the cliff
a man
saddened with heavy weights
his heart black and brutal
stands on a cliff
the cold element of the rock
coarses through his limbs
his body stiffens
he looks up
into the deep, dark night
and sees the stars
some die
some still flicker
he sees a new star
so bright, it leads him away from the cliff
yet so far
it causes him to serenely smile
- two -
EARLIEST CHILDHOOD MEMORIES
many
the earliest is of a first birthday, black and white, preserved in print
balloons and merriment surround a toddler, at a large dining table,
minerva’s table; large, long, heavy, old oak
children
older, black and white, in print, silly cone hats, twirling like vanilla ice-cream cones
boys; short, straight, black hair, cakes, cookies smothered in icing, marked with little
round chocolates, covered, thin multi-coloured shells, like those of swallows’ eggs
grandparents
sunday evenings, butter, toast, barley soup, and percolated coffee which keeps the
child up, scalding hot, an amusing habit of pouring into a saucer and drinking
just so
at home
no coffee, milk, we miss him in the avenue, on the corner, marching off
on the terrace, hordes of men, congregated, discussing a half on the cold terrace
on the grandstand
father
and son sit, africans, coloureds, indians on the banks of the river, they have the
best view, blue and gold scarves warmly wrapped, liesbeeck river, a railway
stand, elegant, grand, old way, old logs of wood from carriages forming foundations
arsonist
burns it down, a belief in freedom from slavery and oppression, detesting all
things colonial, a price to pay for freedom when it comes
mother
fries fish and chips, fridays, an enthusiastic clap when she turns to peel more
potatoes over a sink, they watch, careful to not let hot fish oil spill over
newspapers scattered over polished tiles, read
grandmother
shopping, fishmonger, a warm, moist parcel, the pungent vinegary smell, salt
butcher, a little further down lower main road, spoiled with a bright bus-red
penny sausage, served cold, sitting on the side of the counter
bijou
music and lyrics of a legend, women wilt under firm, warm embraces of
men, in oblivion, waltzing, laughing, and death delivers a blow to those with
love in the hearts, a radio hardly ever plays
school
on stoned buses in the morning of cold, sad affairs, mournful silence, winter
chills icily through cavities, drafts of wind are no longer a concern, it bothers
the boy, why do they do this, curious at their strength, they walk
- three -
UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN
Noticed how many times we say good-bye when we
Part like love birds leaving storm gathering gulping
Atmosphere to sigh out too cold to shudder out rather be in from the
Rain shaking off its moisture as two stable Geese after gathering its brood
Fed comforted cherished brood jealous as the fox does when it
Clutches onto a helpless meal when we part kisses too many to gather countless as
Heavy winter drops thud to rumbling roll storm clouds colliding eternally
Never really alone are we solitary panther alone slinking obscurely in
Tree of life hidden from unsympathetic eyes seeks only weakness to ravish
At a peak on a mountain top blue watching pattering steps
Closer to ending journey one final look back not like wife of Lot but happy glance
Careful thought as lonely eagle ponders prey until we meet again
- four -
IGNORANCE IS NOT BLISS
today we burnt the only mattress on which we would have slept tonight
today we littered our streets with rocks and burning tyres from vehicles which would
have taken us to our only destination
a place called hope
- five -
DOWN HOPE STREET
down hope street
blue lantern shine
down a shiver spine
out in the street
wealth without shine
blind to the street
stained glass window magnificent with shine
icons watching over the vine
the son is not there
the son is in the street
down hope street
- six -
THE STATE OF LIFE
In state of mind is
The state of life
The grass is not always greener
On the other side of the hill where
The heart sings for its drum beat to subside
And rest in peace
It would rather be like a whisper
In the dark than burn
Like fire in the belly
Loneliness fears
The kiss of death
Ripe for the taking
Like a soft yellow pear
Ready to be plucked
The frail heart
Is snatched from its cavern
It would rather not fall
To the saxophonic
Cheering approval of those whose hyena laughter
Seeks a kiss of death
- seven -
THE OLD OAK TREE
The old oak tree
Deeply rooted firmly planted
In the ancient and historic earth
Firmly stands in a familiar breeze
Assuredly its leaved branches sway
The old man withering beneath contemplating life
A settler like the old man it looks kindly upon
The robust rodent irritatedly
Scratching the surface of a rich and fertile earth
Hush now we have come a long way
Since we were placed in Eden close to this bay
Our leaves smell its salt breeze
The old wise man harboured us all the years past
Now it is we who give him comfort belaboured
Breathlessly committed
Beyond days
- eight -
MANENBERG
short sharp wild turns, off the n2
into the long long vanguard drive
dark dangerous, in the night
blazing bright light
past a corner café there is still light
vagabond standing guard over turf
protectively protecting master’s
protectorate
desolate isolated school, closed
a field of weeds windswept
breezing brown sand still sweeps
sight surrounded, wired
perpetually, finally to our
corner of courts, row upon row
named; womanly motherly affectionately
sweeping across sanded street
swiftly through a dark yard
under row upon row of sheets
white pink powder blue
clambering up cracked cement
steps skulkingly, force of habit
minding gaps rustling a lock
home;
a place called home
- nine -
LEGACY
