:30
excitement boils
parents, kids
arrive at Beslan
school number one

gifts,
balloons,
laughter,

celebration


9:20
truck arrives;
stage is set for

bloodbath


9:25
killing starts,
living forced
into the gym


16:25
no food
no water
no toilet visits


14:20
hot
hungry
thirsty

hostages
drink urine


11:38
mothers
with babies
released


11:40
‘they’
do not allow
older children
to leave


11:42
death is
imminent;
mother of two
stays put


‘they’
send her
infant son
to freedom


13:45
army confronts
terrorists

bloody skirmish


13:47
mother cocoons
first-born
soothingly
selflessly
lovingly

easing terror
into
oblivion


baby orphaned

(All rights reserved)


BACKGROUND
The poem is named Day of Knowledge after the designated name of the first day of the new school year in Russia. This is a poetic tribute to the hundreds of children, parents, teachers and others who died during the bloodbath at School No. 1 in Beslan, Russia, over a period of approx. 60 hours in September 2004. In particular, this is a tribute to a mother who refused to leave one child in order to save another. Moving account of this hostage situation at :

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2005/01/20/48hours/main668127.shtml

QUOTE
"One of the terrorists said that a Russian plane flown from our airfield had killed his entire family," says Elena. "Now, he wanted to kill and didn't care that it was women and children." UNQUOTE

Shackled Regret

fifteen ramadan’s

measured

cadre ouma’s life when

four hours

almost claimed it

fierce gun battle

between militant villagers

and armed oppressors;

bloody skirmish, hand grenade;

spear broken beyond repair

blinded

by shrapnel,

young back

pierced and

ripped by bullets

barely alive with chest

shredded, ouma’s request

to be killed was rejected;

nursed back to health

only to be taken, shackled,

sensory-deprived, to where

no man, woman

or child

could ever feel

human again

incarcerated and tortured

war crimes tribunal

label: murderer and terrorist

apology rejected

child soldier learned too late

the nature of war is death

(All rights reserved)

Based on the true story of a child soldier, this is the companion poem for an opinion piece at http://myfatoldsouthafricanlife.blogspot.com entitled When Murder is not Murder.

Will power

where mournful darkness
had reigned since the old man’s death
eager bright eyes now
illuminated the room
as his will was read aloud

 

 This is a Tanka with a syllable count of 5/7/5/7/7 

(All rights reserved)

Promises

golden light of a misty morn
filters through gaping cracks
illuminating the child newly born,
birthed on hessian sacks

furnishings of crates and planks;
a floor of hard-packed dung,
nothing to eat, nor money in banks,
yet a sweet lullaby is sung

the mother, but a child just past,
suckles her babe at breast;
grateful her pain is over at last
she sings to her son at rest

voice sweet as rippling streams
sings of the life he’ll live;
tells of hope, of love, of dreams
and all the things she’ll give

she promises a life of plenty;
education will pave his way;
forgetting her purse is empty
she swears to a better day

blazing sun of a summer’s day
bakes down on crude wooden shack
an old woman dies all alone -
cultured son never looked back

 (All rights reserved)

SIMPLY MICHAEL

You undisputed King of Pop,
reclusive genius; childhood
extinguished. Yet you were so good

moonwalking your way to the top.
What did you gain, through all your pain?
Money? Thrills? Why didn’t you stop?

Supernova misunderstood.
You undisputed King of Pop

 (All rights reserved)

This style of poetry is known as an Octain, invented by Luke Prater of http://lukepraterswordsalad.wordpress.com    Thanks to all my friends at Facial Expressions Poetry Circle for their input into this final version of my octain.

AS HEAVEN CALLS YOUR NAME

Today it struck me.

Finally

I realized that you will never again

see a sunrise or sunset

nor the diamond-studded night sky

nor feel the wind on your face

nor smell the wetness of the earth

after a summer rainstorm

nor hear the birds chirping merrily

in a canopy of spring green.

Today it struck me.

Finally

I realized that you will never again

sit with me at a table and break bread

nor tell me that you love me

nor update me on what you’ve been doing

nor gossip with me about siblings

not present to defend themselves

nor simply criticize me, sometimes harshly,

as only you knew how.

Today it struck me.

Finally

I realized that you will never again

lose yourself in a massive jigsaw puzzle

nor read a good book

nor complete a cryptic crossword

nor savour the chewy saltiness of biltong

or the sweetness of wholenut chocolate

nor knit another pair of bootees or jacket

for your latest great-grandchild.

Today it struck me.

Finally

I realized that you will never again

be a vibrant and competent woman

nor be a loving mother or mother-in-law

nor be a caring sister or friend,

nor be a grandmother or great grandmother

to those who may still bless our lives

nor share all our hopes, our fears and tears

then bless us with your wisdom.

Today it struck me.

Finally

I realized that I will never again

be able to hear your voice

nor touch your hand nor give you a hug

nor fight furiously with you

nor tell you what you wanted to hear

as opposed to what I should have said

nor simply relish the good food

you placed before me at a meal.

Today it struck me.

Finally

I realized the end of our road has come.

You will move on now whilst I,

flesh of your flesh and blood of your blood,

having had you somewhere in my life

for every second that I have drawn breath—

no, even since my conception—

I… I must go on without your presence.

Realization dawns, and my heart cracks,

then shatters into a million pieces,

as heaven calls your name.

I’m sorry I took you for granted.

Godspeed, dearest mommy, till we meet again.

In loving memory

of

Elaine Marion Potgieter

9 June 1925 - 5 August 2010

I wrote this the night before my mother passed on, as my heart choked me and unbearable grief coursed down my cheeks.  The knowledge that my mom had reached the end of her road was just too much for me to bear.  I am posting it here in honour of my mother who was an exceptional woman.  My greatest regret is that I didn't tell her how exceptional she actually was. MHDSRIP.


(All rights reserved)

KENSINGTON CASTLE - (Revised Version)

marry me kate

build me a castle samuel

stone

by rough-hewn stone

hopeful love materialised

on the slopes of Kensington koppie,

high above golden plains

where velvet signal grass

grew tall and crested

grey louries called

kweh-h-h

kweh-h-h

from the sweet thorn trees

and where, beneath the

diamond-studded Southern Cross,

the distant anger of the wild

sawed

chirped

roared

across its shrinking hunting grounds

thousands of miles

from Scotland

Rothesay Castle reproduced

and, with a ship’s canon,

offered a haven for a

nervous and homesick bride

beneath the African sun

marry me kate

build me a castle samuel

so he did

(All rights reserved)

Samuel Scott Wilson built a castle for his wife, Katie MacKirdie, who agreed to marry him on condition he build her a castle.  Construction was finished in 1911 in Kensington, Johannesburg, South Africa and the stone used for its one metre thick walls was taken from the very koppie on which the castle stands.  It is believed that the castle was modelled on Rothesay Castle in Scotland.

 

STILLETTO

perfumed beauty
fingers caressing
silkiness encasing
shapely legs
innocent eyes
watching, fearfully,
from within
duvet sanctuary

six inch heels
tap
tap
tapping

out the door
into darkness
day after day
years pile up
wrinkles

dreaded call comes
doctors and nurses
try to repair
John’s handiwork
the face
the body
patched
remnants of desire

perfumed beauty
fingers caressing
silkiness encasing
shapely legs
jaded eyes
watching, fearfully,
from within
duvet sanctuary

six inch heels
tap
tap
tapping

out the door

(All rights reserved)