a road

A road takes me into the mist,

I let myself be taken, riding,

Half asleep, half here, mostly away,

Somewhere near where I want to be,

Peace,

Call my name,

Find me there in distance coming,

I feel the sun on my face, it bathes,

Soothes, caresses me, like memories,

Of long ago,

I wish I was a child, again,

But without knowing,

It’s peculiar this thing,

This adulating without wings,

With hooves that don’t fit,

And claws that take out your own eyes,

On the road, to there, we go,

Together but alone,

That’s our way, I wouldn’t have it any other…

Come, see this focal point,

Can you see it with me?

No, I…

Mist softens the suns harshness,

I can stare at its centre,

But still not comprehend,

Maybe that’s how she feels about me?

Look but don’t see, touch but don’t feel,

It is real, it is a fight, but I wouldn’t have it…

Any other way…

Fathom me summer cold, it is a change,

We grow with the season,

Become with the wisdom,

Given by each moment, each fiction,

I pen this side of it but the other, I am not so sure,

I am just a character, directed by, well, hope?

Maybe half way there, we travel, but far, so far,

We fly, thoughts, feelings, mercy these things,

They come and go, day in, day out,

It is still early in this, life but we are down the road,

This is it, no u-turns, no wrong turns, just turns,

We exchange, we fight, we learn,

We wade in the mist, keep our eyes on the road,

But still seem lost, it is a journey this thing,

A pleasantly awkward one,

Find me there…

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goodbye and hello sea

…goodbye and hello sea…

I’ve come where I have gone, a long time ago,

Seems like yesterday of yesteryear, when I was but here,

Walking, dreaming of sleeping in better times,

This was – is – home, but never felt further,

Always I sought something, a far thing,

Either from fading childhood,

Or from an uncertain adulthood,

From there – here – I look, watch, what was over here,

These streets seem wider, emptier,

But filled with something else the eye can’t see,

I feel the memories like the history of ghosts,

I’ve died here before, in so many ways,

There are too many gaps here, like an unfinished artwork,

Too many incomplete strokes, too little emphasis,

But the newbies continue,

They drink from the same gutters,

Coloured differently: faded colours; changed signage,

It’s been something else, this place,

To me at least…

I’ve tasted relationships in an unhurried youth,

I served my time, watched from behind layers,

Boxed in my thoughts, I know that I fought,

For here I go now, like I never was here,

Here I turn my back like I never knew,

Anything like home, I can’t believe,

It’s been a beautiful journey, the winds have cried,

My words have flown,

My hands have touched,

My laughs have burst,

My imprint remains,

Always in my memories,

Gone for eternities…

the long white road

…the long white road pulls me,

An ogre hand of gravity,

I tilt like a withered petal,

My questions are upended…

 

…it sucks on my ink,

The journey leaves no prints,

But the white road demands more,

Death splatter off the shoulder…

 

…hazards abound, jaws rattle through the night,

The wick from a black candle,

Guides on the long white road,

Danger: endless bends…

 

…the road goes on and on,

All white and no shadows,

All life and no phantoms,

No: broken creatures are welcome…

 

…express through ritual,

Lost with no weather report, the clouds,

Hug my imagination chewing on engines,

Write through the long white road…

 

…enter and keep going,

There’s no traffic in a congested cupboard,

Full of skeletons: roadworks,

Detour, turn the page, to the next long white road…

Green hint of leaf I smell, sandy hands holding the wind, In bowls of dams drained by wattle roots, I play, Like purple flowers of small shrubs, in open fields, Where possibility becomes, but naivety never feigns, Years matter little but none are forgotten, They are as they were, now as I am, a dry river, Muddied but not sullied, handled but not held, Polished by the scratching of acacia thorns, My twisted bark is soothed of its aches, Silence here is precious but plentiful, We gorge ourselves in it, us, this small group, Retreating, like mountains on a moving horizon, East touches west, the colours splendid, Who could have invented it? Must be the buzzing bees in the yellow blossoms, Their violins make angry music, Lovely to my senses like the clouds that threaten, Will the drought pay the ransom? The tiny blue messenger birds must know, Surely, for they fly with purpose, from here to there, Gossiping in flight; it’s majestic squalor, Colour it not, it’s just the way it is here, Where night sounds are heard at day, And day sounds wouldn’t dare intrude on the night, A leopard prowls, out of sight, Bush babies flaunt their eccentricity, Unnamed feathered creatures squawk, In the distance, insolent dogs echoe, With their masters, with their wirelesses, Where are we now? Still in our stillness, devour me in it, It can never be enough, lush we feed, Rest right here, For tomorrow it’s back to the world… Green hint of leaf I smell, sandy hands holding the wind, In bowls of dams drained by wattle roots, I play, Like purple flowers of small shrubs, in open fields, Where possibility becomes, but naivety never feigns, Years matter little but none are forgotten, They are as they were, now as I am, a dry river, Muddied but not sullied, handled but not held, Polished by the scratching of acacia thorns, My twisted bark is soothed of its aches, Silence here is precious but plentiful, We gorge ourselves in it, us, this small group, Retreating, like mountains on a moving horizon, East touches west, the colours splendid, Who could have invented it? Must be the buzzing bees in the yellow blossoms, Their violins make angry music, Lovely to my senses like the clouds that threaten, Will the drought pay the ransom? The tiny blue messenger birds must know, Surely, for they fly with purpose, from here to there, Gossiping in flight; it’s majestic squalor, Colour it not, it’s just the way it is here, Where night sounds are heard at day, And day sounds wouldn’t dare intrude on the night, A leopard prowls, out of sight, Bush babies flaunt their eccentricity, Unnamed feathered creatures squawk, In the distance, insolent dogs echoe, With their masters, with their wirelesses, Where are we now? Still in our stillness, devour me in it, It can never be enough, lush we feed, Rest right here, For tomorrow it’s back to the world…

