The stream (all workshops)
Surrounded by red desert and blue ocean,
the city realises, and suffers
the magnified full impact
of the sweltering southern afternoon sun's
harsh, reflective rays.
While I seek the illusive comfort of shade,
sitting simmering in sweaty stickiness,
a vibration, a long reverberating thrum from within, rises,
unites with the oppressive weight of extrinsic heat
and wends its way into the very expanse of reality,
insidiously dulling my senses,
rhythmically sounding, echoing through my being.
she was an American refusenik
and the eye of Ra
once gazed upon her
from dust
she fashioned a solitary word
that flowed
into oceanic verse
and weighted down clouds
to anchor roses to the sky
she burned through images
of what can never be seen
she turned pages blank
she was a blade of grass
aloft
a token of love lost.
Let's not go down this lane
For when we start the journey
And gaze upon each other's nakedness
Knowing we have tied no nuptial knot
This is what we are;
We are two innocent souls on the edge
Conflicting thoughts flooding our heads
Thought of eternity...fading away into night
As fabric gives way to bare flesh
We know we should not be here
Yet hands caress bodies...lips find lips
Our consciences scream out...our hearts skip
It warns ones heart
to see the return
of beautiful faces we...
traversed with across the seven seas,
now in voices of sparrows
soft and sweet,
we can hardly wait to hear
the politest speech, of one
since long in hibernation,
as do some birds,
awaiting the return of a spring
ere the summer…
such melodious voices like cuckoo’s sing
and
songs of praise all poets murmur
the one we missed most,
now returns
and
the warmth of flames in our hearts does burn.
My sister,
tired and haggard,
caring for two infants,
saw the camera pointed at her
and was instantly photogenic .
Is it a craft or skill,
dare I say sullen and unlearned ?
Pause your DVD and see
beauty transformed by drooping eyelids,
bad moments captured.
How would you feel if your eyes captured only those moments,
or the beauteous ones,
depending on mood,
like me.
Or do you?
I really want to know.
My friend, yellow lined
Made my lonely dreams come true
Gold collections grew
Images in my minds eye
Gems etched in italic print
Amavi
blood trails feed
nights wingtips breeding stars
The false prophets have misled us
And we have crawled on our knees
To this modern miseries
Long away from the ancestral home
We are now lost in the wastelands of time
And our throats sourly scorch
From the long walk across the dirt of the desert
But the waters from the distant oceans
Bypasses in a pitiless hurry
And bidding us a mocking farewell
Once, hand in hand, I walked this way before
with one desire, who set out to deceive.
I now deplore the thought of any encore
that may, one more time, cause my heart to grieve.
So it must surely come as no surprise
I struggle to resist the warmth I feel.
I turn to face you, look into your eyes,
preparing to deny my love is real.
But in their depths I see the glint of tears
as fresh and virtuous as morning dew.
They wash against my heart, subdue my fears,
and promise me enchantments all anew.
The bark of an AK-47
crack of a sniper bullet
nowhere to be seen
cries for a medic
being heard in every direction
On the six o’clock news
nothing but sadness
“Unit X was ambushed today”
“X amount of soldiers
Have died so far”
On the home front
cries of protest erupt
people saying this is
just another Vietnam
while yellow ribbon
flies in the air
The bureaucratic fat cats
sitting behind their desks
lining their pockets
with the money of
the dead and the innocent
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