Moving On

Seasons
Decked in their finest robes
Calling

Melodies
From within my boundless sanctuary
Bubbling

Faith
The chequered currency of glory
Beckoning

Footsteps of the purple twilight
Whirlwind of contentment
The summon of courage

Close at hand
The time
To move on
To press on

Blessed are those
Led by the guiding whispers of accompanying audience
Trust fate in the embracing arms of hope
Carried on wings of favour
To the womb of resurrection

The Shredder In My Mind

Your mawkish choice to make your heart a museum
Of our past encounters is the least of my bothers
I will however not fail to let you know
That I have already shredded that past from my mind

Thoughts About A Father

Walking through fallowed fields of my soul

Happy memories of a father

The price of precious pursuits

The charm of unfeigned sobriety

The endearing portrait of virility

The assurance of strident care

The fervency of fortitude

A surreal thesis of fatherhood

Engrafted upon my heart

Examination

In a psychopathically-patterned gray vacuum
Entirely drained of sanctity and desire
A frozen horizon symbolic of doom
A Concentration camp for wannabees
Congregants
Willing prisoners
Seated
Dead-like
Silence
Pregnant minds
Birth pangs
Pens and papers
Neuronal marathons
Rhythmic inscriptions
Three hours
One by one
They leave
Cheerless
An MBA examination

The Street Child

An unwanted
Deserted
Being
Raised
On the streets
By no one
For no one

A jagged phantom
Of a wizened childhood
An ejected nestling
Roaming
The veins
And arteries
Of cities and towns
With no obligation
And no consideration

A vagabond
Of wretched existence
A weed
A parallel life
Doting
Alongside
Contours of unconsciousness
Like an aborted shadow
With no voice
And no choice

An apoptotic blip
Programmed to deviate
So he wanders
All his life
Searching
Itching
For his lot
In all the wrong places
Without peace
And without ease

Africa:Ours, Yours, Mine

A.F.R.I.C.A . . .
Favoured with potential
Enamelled with rugged credential
Blessed with nature
She rises to nurture
Perfumed with pearly sunshine
All rises to the emerging valentine
Wild wind in her sail
Step not on her tail
Test not her ruthless aptitude
Beware the abiding fortitude
Her irresistible lure
The controversial allure
Timeless
Tameless
Mother of all
We love you
Africa

Life, Money & Meaning

In Jozi's glitzy suburbia
The dirt-poor bloke licks his cracked lips
As the flashy wagons breeze by
Wondering how it might feel to have it all

The filthy-rich dude bites his reddened lips
A sitting duck in the Q7 as wretched masses dive and dock by
Wondering how it might feel to lose it all

The Dream Of The Complacent

We have traveled so far
Now on this mountain
Of reminiscence
We remember
Our solemn covenants
And dripping dreams
We count
Our harvest
We celebrate
Our blessings
See the bountiful seeds
Sprouting giants
In blooming fields
In the shade
Delicate flowers
In regal swirl
The sweet aroma of victory
All around
By and by
Ripe fruits under the feet
Here and now
Come dance to our sacred toast
We will walk so tall
Fresh breathe will fill our lungs
Our season is here
Our moment beckons
We will thrive as we've dreamt
We have been our best cheer leaders
So here we say
Let us take rest
Our heels need cooling
For tomorrow's war is already won

The Sore Tooth

At the uber-sanitized office of the dentist
Minding my own arching business
Steeling myself for the eminent torture
A mysterious huntress with a crooked pursuit
Invades the serene quarters
Mischief spelt all over her facade
Long legged
Swaying hip
She screeches to a practised stop
And unloads her wobbling behind
Unto the seat right opposite me
Then proceeds to undo a button of her blouse
To let provocative boobs to hang
The teasing lips
The Polluting eyes
Right in my face
Now I am in need of something more than dentistry
My Spirit
My soul
My core
All scream out
Remove this sore tooth
Right now

I Am Trying To Understand

Life . . .

Bundles of memories

Ours

Yours

Mine

Like sparks dancing in thin air

Each one

Weighed

Measured

Dispatched

Somewhere

Somewhat

Somehow

Formula one seeds

Created to race

In the moment of passion

Desires whispered

Invitations in our hearts

We make our ways

Paths to weave

Here
There

So we move along

Leaving behind us

The others

The wannabees

From one chamber

Into another we make our way

Into a new world we are summoned

Two breasts on the plate

We feast

We watch

We master

Then we move along

Leaving behind us

The shared moments

Parts of ourselves

Strewn across the fields

And so we continue

Our cravings

Our pursuits

Somebody

Something

Beckoning

Over the distant horizons

The blessings we seek

The fairly land of our dreams

Wealth

Health

Fashion

Passion

So we move along

Never knowing

The destination

The reason

The Agenda

And yet we continue

Again

And again

Hoping that one day we will

Know

And understand

Then one moment we stop

And look back

And consider

How far we have wandered

And yet we have still not arrived

So many memories

So much undone

So much to share

We ask ourselves

Is that all?

