winters raging wind
howls angrily through trees
naked of their leaves
In the early 80's,
Before the internet
And before the mass usage
Of hand held telephones;
On a clear and sunny day;
On a southwest bound freeway,
Not far from the Golden Gate Bridge,
One motorist angrily shouted to another
Motorist, "That's crazy!" The other motorist
Was quick to reply by saying, "You're right!"
Such verbal interaction occurred because
One driver became irate as he observed
Another driver reading a book while driving.
It should be noted that not all highway rages
Are created equally. Some end peacefully.
The reading motorist immediately complied
With the angry driver's suggestion and changed
His reading habits.
Bad Luck for the Vampire Teeth
It was such a gloomy Halloween day
The Vampire Teeth tinted with blood,
and delicate pinot noir (bottled not yesterday),
went flying over a field of western redbud.
From his side,
a drunk goose
struck him. The Vampire Teeth cried,
‘Watch where you fly, you goose!’
Then ten more geese smacked into him (frown, frown)
So so winded he couldn’t stay in the air,
and he fell quite fast down down down
into a big crack the length of a bear
in the road that boarded the field square.
No one heard his cries for help.
Then his voice box broke.
Then a limping construction worker Mr Kelp
who was too broke
filled in the crack (with some egg yolk)
with cement angrily demanded by the folk.
No more ancient Gaelic Festival of
Samhain for The Vampire Teeth.
All because of
those stupid geese, and that worker Heath.
Broomstick Beryl
On Halloween night she was
in a very sour mood because
she had to pick up rubbish,
pick up lots of rubbish.
She had to pick (five bags per
hour) up rubbish from the grass glossing
of Elmwood Botanic Park for doing 110 km per hour through a children’s crossing.
As she angrily sorted rubbish green and blue,
her spindly sweat-stained stomach (way too bamboo-lean) roared for candy too,
and for cinnamon mummy biscuits too.
Celtic fans thought their team was due for a right gubbing
To the Gers' fans the first half was a Celtic drubbing
And the Celtic fans were so close to blubbing
Rohl was close to kingship with the Gers' fans him so dubbing
That second half with O'Neill's adroit subbing
Saw Celtic give the Blues a thorough scrubbing
With cheers unheard from the Green Brigade out happily pubbing
At the final whistle Celts with glee their hands were rubbing
While the home crowd felt like their team clubbing
And angrily their season tickets stubbing.
I want peace
They make of me a throng tease
While I refused to be angrily steer
I made them fleer
Want to appease
But was afraid to approach
Can't hold grudge a pinch
Rather help make ease
Good but is it not to poach?
Better choose to instill
For poking at will
May cause us to encroach
Peace is apiece
Whence each felice
To compensate simplicity
Which promotes docility
Stoop for repose; stand not for subterfuge
That everyone could enjoy
The would-be harmony trying to employ
And be certain Naija is our refuge
Olive is the green who chooses to stay.
When leaving would have been easier.
It learned how to sway without breaking its back.
Making assurance look like leisure.
Olive is a green in love with inheritance.
A green who is not always gentle.
Some legacies arrive with grit in the teeth
Teaching that survival can be mental.
This shade of green is for women who fed others before themselves.
Olive does not surrender.
Such weakness can sit on the shelf.
Olive is a green who knows the subject of choice.
This shade is never bitter and weak.
A green that does not angrily rush the rain
But a nourishing, deliberate voice.
Yes it was him,
the man from my prophecy
born from starvation.
The trees danced
as he disappeared, and reappeared.
Flying discs spoke his birth
as I angrily begged him to stay.
I was so desperate almost to death.
He came at his own time.
Will I?
Domestic violence
The couple had nice tans, but she had a black eye
He was courteous towards her, tried to hold
her hand, but she refused to hold his hand
His face reddened angrily, and he got his way
Both were nicely dressed, meeting friends
No doubt they would tell a droll story on how
She got that Eye
Polite laughter, the men accepted the story
But the women exchange glances,
In the powder room, they will now know the truth
The unlucky one would beg them not to
tell anyone, saying he loves me, but has a quick
temper; when I nag him, he sometimes slaps me
But it always says sorry and begs forgiveness
Cape Flats is my town
But it always lets me down
I feel like a clown
With a crown
The violence
We cannot silence
Rob kill and maim
To the gangs its all the same.
where childhood is stolen,
where mothers bury their children
Heart broken and sorrow
A life so hollow
You they will follow.
