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Archives for October 18, 2015

Chaka Zulu

Dlungwana son of Ndaba!
the greatest warrior of all times
conceived out of wedlock by his mother Nandi and his father
voracious one of Senzangakhona
son of Nandi kaBebe, the daughter of a Langeni chief
born in Langeni territory at the Nguga homestead
bayete inkosi

The scorpion of Phunga
boy from esiKlebeni homestead
who was cooked in the deep pot of Ntombazi
overcame Msikazi among the Ndimoshes
son of the Mhlathuze Valley and Langeni people
bayete inkosi

Mandla kaNgome
who moved to the Mthethwa people
grew up in the court of Dingiswayo
founded the Ntontela regiment
the impi in the iziCwe regiment
Nodumehlezi
bayete inkosi

Axe of Senzangakhona
the warrior of Mhlathuze River
designer of the aniklwa
the king of KwaBulawayo, at the banks of the Mhodi,
in the Mhlathuze valley,
bayete inkosi

Young raging one of Nbaba!
the cause of Mfecane, Difaqane, Lifaqane
king of the centralized monarchy
builder of the Dukuza
undisputed, almighty ruler
bayete inkosi

Wild Flower in my abased garden

There is a flower in my garden, oh so bright and beautiful , how it grew and grows rooted in my garden I cannot say

For morning came and there it was , days gone by and many rains fell upon that glowing and growing treasure

28 drops of pure water and many sunshine kisses , but who can tell me how such a majestic and radiant flower came to be in my humble garden of old

For I neither nor did anything great or splendid , for I see many flower have been planted in my garden, a little sassy here and there but non remained but faded by storms and rain

Oh little flower where do you come from and where is your real home, I read and seek long and hard but non can explain your mysterious wonder and beauty

For you are like a rose so captivating and arousing in nature wild and unique

oh so sharp and witty to the core of your character display your craftiness and making true love for one purpose only

like a rose in every way nor rain nor storms have plucked you from my ground, strong and stable you have been

Also true to your embraces you proclaim, so soft and loyal, so gentle and sensitive to the touch, who can share with me about the secret of your birth

Oh wait my dear one, steady my heart for I hear a whisper in the wind sharing with me about your captivating beauty that which I firmly behold in my sight, was not planted by human hands nor by any created thing

For out of heaven a voice a breath of a mighty wind came forth and spoke your majestic shape and heart into being

Oh my dear wild thing of nature your all natural and good for the Saul of one man only

Now I understand for a precious gift from God has been given to a beggar that works and labor in the garden of haven.

by
Simeon B.T
I have found my resting place in your arms
Of mercy and grace
I have found my joy in your heart of beauty and peace

How a sunflower changed my life.

I don’t know why I went out drinking last night, my head is pounding. Why did I agree to an early morning hike? Why am I up so early? As I drive to fetch my students a feeling washes over me, I have to go on this hike. The students pile into my car and begin to chatter. I can honestly say that I don’t want to be here but I must interact, I must make the best of this situation. I can see that one of the girls is not herself today; I wonder what the problem is. It’s a 3 hour hike, I am pretty sure we will get to the bottom of it.

 

We park the car and find the trail. It is another immaculate day in this city that I live in, I am hugged by the warm air and my skin is kissed gently by the morning sun. As we round the first corner of the hike I look up from monitoring my footsteps and there it is, there is the reason I live here, there is the reason I get up early even with a hangover…for kilometres below me I see an impeccable shore line and an eternity of ocean.

 

Melanie is walking in front of me and I can still sense that something is wrong and in an attempt to cheer her up I casually ask her how her boyfriend is. She stutters through her words and finally tells me that they broke up. My heart hurts for her because I know what it is like to be so young and not understand the intensity of your first love leaving you. I walk and listen, there is no better space to express yourself than in nature and I let her start the grieving process. The entire time she was speaking I kept thinking about my first love, she was beautiful but the agony that she left in her wake was destructive. I could relate to Melanie.

 

As I was listening to her, I concentrated on my footsteps; I was wearing a cap and couldn’t see what was ahead of me. I looked up briefly and my heart sank, my mind raced and everything happened in a split second. There she was, how could this be? Does she even live here anymore? She recognises me immediately and I her, how can you not recognise a soul that you have loved for an eternity.

