Archives for February 2013

Sex Goddess

She’s a sex goddess
Venus herself
with her straight body
not a curve in sight
flat-chested as she is
the men salivate
they fall in line
grown men lose
their way
baby soft skin
bashful and sweet
sold to the highest bidder

big eyed wonder
tomorrow she turns eight

The flame of rememberance

The flame that reminds us of our doings
The pain we have inflicted on others
The challenges we have been through
and the hurdles that are still ahead
The flame that keeps burning in us
with sparks of hope and a light of perserverance
The warmth of faith and the brightness of a better tomorrow

The flame that reminds us of our weaknesses and faults
The flame that reminds us of situations we can’t control or change,
our hleplesness and frustrations
The flame that reminds us of the
cosequences of our decisions and actions,
our misjudgements and foolishness

The flame that reminds us of our imperfections
And that we are only just human,
loaded with a bunch of faults and a
bigger room for improvement and corrections

The flame that reminds us that we are still here
for a mission,reason and speciality
that ought to be accomplished

The flame that reminds us that we are more than
we think we are
We are yet to discover our inner man
our inner ability,talents an gifts

The flame that reminds us that today is gone
Tomorrow is a gift we might not receive
but hope to get
That bygones are bygones

The flame that reminds us that
we can start all over again tomorrow

Today is a day

Today is a day like no other today is a day that I mourn my dear Brother,
A man I knew growing up side by side a man I lost when he died,
A void is left in his place this man was a man of humbleness and grace,
His loss is like a mountain exploded and left the dust as it has folded,
His eyes once shined and voice once heard a voice that was never feared,
The way he sat and spoke at times you would swear he was waiting just to rhyme,
This man I knew until thirty two and now he is up there amongst the chosen few,
His room stays the same and nothing has changed but the emptiness we feel is viewed in a frame,
That smile he had a warm one I might add made is seem like he was never bad,
My brother has left a void in me his humbleness has set me free, this void I want no one to see,
His pictures hang upon my wall but that’s no consolation for when he was called,
His heart was loving and his arms were wide he held me tight as a brother by his side,
The date is one I will always remember this is the day I lost a member,
Known to me a Sebastian this a man without a question,
He grew up with a name called Bill, but this was because of his size and not his will,
He filled a house with joy and laughter this big man made it all as a crafter
He loved the water and having fun, birthdays to him was the time in the sun,
He celebrated with me and my kids and to him they were his all, o how seldom we remember the small,
My brothers gone and his life has ended I miss you man and the sorrow is not pretended,
Your heart was big and your hands were too I need someone to hug me that’s someone’s you,
My back you cracked with your big arms and strength I needed that man from your palms,
We played golf and lessons were taught but now recently I feel distraught,
My brother my brother, there is no other my brother my brother today is a day like no other….
I fixed your car as best I could but I knew that that was not any good,
The day I carried you off to rest I tried not to cry with any success,
Your grave was dug and the lowering began I felt as if it was a plan
You’re gone today a year ago we will always remember you BILLO……
Finding comfort in the heart of the brother dealing with our loss gone but not forgotten, I miss you Boss
As a child growing up and he use to dance the DOGGIE was the one dance I would never chance,
He loved his mother and father dearly every day to him was he would give them a call sincerely.
This huge man with a heart of gold to all of us as family he left us with a piece of
His life a mould…
The memories we all can share in pictures taken during his life reflect his smile and not his strife,
Taken too soon as we all can say but by him leaving he has paved the way.
Today is a day I mourned a brother, today is the day like no other,
Today is the day we shed our tears, today is the day we remember our fears.
His smile is upon us no matter what and he would want us to remember him for a while…

Mirror Image

My twin sister Karen and I were very close. She was my only living relative. It would have been hard enough coming to terms with her death in the normal course of events, but actually being with her and only one step ahead when the scaffolding in the entrance hall of the building in which we both worked colapsed and buried her, was more than I could take. I had a complete nervous breakdown.

I remember very little of the time immediately after the accident, drifting in and out of a sleep-induced hospital world. Just how long I stayed in that twilight zone I can’t recall, but was relatively clear-headed when, one evening, the supervising doctor sat by my bedside and looked at me quizzically.
“Rita, we’ve done all we can for you here. You must be aware that it’s your mind that needs therapy and this facility isn’t equipped to deal with the intensive treatment you that you require. Tomorrow,” he said, taking my hand in his and patting it kindly, “you’ll be moved to a place in the country where you’ll be helped to face what has happened and move on.”

Panic immediately flooded through me. “I don’t want to go. Please keep me here.” The idea of another major change in my circumstances threatened to loosen the fragile grip I had on reality. The doctor shook his head. “You’re beyond our help Rita, but I promise you that your stay at Midway Manor will be productive and that you’ll soon be strong again.”

