Free Verse
Free Verse
I live not far from humankind the cradle that is of
what and where we are all coming from Johannesburg
so they say and going to one human race of every colour
no need for power domination colonializing margins
The ‘dark continent’ where the ‘savages’ did not abide
by our expectations of what civilized should be and mean
where it was us the other 'othering' cannibalizing our flesh
of freedom dignity compassion lost in money mind and soul
My cradle rocks and sways in the wild gentle winds in
torrents of emotion mood reflection history anticipation
certain of uncertainty of what the intermingling retrospective
past and future web together like a tapestry of life a bricolage
Lost threads there are and double knitted faults and hollows
shallow worn out spins and spiral knots and missing patches
mended winding fabric scars and wounded oscillations
swings and roundabouts cul-de-sacs and four-way stoppage
Is there a pattern to cradling the moment to memories to
fantasies of rooted wings and flapping roots a human kind
of compass joining needles implements of mass construction
subjective individual shining lights and armour idiosyncratic beauty
Are we starving demising suffocating for self-righteousness
loosing the plot and all the marbles thrown high up in the
air with juggled balls we aim to fix the waters rivers flowing
on their own with push and pull of light and lighted gravitation
Just here and now not there and then when sunshine rises
where rainbows glitter melt and wax the wane all of the colours
into violet prisms focussing condensing refracting blinding darkness
understanding knowledge of the shadows and bright clarity
When I write some thoughts on paper on the screen of modern
techniques and ancient art of crafted words and scripted meaning
the cradling of the moment takes its paths of where I’ve started off
and might be going once and only when the moment passes
02nd July 2016 written in Johannesburg and everywhere
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