Like a barn-swallow.
A township so vain
Full of pain
A killing everyday
This is the only way
With violence everyday
All we can do is pray.
Childhoods are stolen callously
Stolen very tactfully
Cape Flats live in brutality
And hate and fear angrily.
A lot of hate crimes
At the best of times.
Rape and killing
This is so unfulfilling.
Let this be a lesson
And not a mere session
To teach a session
Let it be a lesson
Not just an obsession
But a positive progression.
Of our own confession.
The doctor told us,
“He doesn’t have long left to live”.
He could say that again,
I already know,
So his voice to me is nothing but howling winds.
Blowing angrily,
Trying to devour my hopeful,
‘Maybe-pointlessly-so’ grin.
But really these are times we thought we’d grieve.
Sitting at the foot of his bed,
Just staring like this feeling isn’t really grim.
Everyone’s smiling,
But we came here thinking he’s probably dead,
Everyone’s lying,
Saying we always believed in him.
These tears were hiding,
Couldn’t believe it when we saw,
Just him in the hospital bed,
With a smile.
A pointless,
Hopeful,
Grin.
Near the edge of democracy’s garden
sprouted the Tree of Misinformation,
quickly growing into the largest tree
with leafy branches broad and long and tall.
Though toxic was its eye-catching fruit,
many ate the deceptive apples
that clouded their minds
and blinded their eyes.
They could not even perceive
the clear, self-evident truth
that a deceitful serpent
had slyly seduced them.
Fanatically following the swindler,
angrily amplifying audacious lies,
they spread wide more tainted seeds
throughout the lush fertile garden.
Will the garden wither into wastelands
littered in reeking, rotting fruit and minds,
while the people perish
not understanding why?
(This poem was inspired by the not-nearly-so-dark Oct. 8, 2024 Frank & Earnest cartoon by Bob Thaves as well as the equally dark Garden of Eden story in Genesis 2 and darker-still political events. See also my poems “How Would Jesus Vote?” and “The 2023rd Psalm.”
The summer sun shines brightly, Rooster invites the day light loudly, The boy removes the blanket finally.
His mother calls him angrily, He runs into the restroom swiftly , And wears the school uniform slowly.
The school bus comes casual,
He steps into the bus unwillingly , It has been done daily as usual.
For hundreds of years, I've been alone,
Alone in this cold world,
Filled with misery and brutality,
With every century that passes by,
The world seems to get worse
I sit under a tree,
Thinking about this world,
Will this century be better?
Then a figure is seen from a far
With every step it took it became clear
It came nearer becoming clearer,
Gosh! It was a beautiful woman,
Her hips swayed as she walked,
She looked like a good soul
But was her inner self good?
A lad walked briskly beside her,
Pleading for a coin,
To feed himself and mother,
The woman angrily looked at him,
And spat at his rusty old cup
The beautiful woman became ugly,
Kicking and spitting at the lad,
I couldn't believe that this was the woman I admired,
This century was also the same,
Maybe this world would never change,
Windows open
A slight breeze teases
The hair on my legs
Goose bumps jockey
For position
A neighbor’s cat
Plots its escape
A racoon is taken away
In “paw” cuffs
A squirrel shakes the bird feeder
Sparrows wait below
A passing dog
Leaves another “blonde spot”
On my alleged “lawn”
An old Dodge Charger revs angrily
At the silence of the Tesla
Two crows make a mockery
Of the debate
I pause for an imaginary commercial
Alas there is no mute button for nature
Some guy in Minnesota
Wants to buy my house
My “check engine” lite came on
I checked
It’s still there
Well, gotta go change
The fish tank water
It hasn’t been the same
Since they went to school
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