Cape Poems

Cape Cod Mornings

You love the Ocean
as it comes
I love the Ocean
as it goes
Caught in its tide
of becoming
Washed in the change
— of its flow

(Yarmouth Massachusetts: September, 1974)

A Name By Any Other Arose

Native Americans call me 'Paleface'
'Roundeye' say the Chinese race
to a Scot I'm a 'Sassenach' 'Boyo' to those in Wales
altho' a 'Limey' in New York
I answer to none such hails
once a 'Gweilo' in Hong Kong Down Under was a 'Pom'
you may give a dog a bad name (and/or a bone)
he may even be your (best) 'Pal'

Cape Flats - 1

So, maybe you can tell
Heaven from hell,
blue skies from rain,
a day full of pain.

Can you trade a walk in the park
for a glimpse of the dark?
We are the captured souls, like fish in bowls.
Do you want to exchange, from living in chains?

Beating around the bush is not of any use, 
in the blink of an

Cape Flats - 2

Murder and mayhem on the Cape Flats.
This is life and that is that.
From the youngest to the oldest,
the murderers are bold.

Murderers kill at random.
On their heads should be a ransom.
Every day is a killing season,
killing for no reason.

Children cry and mothers die,
living by the sword.
The murderers must be caught.

Gangs for whom killing is a must,
mothers

Cape Flats - 3

Thirty-four people killed in a week.
The Cape Flats gangs are not weak.
They shoot to kill and maim,
to them, it’s all the same.

Let’s be real, 
the gangs are a bad deal.
In them, there is no good.
To them, death is like food.

You must fight to live, every day.
Being bad is the only way.
They rule the street
and the

Cape Flats gangs fighting

In the Cape flats the bullets are flying
Today people are dying
The gangs are killing
To them it is fulfilling 

It is a deed so sad   
It can only be done by the bad
The gangs don’t feel a thing  
They love the sting.

The gangs are like wild animals
Like real damn cannibals
Running in the street
Wanting

cape buffalo

beware of black death
africa’s cape buffalo
they even charge cars

cape cod murder she wrote

Imaginary 
fictional seaside village 
mystery writer sleuth

Birthday

Quote:"Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin". Mother Teresa

Long awaited birtday arrives,
Best wishes, cakes and flowers from social media thrives,
I feel haapy, did not know I had so many friends,
Wish I could smell the flowers and taste a piece from the cakes.

The joy of real birtday touches

FEAR NOT TO VISION

FEAR NOT TO VISION

Fear not to vision
Trust to catch stardust from
Whence we came
Create a new World, woven
With Peace and Patience

Fear not the glaring blaze of Light 
It dazzles us with lucid eyes
To clarify the vision 
Brighter than newborn blood
Tastier than marula  fruit
Smelling of cinnamon and rubies 

A father sails the seven seas
Luminous guides smile
In

Soul Birth: 71 Horstley Street, District Six

SOUL BIRTH : 71 HORSTLEY STREET, DISTRICT SIX

Swathed in golden fleece 
White light dancing
Cigarette smoke twirls
Waters break and gush
Bright as the nearby ocean
To say hello to the midwife 
Preparing the birthing table

A violet spirit comes
A birthing through channels and layers 
The room becomes vast
Souls linger about 
Radiant and receiving 
Onto the Earth Dimension 
Task complete

Melancholy

Cape Mendocino

Cape Mendocino	

The westernmost tip of California
hard to reach
except by Google earth
the usual method of exploration
these days.

The Point Arena Library
where I hung my words upon
the Poet Tree
growing in the entrance
hardly noticed.

A fellow
down on his luck
the beloved companion
of a wire haired dog
with bad breath 
and crooked teeth

Both sitting beneath a leaf
of William Carlos Williams.
So much depends upon
this

Pre - Valentine's Sky

I
Delicious evening
Furtive moon, modest stars
2023 but ancient Sky

II
Cooler, Eastern Cape evenings - delicious
Blazing hot days, 40 degrees Celsius
Give way to ancient ways, in the stars
Only a few tonight (why?) And Venus perhaps?
Two of the four stars in a box, outshone the rest
 - when Moon escaped the cloudy hedge
A few belts with triune stars consoled

The Cardinal And The Rose In His Crimson Cape

Crimson red braces a snowy dreamscape
Huddled in dense twigs, dons a showy cape
Plumage a bold rich scarlet, an exuberance           
Nay can’t hide its immaculate beauty’s trance
        
Christians believe you symbolize the blood of Christ
Christmas bird who’s remained in

No Gooders

Do gooders are hard to escape.
They're addicted to wearing the cape.
With less than a clue
Of what's good for you,
They insert then deny it's a rape!

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