 

I began to shake and we gingerly greeted each other, a little small talk was made but I was eager to move on. I could not let my students know that a nuclear bomb of emotions had just gone off inside of me, I must remain calm. So she said goodbye and continued with her run. I turned to Melanie and said “And there goes the girl who first broke my heart”. It was an eerie coincidence that my first love was standing in front of me on a random Saturday, at a random time, on a random path, on a rather large mountain.

 

The rest of the hike all I remember is Melanie’s voice in the background, every so often I acknowledged what she was saying but the rest was a blur. I was shaken; I kept running the encounter in my head. Around and around she went. After the hike and once all of my students had left, I found a spot to think and regroup. A flood of memories came back to me and I sat in my silence and let the tears roll down my face.

 

Weeks went by and still her presence haunted me, I could see her running on, still holding that piece of my heart that she took with her years earlier. She was my first, it was for her that I came out and consciously changed the course of my life. We had a strong bond but a volatile relationship. I realised that I had never really let her go and during a day dream I toyed with ideas of how to get over her and all I saw in this day dream were sunflowers. Beautiful sunflowers with their vibrant petals that resonate a feeling of hope. I used to buy her sunflowers when I could. In that moment I decided that every month on the same day I would return to that hiking trail with a sunflower and place it next to where we had bumped in to each other and I would take 30 minutes to reminisce, I would do this until she no longer haunted me but made me smile. My plan was to truly remember, to let myself feel and to find a way to leave the beautiful and the haunting memories on the mountain. So here is how the sunflower changed my life:

 

Month 1:

 

I was nervous today because there was a real chance now that I could bump into her again. I couldn’t let this deter me though as my goal was clear, it was time to let go, for me. I placed the sunflower and put my hand on the soil, I felt that if I connected to the earth that somehow the universe would sense what I needed, I needed to leave her there. I sat down facing that view I love so much and I took a deep breath and let my mind wander.

 

Memory is a wonderful thing and mine took me to the first time I bought her a sunflower. We were still students and money was limited but I had to show her what she meant to me, I had to give her something tangible. I purchased a single sunflower and her favourite chocolate. After class I walked some distance to her house, placed the sunflower and chocolate on her doorstep and left. I often wish that I had been there to see her face, I also wonder if the beautiful surprise meant as much to her as I intended. In that moment, on that mountain, I let those feelings I had then wash over me. It’s like watching your favourite movie again, its familiar and it’s warm. I looked down on the city below me and I was grateful that once in my life I had the opportunity to love deeply and that I had the means to show it.

 

Month 2:

 

Vivid dreams had plagued the month that had just passed. She danced through my mind on more than one occasion and it had left me tired, but I had to continue. Off I went to the same spot, I looked around, and there was no evidence of the sunflower I had left a month ago. I thought to myself, what if she was here? What if she saw the flower and took a moment to remember me too? Was that my intention all along?

 

Regardless, I followed the same ritual as before; I placed the sunflower down, put my hand on the soil, closed my eyes and asked the universe for a moment of peace, a moment of clarity. I leant up against a tree and watched the clouds come over; rain was on its way. Rain. Cleansing, purifying rain.

 

How many raindrops fell while I loved her? I remember one evening we went out, it had been raining all night. At two in the morning we looked onto the street and saw that the road had been deserted: no cars, no people, just puddles and rain drops. I asked her to dance. We made our way onto the street; I held her hand and pulled her close. A scent, a touch and a warmth I knew so well. I did not feel one rain drop that night but I can remember the laughter, the twirls and the freedom as we danced our way down the street.

 

As a rain drop fell, I got up to leave and let the water take her with it.

 

Month 3:

The third time I made the trip up the mountain carrying my sunflower I felt like I was in a darker space. Anger had crept in, I felt that here I was once again giving more of myself. Where was she today? Did she know that up on a mountain there was a soul trying to detach from hers?

 

The routine wasn’t as gentle and heartfelt as before, the ground felt cold and I cursed the universe. When I sat down to contemplate I decided to try work through memories that hurt. What was it that poisoned a potentially great love? I thought about Melanie at this point and I remembered how I had thought that at that age, you cannot deal with the intensity of certain emotions. There is a fine line between good emotions and bad ones and all it takes is a split second to push you over the edge. My split second popped into my mind. One evening I decided to surprise her at a pub, I was meant to be studying. As I walked into the pub I could sense something wasn’t right. I looked at where she was sitting and saw her kissing someone else.