The Struggle

A great mass of voices,

Connected in heart and mind,

Crying for free choices,

Why can’t they decide?

Gathered as one against state forces,

Leaders of the young fighting just causes,

Enemies in uniform, fathers killing children,

Is this why they are born?

Is this nation building?

The questions travel through time, line after line,

Why must I learn in your language when you don’t speak mine?

A chorus of God Save the Nation rises to the heavens,

Bullets sing through the air and create roses with perfect petals,

That drip to the dirt,

Mixing with the earth,

But never really quenching her thirst,

Black polished school shoes beat a cloud of dust,

Some hands hold dustbin lid shields, others throw stones,

Child soldiers with cloth face masks,

Acting without their parents, suddenly becoming old,

Through the teargas storm their path is paved with bones,

They reach for the future, for the future is theirs,

In their hands and in the shade of state capture,

What’s education when nobody cares?

Where are the leaders of iconic stature?

Imprisoned for years by oppressive expectations,

They will pay their own price,

When corruption, discrimination and inequality are inherited,

Who will seek good advice?

If it comes from the youth, then nobody is hearing it…

damage by the #numbers

as kind as a tall stranger

i dare not look twice,

an invite from ill fate,

paints twice the damage,

an odd something in the confines,

never at ease not once,

best forgotten like the niggles,

that once were a pain,

vague notions in the air,

four times like seasons,

make a year worth dreaming,

the fourth in a square,

i complete my stand,

from under my top ten,

still counting blind,

but get ten out of ten,

crush chalk with my teeth,

white lies took a third,

made spit with pencil lead,

with two thirds i couldn’t focus,

a black star in a black night,

still nobody’s zero,

got habits to cull,

until i amount to naught,

always against childhood,

i feel like i’m coming second,

a race until the end,

my worst is second best,

nobody is even watching,

one in five can’t even listen,

don’t need to know the half,

a glass with five is empty,

life is a purring stretch,

ask the cat with nine lives,

its often torn down the middle,

without a stitch its suicide of nine,

they’ll invite you to a feast,

its off to seventh heaven,

skinny friends beware,

binging on the seven deadly sins,

at least one’s spoilt for choice,

i’m already down to six,

but nobody’s counting,

it could actually be eight,

#ouch my belly,

must be something I eight,

(hate)

(fate)

#great…

 

Mystery Market

Wearing the black of a sea traversing merchant,

I stand in a square with nothing but sums on my mind,

Beyond the spent fortunes of days as a servant,

One eye cast low and long for those riches men can’t hide,

My wares an assortment to enchant the purest beasts,

Of a grade to quench even the swelling thirsting of the earth,

From that place where the Moon’s Shadow sleeps,

Back to the sharpened edge of the unfinished dream I prefer,

Customers with strange customs oblige with desire,

Without which their manner would be most uncommon,

A need in any world comes full circle and never expires,

Just as life takes every drop of blood without ever stopping,

I offer them not only what they want but what their made for,

Something in the abstract a taste that leaves a quaking tingle,

Never a handshake or deep embrace while there is a world to explore,

A trade at fair price with the devil in the details,

A mark on the soul is a game target for the burning third eye,

When beating hearts clash with swords honour pales,

Blackened hammers with dull minds grace surely dies,

Quick fingers change destinies and flatter with humour,

A trick not acknowledged is still a lesson even far from the seas,

What you now have will eternally hold you in stupor,

What I now have you will one day beg for on your knees…