Thursday 30 June 2011

Felicity - from 'Waiting'


She was not a manicured rose in a landscaped garden of vain aspirations, with cruel thorns concealed by seductive, scented charms. Felicity was a fair daisy – colourful and bright, growing wild and in profusion with tarnished roots planted firmly in the arid soil of her impoverished life. Her beauty was manifest in her tender smile and her compassionate heart and her ageless soul. Her devoted calm became my refuge and my happiness. I had found my Felicity...

Saturday 25 June 2011

Die Kaap Maak Vrek!



Die bra’se is a’mal dik gegom
O’s loep ron’ kamst’ag son’e rigting
Maa’ daai’s ma net n skelm
Waa’van o’s is a’mal op n pos.

Die win’ hy waai, die rie’n is nat
Die boere pla n man op ‘ie hoek
Daa’ waa’ ‘it daa’m n bietjie warm is
Langs aan ‘ie grill van ‘ie bakery.

My voet m’akee’ n nog’ge plaster
Wan’ ‘aai an’e een is moeg
En elke kee’ as ek trap ‘an maak ek kak
Waa’van die tee’ is mos ha’d sien djy?

Plus’ens nou moet n man ma’ kyk
Waa’ ‘rie kop kan sak
Ma’ al ‘ie spotse is mos lankal gevat
Wan’ hoeko’, die Kaap is nat.

In My Mind - A Tribute to Mister Devious


 
I had heard about the phenomenon known as Devious
Whose rhymes explored a greater consciousness
A social revolutionary
His words his artillery.

The short time we spent together
Is a joy that will last forever
They would have seen if they looked in your eyes
That it was not time for your demise.

There was too much work for you to do
Too much you knew that was true.

But even so I can’t be sad
And even though it makes me mad
I think back to the time we shared
And how you reminded me that I cared.

Your words conjured brilliant visions
About conscious decisions without divisions
Verses like blades making incisions.

For a while the future looked brighter
And my spirit felt lighter
Because you touched my soul
And reaffirmed the whole
That resides inside with beauty denied.

I remember you as you were
The sound of your voice still rings clear
In my heart and mind you will always be here
Much love and endless respect
Your life is a testimony that makes me reflect.

Your legacy will survive
As long as your words are alive
…In my mind.

Wednesday 22 June 2011

A Thought on Commerce and Art Expanded



It is long past the hour
When even the criminals have retired.
Cacooned by layers of thermal clothing
I am naked in the presence of this passion
This all consuming fire coursing in my blood.
My entire existence reduced,
Or just maybe elevated
To be encompassed in a sentence
Another word.
Oblivious of the mainstream
In which I am carried along
My life becomes a singular act so simple.
Even little children are taught how to write
And so the passion is revealed
As little more than an indulgence.
Yet I silently persevere
Screaming my conviction
Upon impotent reams of paper.
So many things to say
And still my voice remains silent.
All of these noble endeavors
Judged first for their material gain.

No longer are we concerned with creativity in art,
For all we seek is a marketable formula.
And in our submission to the market
We whore the truth in our souls
For the price an enlightened comfort
Which is ultimately neither.
We switch ourselves off gradually
From the evidence of what is going down all around us.
We fatten our pathetic little realities
Which amount to no more than a distraction
An ineffectual sanctuary from the storm.
In return we receive meager tokens of our worth
From those who seek only
To perpetuate their own flimsy lies.
The truth it seems has become a non-usable theme
As art stoops to don the mantle of entertainment.
A sensory whore monger I am
Amid this unpublished verse
Scattered liberally upon the threshold.
My sole remaining virtue is the fact
That I am no longer a member of any oppressed lineage;
At last I am gingerly able
To consider my virtually insignificant part
In a far grander community.
A far more deceptive politic
That orchestrates the very movement of the earth it seems
As we sit soberly speculating upon the future.
A civilized, once more enlightened speculation
That cautions against bitterness and rage.
Yes it would seem altogether wise
To transcend the sickeningly familiar destruction:
Imperative to our survival in fact.
No one person can turn very much around
And yet we each posses the power to contribute
Towards what can only be described as the purging of humanity.
For too long have we allowed pseudo belief
In divine intervention
To hold us in passivity
Mere onlookers at the deathbed of this ailing mankind.
Tomorrow is already too late
All we have is this last day
This single moment in which to make a decision.
Life or death; politics or truth; money or creation
And if then there remains any doubt,
Then surely we are all damned
For who of us are truly individual
And separate from the whole?
What is mankind if not only a man?

And beyond the confines of today
Beckoning like the return of passion
Within our souls we will find
The essence of beauty.
Once again reunited with our art.
The novel embraced by a smile;
A gesture profoundest poetry;
The dawn and all of its light the canvas.
How I long for a time when our lives
Become infused with true knowledge and wisdom
When our every movement and expression
Becomes a humble, unassuming work of art.
(19/07/97)