 

Cold. Numb. Broken. Words used to describe that moment when you realise that things will never be the same again. I left the pub unnoticed. I stayed with her for three years after that, I never asked, I always wondered. I never loved her the same after that. I never loved myself the same way either.

 

How do I forgive in that moment? I needed a way to leave the mountain with it all buried there. I decided to write the story down, I expressed everything in written words and now under the sunflower, buried deep in the earth is that story, a recipe on how to poison love.

 

Month 4:

 

The fourth trip came quickly. The 30 days leading up to this trip I was not plagued by her. I was plagued by irrational thoughts though. I started to think that perhaps she knew that I was there, that on one of my trips back to the mountain I would find her waiting there, she would open her arms and forgive me, she would forgive herself and two broken parts would become one again. I knew this was irrational, far-fetched and something only stories would allow.

 

So as I walked up the mountain, I made sure I looked good, I had brushed my hair that morning and wore my best clothes. When I arrived at the spot disappointment set in, the remains of my sunflower from the previous month was still there, a sad looking sunflower, untouched but hopefully not unnoticed. I looked at it for a while and I let the disappointment set in and I let my irrational longing pass. I placed the new sunflower next to the old one and as I touched the soil again to try connect to the energy of the universe, I thanked the old sunflower for its purpose in my life.

 

It was a clear day and I could see people on the beaches below me, somewhere down on the beach someone was falling in love, what an amazing thought. I remember falling in love; she became the sparkle in my eye. As I sat there, memories washed over me of all the moments where I fell a little more in love with her. We were sweet together. I remember coming home one day after a relatively tough day, I saw her sitting in front of the TV, I walked up to her and sat on her lap, I wrapped myself completely around her and tucked my face into her neck. She kissed my head and she merely said hello, my heart lifted and I fell a little harder.

 

She was also my rock. It is amazing how one person can make you feel so safe. In reality a mere person cannot protect you from everything but just having her there made me feel invincible. We had gone away on holiday and we were in a strange place in the middle of nowhere. Late one night there was an intense thunderstorm; I woke up and was very panicked. I was unable to move. She woke up and drew me close to her, it took me a minute and I was fast asleep again. I was no longer afraid, she was there. I just kept falling.

 

I started to realise that I was in fact blessed. Thinking back on how much I loved her, I realised that it was a privilege to have loved that human, in a world so big I was able to connect and be seen. All the harsh words and memories that came with this volatile love, the years of longing and sadness all started to fade away.

 

I decided that my process needed to end. I left the mountain and returned later with 4 bunches of sunflowers. Each bunch represented each year that the universe gave me with her. I sat next to the tree where I had been placing the flowers and touched the soil again. My connection with the earth felt rejuvenated, I was allowed to leave this here. As I placed each bunch of flowers, I repeated these beautiful words from a song: “I feel nothing but oceans of love and forgiveness.” As I stood to leave one last tear rolled down my face and I knew that I loved myself again, I forgave myself, I forgave her. That is how a sunflower changed my life.

Everything’s fine

It was the end of hope at the start of a day.

“Everything’s fine, yet all is lost,”

repeated in my mind as I stumbled the stairs

down into the ever-present rush-hour.

Already so late, even at this early hour

on a day begun with burnt toast.

 

All things bright and beautiful

under the neon lights of morning-time

before first tea, while the day is still sleepy,

remembering the warm rest of a night just past.

Cock Sparrow chirps out his sure anthem

to an accompanying symphony

of taxis fighting the traffic.

 

In the cities of tall, taller, rich, richer,

the height of the tallest buildings,

counted in floors, means only that

the poor, poorer and poorest

never feel the warming rays of our Day Star.

We walk and talk in the monochrome shadows

of glass and steel surrounds.

 

… and into one of these richest, tallest I walked,

shadowless, hopeless,

hoping that in my lifetime of today,

things would be different.

“Eye-reader’s on the fritz again Mr Weltmann,”

with a ‘W’ like ‘well’ or ‘welfare’

rather than the ‘V’ in ‘vapourise’ or ‘vampire’,

which is what I wished.