Given no choice, I was carted away in a car the following morning, one of the hospital staff driving me. It was a very silent journey as I was again in something of a stupor through the calming drug I was given shortly before setting off. My driver didn’t try to converse and seemed content to leave me to my unsettled thoughts. Scenery flitted by, mostly unobserved, other than that as time went by we moved into a more pastoral setting. After what seemed like hours, the car finally arrived at a pair of wrought-iron gates. My driver spoke briefly into an intercom, the gates opened and we drove slowly along a winding driveway before stopping in front of a large, imposing structure that may once have been a manor house. Ivy-clad red stone and age where my first impressions.

I was handed over to a white clad ‘attendant’, as he introduced himself, who insisted on helping me into a wheel chair and pushing me up a ramp running alongside the flight of steps leading into the rehabilitation centre or whatever it chose to call itself. The inside of the building was far more modern than its exterior. Offices and consulting rooms surrounded what was once a baronial hall, with a bank of lifts flanking one side. I was wheeled into one and taken to the first floor. Nervous energy had cleared my mind and I saw that the lift could go up a further flight and wondered briefly how many patients could be accommodated.

My first few days were taken up with interviews with different personnel and doctors and a brief orientation tour, again in the wheelchair, although I was fully capable of walking when not heavily sedated. The tour did not extend to the upper floor but only the one I was on. This had been converted into a long corridor with private en-suite rooms either side, about two dozen in all, no doubt similar to the one allotted to me. Small, clinically white and spotlessly clean. Midway along the passage was a quite decent library on the left and a communal sitting room on the right. I asked the attendant who was wheeling me what was on the upper floor. “More of the same,” he said. “Now let’s show you the gardens.” These consisted largely of manicured lawns scattered with garden beds and shady groups of trees with benches beneath for those patients who wished to use them.

It was only once I had been at Midway Manor for a week and was more or less settled into a routine of sessions with psychologist, psychiatrist and different therapists that it dawned on me that I seldom saw any of the other patients. There was one woman who sometimes made use of the communal sitting room at the same time as I did, but she buried her face in her library book and apart from darting frightened looks my way, ignored my presence. Then there was an old man who seemed to spend most of his time walking up and down the corridor, muttering unintelligibly to himself.

Once I had plucked up courage and started wandering around the building, I met up with some of the other patients, but they all seemed beset by fears and averted their heads when they saw me. Passing some of the rooms, one could not help but be aware of the presence of those occupying them, as some wailed, others called out and a few either sang or talked to themselves. It occurred to me that my mental state was worse than I had thought, as this institution was clearly for the grossly, of not dangerously, insane! This being so, it was surprising that we were allowed so much freedom. I could go where I liked anywhere within the building and in the grounds during those times when I was not undergoing treatment.

For the first few weeks I contented myself with keeping to my own floor and wandering round the ground floor, peering into offices and consultant’s reception rooms, or going for walks in the garden. For some reason I felt reluctant, almost afraid, to climb the flight of stairs to the top level; the “more of the same” of the white-clad attendant.

My psychologist seemed pleased that I was venturing further afield than my room. “You’re making great progress,” he said encouragingly. “At this rate you’ll soon be on your way.” This was a relief as I’d got to wondering how much of the costs would be borne by my medical scheme and how much I would be expected to fork out from my meagre savings. The psychiatrist, too, seemed content with my calmer state of mind and was prescribing fewer and fewer drugs for me. “You’ll not be needing any, pretty soon. There’s just one more major step you have to take.” When I asked what it was, he smiled enigmatically and said, “You’ll know when you get there.”

One rainy day when I’d walked up and down the corridor umpteen times and had enough of the book I was reading, I tried to strike up a conversation with Sue Ann, the woman who sometimes read in the sitting room. She looked aghast, mouthed something silently and skittered back to her room like a frightened mouse. So much for that! The gardens were out, as the rain was still bucketing down, so what next?

Time to explore the upper floor, I decided, and made my way up the flight of stairs. Great was my disappointment on seeing that indeed it was just like the lower, excepting that at the point where we had a library and sitting room, were a pair of wide glass doors dividing the passageway. I wandered towards them, curious as to what could lie beyond. Just more en-suite rooms either side, identical to all the others! I tried to prise the doors open, without success. There were no handles. How stupid, I thought crossly, to have doors that don’t open, then noticed that there was a strip of matting on the other side of the door of the kind that contains an electronic device that activates the doors when someone treads on it. So, I reasoned, patients on the other side of the door could come through if they wished, but those on this side couldn’t. Was that because “they” suffered from mild cases of mental impairment while “we” were the really demented? I turned away in frustration and started walking back the way I had come.

