Long Moulting Poems

Splat

Explosions do not always signify combustion but often combustion arrives after many years of layering the layers and tightly packing. Thus meaning that a fried piece of fat could slip and burst out of the...

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Unquotable quotes: Writers – XXXVIII

     for Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra and Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoieski  
     who let not even hope sustain them and who used their...

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The mirtangist may never willingly hear
may not want to hear
the multaiyam announcing his cue
nor the melodist aware of the flautist's right
to the change in the raga
the plucking of the yal strings
to the goatskin drummed bleats
and...

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III

Kept out
   kept out he was: muzzled and shut out
from mothering social approval
    and the usual conning courtesies

Kept shut
  Involuting in the hippo-lipped paranoïa
from the darling eyes of his...

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"Dream Bug"



Hour glass 
rainbows sparkling
crystal grainy rapids
sliding intrepidly through life’s fingers

their coloured sands speak in tones
they are obtuse and vapid 
like snowflakes they fall 
confetti on my hands

Writing you 
between there
and here again
a feckless court...

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Each time my Auntie Rosa went to shop in the High Street,
She’d bring us back a pink-iced bun; it was our special treat.
We’d take them up to Grandad’s (we preferred to eat them there)
We’d scoff...

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{August is Woman’s Month in South Africa. August 9th is Woman’s Day. August 8th is an opening of the Lion’s Portal to Cosmic Strength. This poem is for all the Lion Hearted women who have...

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A frosty whitewash, whirling winter snow
smoothly shrouds a secret silent slumber.
Skies all awake, flying mosaics of row
music chirps cavort the sunset amber.
Gelid air turfs, chilled in birds of wonder
gliding through miles, unknown lands asunder.

Crackling wings...

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Early morning, while walking down the country road
I saw a group of children, school bound in crisp uniforms
Oh it is August, I suddenly remembered
And the schools have opened after the summer holidays

Like birds unleashed from...

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Who am I?



Seeking absolution, I wander 
the alleyways of times gone by,

awash with wasted regrets, I 
crawl into the yawning crevasse,

clutching at straws as merciless 
time takes to the sky.

Drenched in the reeking stench 
of...

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Unheeded in the spread of his name, quaking
   Through the knit brow cuddling the sombre eye
Twice buckled into the couch of his yearning

The mouldy cast of unsculptured hands, moulting
   In the...

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Time has flown away without the glimpse of your smile,A day of tons is like a day of Nothing Without that glaze from you.It feels like my dress has been torn and cannot be mended...

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Last night I saw an angel, he was sitting on my bed
He had two golden wings, and a halo round his head
Suddenly his shining light began to grow quite dim
It seemed a bit unusual and...

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I brush for fifteen minutes my kitty,
as she growls, wiggles and struggles and swats;
all I want to do is make her pretty,
I just need to get rid of a few knots.

Oh, all that shedding,...

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The Transparency of Selves.

Transparently unseen,
lonely souls walking on,
slipping between raindrops,
curling between folds of reality,
twisting in dreary, worn-out skins.

Moulting, peeling off, discarding,
worn-down corpses edging towards,
whistling crowds of leering stares,
wasted on insipid momentary sighs,
where collective consciences lay...

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I brush for fifteen minutes my kitty,
as she growls, wiggles and struggles and swats;
all I want to do is make her pretty,
I just need to get rid of a few knots.

Oh, all that shedding,...

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When Tonight Arrives.

When tonight arrives,
yet another whiskey-soaked, hazy search for absolution commences,
in nameless seedy dives,
where loneliness offers solace,
and self-pity thrives.

Staring at the bottle,
knowing it offers relief,
from the numbing pangs of grief,
while stripping down the edifices,
of...

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the next is like the first
equally shedding more skin
you do that again and again 
and I known each time 
you look at me 
we are transformed

and so we take each step
each page is torn away
a...

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Home


Squirming through my skin, 
moulting once again.

Roots flailing like rotting driftwood, 
bashed upon the merciless shore.

Home awaits the weary traveller, 
to comfort and offer solace.
No home awaits me, 
mere bricks and scattered memories.

Lost in the...

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earth

I connect the earth to the painting,
Footprints in the mud,
Marble dust scratched,

The soil is drawn up, vertically
It can not be accessed any longer,
And blocks the horizon.

A thick varnish protected, precariously,
The guts, from the burning of...

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