 

“Just sign in here.”

The workday begun on their time,

to be paid for the sweat of my brow,

no blink of my eye required,

just a tooth-for-a-tooth on this morning,

with the eye-reader in need of shut-eye.

My burnt toast, its burnt circuits,

both now charred, black board.

 

A voice-programmed lift spoke softly,

(or was that in the dream I lived last night ?)

“Going UP ?, Going DOWN ?”

asks a Chinese voice trying to sound American.

“Going nowhere,” I blurted

“Velly good sir,”

with the ‘V’ like Weltmann

or ‘V-Day’, and down I plunge

from ground zero to the bedrock

of the bustling building, stalked by boredom.

 

To my niche in the work pool,

with a supervisor atop a tower,

like a life-guard raising semaphore flags that always ‘shout’

“Shark !”

Nevermind that I am drowning, even perhaps feared drowned

in a sea of lukewarm hopelessness.

The Mediterranean of my life has no Helen of Troy

with her thousand ships to be sailed,

mine is a sludge-pond of mud-brown ripples,

not a blue sea of white waves.

 

To work before the tea buzzer, that timely little bee

of the fifteen minute smoke break

when the hive empties and the faces of the workers

light up, like the ends of their ciggies.

We swarm onto the heavily barricaded balcony of the mezzanine

overlooking the underground basement parking garage.

Annie, a co-worker bee sits across from me,

loans me a fag … again –

(I must buy her a pack – she’s such a honey).

We throw our burning butts onto the roofs

of the executives’ cars.

The BM of the MD is a particular target for our stings,

intoxicated by the smoke and fumes we are.

 

‘A Critique on Nature’ is what I am editing,

like a post-modern Noah commenting on his

ark-filling task.

(I am really a glorified grammar-checker –

no creativity allowed)

 

Crocodile has filed no weather forecast.

Owl no flight plan,

Mole no technical drawings,

Ant no logistics manifest,

 

Surely this inefficiency spells disaster,

Creation on the bumpy road to

Destruction with a capital ‘D’.

 

(insert pic-stilllife-of gruesome blood and entrails roadkill)

 

C.O.M.A                        (Can Zombies go into a Coma ?)

Crow Moan                        (Sounds of a depressed crow)

Croowl Molant            (Great name for a Neanderthal)

 

I play these word games

with the texts I edit,

one day they’ll catch me

and then I’ll gettit.

 

in margine

Mother Nature has authored no reference,

she is textless, yet daily speaks volumes.

 

All Creatures great and small left to their own devices.

God ditched his own party, now Darwin is MC.

 

Up to the surface at 12h30,

a subterranean morning complete

for another day of my life.

No packed toasted sandwich lunch,

mine lies blackened and binned,

the cremated remains of my very early morning,

and what should have been a half-decent

lunchtime saving.

But there’s no salvation for burnt toast, so

to the Chilli Dog stand I stroll.

 

The vendor, unchanged since last week,

I mean he wears the same greasy jumpsuit

with matching grimaced smile,

repeats my order:

“One medium with hot relish, hold the mustard …

that’ll be ninety-five.”

The unchanged man takes my exact change –

Slop, slap, whop, wrap …

“Next”

 

… drip … drop … drip

 

“Damn … fuck …. Damn !”

(bright red relish right down the front of my only white shirt)

 

The Supervisor wants to know:

“Is that blood on your shirt Weltmann ?

Have you been in a bar-fight ?”

 

No it isn’t you wanker, and no I haven’t,

but come down out of your high-chair

and I’ll spill some of yours

on your poncey shirt, and knock out

your two front teeth as well.

 

“No Mr Clemence, it’s tomato relish from my lunch !”

“Get back to work Weltmann.”

“Yes Sir, sorry Sir.”

 

Every little thing I do is date-stamped,

not by magic, but by a computer-coded,

hash tag type barcode.

‘A Critique on Nature’ is #CN ▌║║│▌▌│║▌│▐║▐│▐   ww

I am date-stamped.

The ‘ww’ is me, Walter Weltmann

I am a lower case date stamp !

like canned food, library books

or software.

I have a Date of Manufacture,

a Best-Before-Date,

and an Expiry Date.