About halfway along the corridor, something made me look back. Far down the passage, way beyond the glass doors, two people were walking towards me. I stopped and watched them. As they came closer, all the breath left my body as I recognised the person on the left. It was my twin, Karen! How could this be? At the same time as I recognised her, she saw me. Her face lit up and she started running towards the doors. I, too, moved towards them and it was only then that I saw that the man running after her was her fiance, Robert. I stopped in confusion. How could Robert be with Karen? He was alive and she was dead; I was seeing a ghost! Karen had reached the strip of matting and the glass doors opened. “Rita,” she cried joyfully, arms outstretched towards me. Robert caught up with her and pulled her back into his arms. “My darling,” I heard him say tenderly as I moved forward to meet my beloved sister, “It’s grief that’s making you imagine you’re seeing Rita.”

The glass doors started to close noiselessly. I surged forwards in an effort to reach them before they shut, and stumbled when I heard Robert add, “She died in that accident, remember? Let me take you back to your room. The nurse can give you something to make you sleep. When you wake up, you’ll feel much better.”

The doors closed. I hammered on them with my fists. Robert and Karen were walking back the way they had come. I cried out in anguish. Karen turned and looked back at me just once, eyes filled with tears. Their figures blurred as they receded into the distance and I was left alone with my jumbled thoughts.


I will look back

I wil look back at my life
At my past and yesterday
I will look back at all that has crossed path with me
at the intercession of life
I will look back at my dreams
all that I have managed to dream with my eyes opened
and all that remained only as dreams and only came
at the close of my eyelids under the warm shinning summer’s moon
on the beautiful glowing with glister black dress

I will look back at all the folks with their different strokes
that I have met and soon had to part with
as such is life,season for reason and those
that have stuck with me and are deeply rooted in my being

I will look back at the lessons I have collected thus far
some carved on my skin and bones,
whilst others rooted deeply in my heart and flowing
to the veins of my brain as a constant reminder of life’s curves,
hills,thorns,blades and swords

I will look back at the lines that run deep on my face,
due to the manier times I have smiled and laughed.

Little Boy YOU

Little Girl ME
Little Boy YOU.

I see your pain.
Screan cry hurt.

I hurt
You hurt
We hurt.

The blows-
The physical the verbal
Hitting Killing Hurting
The pain the pain the pain.

The tears –
Little Boy YOU
Let little Girl ME
Dry your tears hold you hug you
Hold you hug you heal you.

Rant and Rave
Kick and scream.
Hold you hold you hold you
Hug me hug me hide me.

From the anger
From the pain.
Search search search
Reach reach
For the past.
Patch the pain from the past.

Liltle Boy YOU
Holding little girl ME
Touching the pain.
Tenderly touching the pain.

That day

That day has arrived
The one I thought will never come
Oh! Not for him at list
For he’s the greater one of all,
Oh! The black dark cloud fell

I used to sit outside the house,
The one I used to call a home,
With the man who made it whole
And talk about the tricks of life,

“My child” he often said
“Life is not a rocking chair,
If you want to make it big in life
Climb the rocks it throws at you
That way you’ll bit the ousts”
Yes I miss the good old days,
But today that same old chair
Gives me nothing but lonely dreams,

The big day arrived
For me to call it quits
And start to form a list,
Of thing I’ll do onwards,
From sowing scats to learning quads
That way holly troops will fall
And I’ll be pointed to a direction.

That crazy day perched
When every one’s head is pink
And every one is soon to Greek
Unless you give your self a check
And try to find a decent job.

That final date landed
For those who plaid the game of life
For life is now, tomorrow gone
And then you’ll have to leave behind
The ones you love and work undone
But then you know you plaid your part.

Wings to fly

If there were wings,
Wings for me to fly,
If I could fly high, into the sky
Beyond the blue sky would I fly

If there were wings
Wings for me to fly
If simply I could,
I would fly and leave the pain behind,
I would fly and never come back.

If there were wings to fly
I would fly up high above
The mountains
I would fly and never look back.

Oh! Wings protection of a bird,
Why don’t you take me beyond
Where there is no hatred tears or sorrow
Save me from this world’s pain and suffering


Mali, mali, mali ndini
Hayi mali sidakwamizwa ndini
Odaka omkhulu, ogogo
Nabo malume, naba shana babo

Futhi mali, unebhabhalazi elingapheli…

Mali uhlukanisa imindeni
Bonke abantu bafuna wena mali
Yintoni imfihlo yako mali
Mali ndini buyela lapho ophuma khona

Baphelile abantu bakithi,
befuna wena mali!

The green, green grass of Mr Mashiloane

Life in Jozi is good so far,
I got a job and made some friends
Among those friends is an elderly man
Who stay in the heart of Ebony pack

There is some thing about this guy
Though He has gaffes like every man,
And I can quote the booze for one,
He drink’s his beer like its tape water

What caught my eye about this guy?
The green, green grass out side his house,
It cashes eye from far away,
“This is no ordinary loon” he says,
“It is the green, green grass from Canada lands”

“I don’t want paper or any trash
Anywhere near the green, green grass”
It’s always cut, and fairly cute
No dog or rat plays on it,
They understand it’s not a toy