True truth... I've never heard of any liver
that was a friend of drink... no matter how noble it may be...
Scotch whiskey, French champagne, dirty-stemmed cane,
cachaça that killed the guard, Hemingway's piña colada
Artisanal beer (factory or home-brewed beer)
it can handle more or less a cup of tea... of boldo...!
My soul seems to be hidden today.
Where can it conceal itself?
I thought it was always with me,
Roaming the endless paths
That clatter the corridors of my mind,
coursing through my arteries and veins,
invading all essential organs
that keeps me alive all day.
Maybe it flew away
Like some mad eagle that lost its way!
I will not search for it.
It will return when it feels
There is a need for it.
My feet follow tracks unknown
Oblivious of time and space.
I meet old friends and strangers,
I pass on,
I do not recognise their mien.
I thread through paths lined
With rampant dark green ferns,
I slush through shallow muddy pools,
I rest below the copious hedgerows.
Down in the valley cows are milked,
Geese cackle and cocks crow,
Cats copulate in peace.
Fragrance of new-cut hay
Makes my nostrils flare.
Smoke billows from the chimney
Of an old cottage near the farm.
Should I invite myself,
Betake a country hearty meal?
I am welcome
Urged to taste the home-brewed beer
Or the new fermented cheese.
I feel a kind of peace.
Perhaps my soul is back
Or perhaps it's the beer or the cheese.
Who can say?
Sunday breakfast love
Joy with daughter and grandson
Eggs kisses warm hugs
May 17, 2020
5pm PST
Poem 1,272
(Capitalization~ Poet's choice)
Off and on they signaled, always in rapid fire
casting munitions across my window blind
A garish platoon of aggressors engaged in war
all tossing hand grenades at my haggard mind
Their bullets were blinking in Morse code
flashing in rhythm with droning dissonant jazz
From their stronghold across the asphalt road
they nightly attacked in a tawdry scheme
No clouds as allies to enshroud the moonlight
In cryptic shadows I avoided the street lamp
and the eyes of their sentry. Her stilettos tapping
in syncopation, I slipped by their sentinel vamp
Stealthily I moved, muscles tensed and strained,
I peered through the umbras to launch my attack
An alleyway spotted, and there I ordained
the weapon to silence their nightly escapade
Behind their front line, my hand unlatched the box
I flipped all the switches and pulled out the fuse
The only sounds I heard were patrons moaning
No Morse code signals or stilettos walking in ruse
On my window blinds there were no flashing lights
No tacky neon sign, offering home brewed beer on tap
Victory over the aggressors. I mumbled their last rites
I slept peacefully through the night with a fuse in my lap
1.
Calm descends,
feathery, misty, settling gently on this city’s breath.
Elusive sleep,
teases,
hiding amongst the clouds,
while silver ribbons of moonlight, caress the concrete.
2.
Midnight in Jo’burg,
alone, in this wild-eyed, crazy city,
warm and cruel at once,
ragged, torn, sublime,
brimming with African life,
alive in an African summer night.
3.
Zimbabwe, you are us,
Morocco is infused in our veins,
Nigeria lingers on our wet kisses,
Malawi, we are you.
4.
A continental mosaic,
the smells of Cairo,
and sounds of Dakar,
soaked in tastes of Addis,
mingle on my city’s streets.
5.
We are all, African.
‘They’ are not the other,
we are ‘them’, tossed in a communal pot,
sipping mampoer*,
and chowing pap and vleis*,
in my city,
my Jozi**,
your Jo’burg**,
our eGoli**
_____
* – a home-brewed drink, and a maize-meal porridge and meat.
** – all names refer to Johannesburg.
a tapioca pudding
a rose hip relish
toated bread & dripping dips
evaporated
milk with tinned pears
home brewed beer
Cor !
A English forties menu