 

My life is a brown vanilla envelope

but without the aroma or flavour of vanilla,

so just a brown envelope … used

and date stamped … to be recycled.

 

Second Tea … 15h45 to 16h00 (strictly)

No eating, drinking or smoking

permitted in the building (strictly).

 

We stream out, pushing up against the barricades …

knees, hips, boobs, shoulders – a stew of body parts,

lips lighting up and breathing deeply our fix of nicotine,

tar, chemicals, inks, dyes, flavourants, preservatives,

other unknown, unpronounceable carcinogenics

and a cubic metre each of underground parking lot fumes

Ah … bliss for … twelve more minutes.

 

Security guards patrol the garage floor,

like white-tipped reef sharks poking

between the coral and rocks,

hunting for sleeping or careless fish.

“Everything’s fine, yet all is lost”

like a cold steel electric eel, snaking through the tepid

sea of my mind.

 

The graveyard shift of my lifetime as a day

begins as always with the polishing of my tombstone.

Clemence demands we ‘spit and polish’ our screens

before we leave, and so we do.

“And Weltmann, make sure you wear a clean shirt

in the morning”

(he even dresses like an Undertaker).

Out we file at exactly 16h45 under his hawkish eyes

to the moving, talking lift that takes us up and out

of his world to the security desk, and there

to sign out and back into the ‘real world’ –

a resurrection of the dead.

 

In that lift, on that day of a lifetime

I caught Annie’s eye, or did she mine

and I was sure she winked at me or was that

just where she got the nickname

‘Squint Eyed Annie’ –

“No” I said to myself

“Be positive – she’s into you,”

and I smiled at her, and she at me,

at least I think she did,

either that or she wanted repayment

for the loaned cigarettes.

 

It was the start of hope at the end of a day.

“Everything’s not lost, and all is fine,”

flashes the thought as I rush the stairs

up into the cardboard sanctuary that is my

bachelor-bedsitter.

So very early for the start of a long evening,

and an even longer night ahead

on this day that was a lifetime

begun so long ago with burnt toast.

 

Time to think of Annie and wash

tomato relish from my shirt.

 

Tomorrow, for sure

things will be different.

 

Moving On

We met in a biker bar outside of Joburg. She was dressed in white fake leather and glitter. I stood out like a black man at a Bar Mitzvah. Everyone was in boots and biker gear. I was wearing a pink dress, white angel wings and green sneakers. I don’t do half measures, so I even had the crown and blue mascara to match. My mates thought it would be a laugh to tell me that we were going to a cross-dressing party. They all showed up in their jeans and jackets, while I looked like a drag queen with an identity crisis. I was obviously meant to be the punch line of a bad joke.

I decided to take it like a man. Man being a very loose term under the circumstances. Bravely I walked up to the bar, trying to look as macho as a man in pink with a princess crown can possibly look.

“We don’t serve queens asshole. Get the hell out of my bar!” The last words I heard before I felt the pain shoot through my nose.

When I came to, the boys were nowhere in sight. I was outside the backdoor, with a few cigarette stubs clinging to my angelic wings and my crown lying broken next to my head. My friends probably didn’t see all the action across the crowded bar. My head was pounding and my snozz was at least four times the size it had been when I arrived.

She appeared out of nowhere – my eighties angel in leather and sequins.
“Are you ok?” She held some ice against my aching head and I noticed a piece of string hanging from my nose.

“Sorry, your nose wouldn’t stop bleeding and there’s no crap paper here, so it’s the best I could come up with.” She explained quickly, noticing the confused expression on my face.

“It’s cool that you put yourself out there like that, but it’s a bit stupid to come to a biker bar in drag my darling. Can I take you somewhere more, um… fairy friendly?” She said sympathetically. I wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much.

I’ve never felt more embarrassed. Dressed like a queen, with a bleeding mouth and a tampon stuck up my nose. No amount of explaining could make me look any better or worse at this point, so I told her that I’d get where I needed to go on my own.

“Can I come with you? This isn’t really my scene.” Not her scene? She looked like she’d been conceived, born and raised in a biker bar? But I decided to let her tag along anyway, she helped me out after all, and she seemed pretty harmless.

“Let’s go bowling.” She suggested.