Was it worth it?

This experiment
This journey

Life is ...

Bundles of memories

Spread yours

Share yours

Enjoy yours

Improper Fractions

Zombies
Restless souls
Prisoners of vanity
Rolling stones
In perpetual motion
Improper fractions
Defying logic
KM was one of them
An Uncle dearly beloved
Was close to half a century when he dropped
The fatal flaw
Unwillingness to stick to only one dearly conjoined
He lived a passerby's dream
Wilds seeds sown across the field
Fatherless mob
Incomplete souls
Unanswered questions in tearful hearts
I am crying
I am cringing
Is there a way to repair the breach?
Will the genes receive redemption?
I dread a replicating portfolio full of bile
Disasters
Heartaches
Circles of shame sprouting behind the barns
I spare a thought
I say a prayer
Concoctions from above thrown across the fields
Healing balms in view
A new horizon
Rains of restoration pouring down
Garments of praise on the lines
There is hope after all

Cheated

Two former top-of-the-class students
Now aspiring entrepreneurs
Sit in rickety crap in a snaking traffic downtown
In the distance the arresting siren
A leader being escorted in tax-funded convoy
Soon the show comes into view
Seconds of sharpened focus later
The unmistakable image of their former classmate
The bottom-of-the-class chump
Now a minister of state
The theatre of the absurd on a taunting display

Reflections @ The 100 Milestone

This post is number 100.
Looking back on this journey, my candid comment is simply: A.M.A.Z.I.N.G!
It has been an incredibly enriching experience so far for me. There has been a lot of personal satisfaction. Lots of heart-bearing. Lots of contemplations. Lots of learning. I am indeed a better person for all that.
Through it all, I have to say that I have really enjoyed the privilege of sharing with you all, learning from you all as well as laughing with so many people all over the place.
As the journey moves on from this point, allow me to thank those of you who have made this blog a worthwhile cause.
Your candid contributions, comments, analyses and corrections will continue to be cherished and appreciated going forward.
Thank you all a 100 times!

Feminist,. . .,Fup Or Sup?

If you were that unemployed young man who sat by the stied side of the road, hands -on-head, wandering distantly into unredeeming space, which of the following
questions will really tickle your furlong fancy? . . .

The total dearth of the male equivalent of a feminist?

The art of winning over a rabid emotionalist?

The fact that the contemporary theory of economics is a fup?

Or the protruding dread that nobody gives a toss whether you yuck, duck or sup?

The Inner Shush

I can't figure out the heart of this forbearing shush
Denouncing seems so out of place like a dance on an alter of slush
Not at a time when the sting of my voice feels so right
How do I untie the knots that hold the bonds so tight

Comfort me with your ocean of love my dear
I long for the redeeming touch of your healing lips honey

My spirit must dance again to the soothing songs of grace
My mind itches to be over the clouds of earthly embrace
Could it be that I need to look elsewhere for the rhythms of consolation
I seek the fellowship of solemn feasts to reclaim the path of consummation

Engage me in the rhyme of graceful exchange my dear

Take my hands to the delightsome curves where love river flows honey

An Ode from My Childhood

In the shower last night, I found myself waltzing lyrical, reciting a poem I read ages ago in the pages of a nondescript English language comprehension textbook at primary school.

Who has seen the wind?
neither I nor you:
but when the leaves hang trembling
the wind is passing thro'

Who has seen the wind?
neither you nor I:
but when the trees bow down their heads
the wind is passing by

---Christina Rossetti

Whatever precipitated that cognitive itch I don’t really know.
But that got me thinking.
What self-respecting man recites a poem learnt at primary school in the shower, a poem probably now reserved for the exclusive use of children with special needs at a grade F crèche?
Why is my brain taking me back to primary school anyway?
Maybe I have not really learnt anything worth my brain’s while since my primary school days. Perhaps my pitiful cognitive play list is made up of that solo number and my brain is trying hard to preempt from carrying on like that.
Be it as it may, thanks to months of exposure to NY’s cookery of poetic classics, I am beginning to discover the enchanting, beautiful and colorful landscape of poetry. Now I see poetry all around me. And who knows?

Perhaps, reciting that poem under the shower was the awakening of a unfulfilled need within myself or the beginning of a literary adventure of a lifetime.
Whatever it is, I can’t wait any longer!

PS: Check my second blog here

A New Day

I have paused enough.
Now is the time to restart this business of speaking my mind, of finding my voice.
I have analysed enough.
Here is the hour to retrace the verdict of my heart, of stringing together portions fed upon.
I have taken in enough.
Now is the moment to release the streams of sacred tastes, of singing texts never hymned.
I have seen enough.
Here is the time to restate the visions of my expectations, of fondling dreams long desired.