you passed suddenly, i am still thinking
of first words, first experiences of the other
he was calm, smiling always, not knowing about
grudges and passion and why we do the things
that we do for love or for possession
you were seeking answers, then called, you left
we corresponded with ink and paper,
politely, i hopefully, you formally, i left angered
you on paper, but memories of you never faded
sitting on an ancient rock, smiling, your skirts
blowing in the wind, in the long years of not
seeing you I was told that your hair had greyed
ageing, and when i first sensed that you may
have been seeking love, like me, I left angered
when i heard that you were meek, I consented
you were handed a legacy of love to be followed
she is in the kitchen, preparing the evening repast
graciously your mother still mourns you, like the
virgin her risen son, you are not yet risen so i do
not yet know if you can see what you left behind
- ten -
OLD
FASHIONED GIRL
she picks out a sewing set from a miniature
polka dotted can made purely of tin,
her mother smiles, relieved that old fashioned
thingamajigs still lie about the old cottage
polka dotted can made purely of tin,
her mother smiles, relieved that old fashioned
thingamajigs still lie about the old cottage
she is modest in her affirmation;
that she remains at heart an old fashioned girl
she lives in that old cottage at the heart of the
valley, with an old lemon tree way out in the
that she remains at heart an old fashioned girl
she lives in that old cottage at the heart of the
valley, with an old lemon tree way out in the
back, her old,
ailing father plants dahlias and
daffodils, her
old grandmother, ancient in spirit
brings strong,
fresh geraniums, her mother smiles,
she still loves
her lavender blossoms, along the
back wall and out
in front of her bedroom window
she is modest in
her affirmation;
that she remains
at hearts an old fashioned girl
she still lives
in that old cottage with its rusted
old tin roof, her
old father built this old cottage
with his own old
hands, her mother is old fashioned
too, she thanks
the matriarch always for inspiration
though it needs
work she believes her story will yet
grow, her mother
writes the first lines
she is modest in
her affirmation;
that she remains
at heart an old fashioned girl
she inherits her
mother’s distinctive curl,
it twirls down
her stern forehead, she loves
to jump and
screech and twill,
she is modest in
her affirmation;
that she remains
at heart an old fashioned girl
she sighs with
dejection, in the heart of the valley
that there are
nary a cat, dog, not even a white
field mouse with
which to cuddle, then she is
joy once more,
for her two old uncles have arrived
from the cape
once more, her old mother screeches
from the stoep,
mousse, there is mousse for everyone
there is
chocolate mousse, in the old tin rusted-roofed
house, oh dear oh
dear, she admits to herself
modestly;
that she remains
at heart an old fashioned girl
- eleven -
A SENSE OF SOLITUDE
I do not hear or see the same things that
You hear or see, nor do I expect you to
understand my plight
Vriende Street was once a quiet, preserved
lane resplendent
With firs, oaks and tall beauganvillas,
branches whispering gently
In a soft breeze which merely echoes its
approval of my arrival
It is now replaced with an ongoing rumble of
traffic, heavy roars of
S UV ‘s, ominous,
hollow echoes of
S A P S vehicles, to the accompaniment
Of the
cocky irritating whistle of an alarm, wistfully making its
Presence felt, it disapproves of me
- twelve -
ON LAVENDER HILL
shine winter
sunshine shine
on a lavender
hill
where guns are
blazing and children are falling
memories never
fading
lavender is
pleasant to touch and scent
on a lavender
hill
oh shine winter sunshine shine
- thirteen -
BLACK AND WHITE
black sheep in
families not here or there
seek love and
memories like
any other love
bird perched on lumbering
limbs which do
not limber but cover warmly
with sweet
scented autumn leaves
almost ready to
fall sighing heaving heavy
fall of man into
an abyss of hated memories
seeks only
vengeance for an ego bruised and nourished
for all years now
a white sheep is always loved soft warm
its wool thoughts
as wholesome as its flesh
- fourteen -
LONG STREET
Long in name only
The beginning of the
narrow, piped street
A rustle, coarse
words, hoarse, throaty moans
The woman of the
night laughs, she is freed
Parped sounds,
noises of the street
Accompany the
fluorescent, coloured light
Band sounds piped
sounds
The first
indications of life in this narrow, piped street
Hoards, massed
bodies, flayed nerves, coarse languages
Many dialects to
bother the mind’s own senses
For many, the
beginnings of a long celebratory night
For some, no end
in sight for their lusting, longing greed
The end of this narrow,
piped street
It is a relief,
the palm tree still stands gracefully above
The tailor’s
small shop still stands neatly tucked away
Within the
confines of this narrow, piped street
- fifteen -
VREDEHOEK
Corner of peace
Peace corner, how
did this name come
To escape the
screaming, uncaring city
He climbs the
hill, breathlessly
The austerity and
serenity of the ancient church
Becomes visible
as the peak of the first kopje is breached
Breathless, the
memory of Christ’s flight into Egypt
After His birth
in Nazareth
Rows upon rows of
houses, homes, settlers
Throughout ages
made their homes on the foot of
This sacred blue
flat mountain, It becomes clear
Why the ferocious
south easterly wind’s anger
Is felt, they say
it stands as iconic beacons
But it stands as
two tall cylinders of concrete
It offers no
shelter from the wind’s anger
There is no
security to be felt, sirens still come
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