Why the hell not I thought, this evening couldn’t get any worse. I hate bowling by the way, but putting on dirty shoes and showing off my complete lack of coordination just seemed like the way this night was destined to go.

So there we were, the biker babe and the fairy queen sharing a lane, our game stinking worse than my sockless feet in the scary maroon shoes. She was either the worst bowler ever or she was just trying to protect my fragile ego, because she sucked like… well something that sucks a lot.

“Oh shit! I just broke a nail.” She exclaimed, looking completely shattered. I thought that I should at least try to feign some concern.

“Can it be saved?” I asked as sincerely as possible.

“No honey. It’s a goner.”

“Does it hurt?” I said taking her cold hand in mine.

“Only when I laugh.” She replied, calling my bluff.

“It’s only a fricken nail. It’ll grow again. But I think it’s a sign that this game is over. Besides, we’re making everybody else look bad.” She said and smiled.

Only then did I notice how pretty she was, or could be for that matter. Underneath the clothes that were much too tight and the thickly painted on make-up she wasn’t half-bad. I smiled back self-consciously, wondering if she noticed me staring a bit too long.

“Could you drop me back at Full Throttle please?” She asked as she slipped on her blinding white boots again.

“Sure, but I know you’ll understand if I don’t go in again.”

“Why not? You were so popular there earlier on.” She smiled casually again. I liked the easy way she could smile and laugh.

I drove back to the hellhole and dropped her at the gate.

“Will you get home ok?” I said, giving her a bit of an awkward hug.

“I’m always ok.” She said, and somehow I believed her. I thanked her again for coming to my rescue. She said something about me actually being her hero, but before I could ask her to repeat or explain it, she was already out of earshot.

————-

“So you picked up a chick, and you didn’t even introduce us to her friends?” George belted as he came running up to my car. Apparently they were looking for me in the parking lot.

“I didn’t pick up a girl. She saved my ass, when you guys were too busy partying to even notice that I’d been beaten up and thrown outside.” I said, pointing to my nose for effect.

“Geeze dude, that’s hectic! Are you ok?” George said as he finally realised that my blue nose wasn’t just part of the outfit.

Apparently they had been trying to phone me for ages, but my phone had been switched off. Only then did I realise that my mobile was gone. Maybe it was because I was a bit concussed, or the confusion of it all, but I didn’t even think of using it. My wallet and car keys were still with me, so I couldn’t figure out at which point I might have lost it.

All the guys started apologising and asking me to retell the night’s events. I may have embellished some of the details slightly, but it’s like an unwritten rule “if you get beaten up, you’re allowed to tell your version of the events.” Once I’d given a blow-by-blow account of the night, everyone wanted to know about the biker babe. They made the typical laddish comments, asking if she mounted me like a Harley and whether she kept her boots on.

Usually I would laugh along and play it all up. But this time I got angry. She was sweet and I didn’t think for a second that she had any ulterior motives. As I thought about the night, I realised that there was no point where she was trying to seduce me. She was just being genuinely friendly. The boys didn’t get why I was so offended, but for some reason I felt like she deserved to be defended.

At last, at three in the morning, I made my way home feeling ill from the pain and very tired, but even with a couple of painkillers and a shot of Jack I still couldn’t sleep. I didn’t even take her number, in fact, I wasn’t really sure if her name was Gina or Bernie. Then again, I didn’t even have a phone to call her with even if I did get her details. Maybe I was better off not dreaming with my subconscious floating to scenes of bowling balls, broken nails and broken noses. What a night!

I woke up to a breezy: “Whoohooo! Mikey” Somebody was shouting right outside, nails tapping on my window. “Mikey! You awake sweetie?” As I pulled away the curtain, I saw my mom, smiling like she just became a grandmother. O crap, I thought to myself… please don’t tell me my sister and her numb-nuts husband actually decided the world needed to be punished with a little numb-nuts junior. But, this wasn’t the reason for the happy visit.

Mom pulled my cell phone from her purse and waved it around. “Looking for this? Ah, Mikey, she’s lovely. Why haven’t you told me about her? She’s so polite and smart and a looker… oh Mikey, I’m so happy for you. This is so great. You should bring her over for dinner.” Mom made all this sound like one long sentence. I had no clue who she was talking about and what the hell it had to do with my phone. Turns out, my friend from last night, had my phone and she assumed MOM would be the safest number to phone, to make sure it gets back to me. Not only has she already met my mom, but she also happens to live just three blocks down from my parents, which is why she decided to just quickly drop it off there.

“Why didn’t she just ask me to come and pick it up? It wasn’t necessary for her to go to you guys?”

“I also thought she could just give it to you when you see each other again. But she insisted on just dropping it off there.”

“When we see each other again? Did she mention anything like that?”

“No, but I just assumed… Well, she did have your phone with her…”

Suddenly Mom went quiet, and her eyes and mouth shot open, with that same horrified look she gave me the first time she found me defiling her new Cosmo magazine.

“Michael! Your nose! What happened. Your beautiful, beautiful nose. My baby!”

“It’s not a big deal mom. I dove into the shallow end of the pool. It hurts, but it’s going to be ok.”

I wasn’t about to tell her that I got beat up at a biker bar, because I looked like a cross-dresser. It just raises too many questions… Like what’s a cross-dresser? Mom is so innocent and naïve. The kind that still thinks Lesbia is a country and spells out D-I-V-O-R-C-E like it’s a swearword.

“A pool? How awful. You look awful. Do you need me to take you to the doctor?” She asked studying my nose up close.

“I’m fine mom. Everything’s fine. Thanks for bringing my phone, but I really have to get ready now. I’ll see you later.”

I gave her a kiss on the cheek and closed the curtain, hoping she’d understand that she wasn’t going to be invited in. But Bernice (yes her name was Bernie, not Gina) had invited herself into my life.

———–

I found Bernie’s number on my phone, she must have saved it. I made a call, I made her dinner that night. Since then I’ve made her laugh countless times, made her bed and years later we made the decision that it was time to end things. We stopped remembering what was good about us and started fighting about everything. Fond memories of a broken nose, became two broken people, who put white leather and fairy wings in a black bag to give away. In the same way we started stuffing who we once were into the bottom drawer. We used to love each others smells and quirks, but now we sit with them hanging in a room, stifling us and silencing the nice things we used to say to each other.

We said our final goodbye at a coffee shop, neutral territory.

No amount of talking could make me feel any better or worse at this point, so I told her that I’d get where I needed to go on my own.

“Will you get home ok?” I said, giving her a bit of an awkward hug.

“I’m always ok, Mike.” She said, and again I believed her.

I thanked her for everything, for coming to my rescue so many times. She said something about me actually being her hero, but before I could ask her to explain what she meant, she’d already moved on.

Listen

Listen,listen,listen…
to the wind strumming
the grassy meadows
listen to the birds sing
as their choir master
sets for his slumber

Listen to the sound of the wind
as the reeds dance in tune
feel the moving air on your skin
and breath …..just breath
take in the moment
this is life enjoy it !

Listen to the One who
who all this created …listen
to His Voice and hear him speak
listen and you will be blessed
and you will listen now and forever ….to the sound of the wind

“Creation reveals Your glory”

“Creation reveals Your glory”
an inspired writer wrote
this rings true this morning
as clouds like waterfalls
flow down the mountains
the sun shining pale through
the vapour of the falls
lillies herald the morning
as coy daisies await
sunlight to join in praise
of the dawn of this day
as it “reveals Your glory “

A Reflection Piece

She looked like a hooker, you know
An impersonal being running the errands of atrocity
She looked like the type that drags and drops, all at once
She was dressed in black, her eyes drenched in a black eye-liner
Dark as her world seemed, I could see right through it
Her posture was one of certainty
She seemed to have had it all together

What intrigued me was her company
A decent guy, decent-looking in terms of character
You could just sense that there was some sort of vulnerability there
They were standing in a way that made me want to, or maybe I did
Conclude by saying that they must have been lovers
Contrary lovers, as Shakespeare would say,
They were star-crossed lovers

Please note that this not a judgement piece
I mean I am rather unqualified for that
I’m just simply sharing my observation, something that
Intrigued me to a point of an oblivious state
I could not put two and two together
But because I am one who does not take kindly to
Indescribable concepts,
I then made some sort of reasoning
That being of a slightly subjective nature
But then again, when are these things ever objective?
I looked at the pair quite closely, intensely, scrutinising their every move
For that would lead me to more informed thoughts
I could have been wrong but the manner in which they exchanged words
Was of familiarity
They must have been involved in some way, I thought
I mean, how often do you find a contrary pair in such harmony?
Not impossible, but how often?

Then she, the hooker look-alike, or the one
She stood behind him, placing her light hands
On his heavy shoulders
Most probably heavy because he wore the blue collar-coded robes
A uniform which represents hard labour
That is no judgement, let’s call it an assumption shall we
So she uttered some words, behind him
How I dread the things that are done behind the backs of the oblivious ones

He smiled.
He also had something to say, with his back on her
It made her smile too.
So they stood there.
I’m assuming that the plot unfolded, in some way
After my taxi drove off from the scene

My thoughts remain with them
I could swear there was a story there
Maybe someday, soon, I will uncover it.
Signed, on my way home.

For You I Could Write Otherwise

I will write you the poetry that you want to hear
About beauty and truth and the love you hold dear
About many-coloured flowers kissed by the beaks of many coloured birds
Of fortresses reaching proudly to the sky
Proclaiming ours is a land of virtue and truth

I will not write of race or religion or creed
I will not write of problems or secrets or fear
But I will write of the joys of posting a letter, to the president who strives for better
I will write of reading my paper, with a smile on my face, another case dismissed, a murder, a rape.

I will not write of injustice that is not my call
I will not write of the struggle I wasn’t born
Of the lives that were lost to provide me with freedom
I will not write of the cost to the family the children
Of a thousand sorrowful songs I can only dream
I am a white man I cannot fight all the wrongs.

I will not write of an ache that goes deeper than the soul
Of an ache that pierces the generations of Africa like a hole
I will not write of the war cries I hear in the night
The children of freedom who continue to fight and to fight
I will instead write of the cool air in your cars
As you turn away from a beggar asking for alms

I will not write of the aching, the aching in my bones
For Africa is crying, Africa my home
I will not write what has been written of revolution songs
That the blind man sings as he takes up arms
Of these things I will not write.
For Africa is bleeding and you choose to ignore
The scars you gave, the scars that she bore

Africa is bleeding and I must admit
That I am a white man, a redneck, a wit
And I choose to embrace the land of my birth
The land I’ll fight for with bullets and verse.

But I will write of the beauty of another sunrise
As the moon descends and Africa opens her sleepy eyes
I will write of the lion proud as can be
Of the slithering snake and the bumble bee
I will write you a song, a sweet lullaby
To end the nightmares of a lands broken cry.

Mama, I met the decorated Soldier

I met the decorated Soldier,
A commander of great standing
A man of virtue with discipline, a decorated Soldier with dignity
I believed in what I have convinced myself over the years
Much to my ignorance, my beliefs were washed away by my tears
He was not a commander with honour, but another decorated soldier.
Mama I met the decorated Soldier.

So much could be drawn from his breath, a stench of death.
Facts I ignored to believe in empty promises and baseless kisses.
Caught up in his artificial verbal swirls, for that moment the world was mine
Being naïve and just another silly girl in the world, I held tight to every word.
Deep inside those expensive suits, was an undignified character of no virtue
Mama, I met the man who became commander by chance.

An expensive ego but a cheap man underneath
Flaunting sessions did bring mixed emotions, but I chose to see acknowledgement in action
His fame and wealth positioned his pride, Something he never tried to hide.
Being a woman, I gave in to the charming ego, an intimate betrayal to my ego.
For a moment I forgot of my honey badger spirit, I became most girls.
Mama, I’m shamefully saying I fell for the undignified hero

Selling me a billion rand dream, I stepped on my pride like a rug
I gave in and melted like cheap butter on a cold mug.
When reality kicked in, everything was just cold
I realised the soldier was just another sailor passing by
He lied, left, disrespected and broke what was fragile
Mama I was hurt and betrayed by the man whose actual duty was to lead and protect

A man I looked up to him as being wise, He proved to be anything but wise
He was just another Hero who rose to fame by chance and a price tag
Through him I realised I may not have luxuries but I have the treasures of life
Mama I met the decorated soldier an empty man with so much priceless things to acquire
Honor, discipline and dignity are not for sale and far off his reach
Mama I met the decorated soldier, together with the strong woman I am.
Mama I met the man who inspirit was just another fallen Soldier

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