Get data smart, don't let them start.' Such Intended centers, strike at the real heart' of all
Eco-log-istics, and world climate resolutions.' Resultant scars on the earth would
Be a hostile intrusion, defacing and squandering available and sustainable resources..I point out the trampling
And tearing of our
Earth.' We must apply all our recourses.'
To arrest such desecration, resist in all
And any manner, be firm stand fast and
Into this machinery, lets throw every
Bloody spanner !
You, the great blasphemer, did snort
“I will be Christ. I will be the Most High
Above the fifty stars and courts
Above every deity of the sky”
Worshiping the idol of forts
With gold and silver, but with no ally
O orange morning star… O Don
You will be brought down alive
By Life, the daughter of Wisdom
To where no rose can grow and strive
With no oak tree to rest upon
With no eagle to arrive
Trampling you underfoot
Generations will think
“Is this that man who put
The whole earth on the brink
Turned his kingdom to soot
Killed liberty in a blink”
(Influenced by Isaiah 14:12-17)
Caught up in the sticky gears
of this greed and grime machine.
Greased by our doubt and division,
fueled by fears and confusion.
No doubt it is a blood machine
carving and taking-never caring
trampling and raping-
never planting or repairing.
It's a Petroleum machine
looking far ahead but eyeless
never glancing behind at the destruction.
Sniffing out the next victim
never sated, always breeding,
Plundering and pillaging, the soul of
we
the people.
The machine nibbles away at our right to bloom
our right to own, to defend, to speak
to manifest the dream into reality.
The machine can only be beaten down
by the unity of the we.
Afrikaaps
Die oggend is nat
hul lop op hul gat skool toe
die klokkie het kla gelui
is omdat hulle nie
tuissie gedoen nie
lag hulle uit
Afrikaans Translation
Dit het gereen
die kinders loop stadig skool toe
alhoewel die skool klok gelui het.
Hulle het nie hul huiswerk gedoen nie.
Ons lag vir hulle.
English Translation
It has rained
the morning is wet
school kids are slowly
trampling to school
though the school bell
has rung.
They have not completed
their homework.
We are laughing at them.
[Poet’s Note : The direct translation of the second line in the Afrikaaps version would be : “They are walking on their buttocks to skool.”
The direct translation of the last line in the Afrikaaps version would be :
“Laugh at them” or “make fun of them” or
“laugh until they leave.”
Notice how more colourful, jiving and idiomatic the Afrikaaps version is. Because of its origin in Cape Slavery lingo, Afrikaaps attempts to make light of daily life.This was a slave coping mechanism. ]
_______________
Can you hear it?
The rhythms beating,
pulsing upon the ground
boots trampling dirt as
they march towards war.
Can you feel it?
The innocents cry for blood
bloodlust for the enemy thrumming
in each and every chest
as they shout for war!
Do you fear it?
Watching your father march
to the rhythms of his comrades
with no time for a goodbye
while your mother holds you
back against the rhythms
drawing you towards the sword.
Do you miss it?
The thrum of violence
Beating wildly upon
Your chest. The pulse
of drums now a whisper
replaced by the distant screams
of the damned.
First, they sent the dogs
And it became a dog’s toilet,
So, we moved to more remote areas.
Then they burnt the restaurant
So, we carried our own water and fruit
To the fringes of the liveable sands.
So as not to dry out like desert dates
We became slimmer and saved money.
Then they closed the parking lot
So, we walked miles on foot
We got fitter and saw more of nature.
What we saw became more beautiful
With each countering passage
For those of us who persevered.
Now there is hardly a soul left,
But those who are, are strong and fit.
Dune flowers are blooming again
Without the constant threat of trampling feet
And everywhere you can hear the rhythm of the sea,
White waves breaking and reforming refrains
Without the cries and shrieks of spoiled children
Or the barking of undisciplined domestic beasts.
We felt how beautiful everything is
Sub-human, man absent from God’s creation.
And even his attempts of countering and ruin
Were turned into creative and regenerative forces
Within us now greater love’s awareness courses.
It's a time of transition
of cloudless sky
shivering into a crisp morning
covered over pastures
of hard frost
surrounded by silhouetted leafless trees
an eerie feeling of uncertainty
a crunch in the snow
by passing deer
trampling on a blanket of whiteness
just before darkness lifts
and red dawn blooms
I can’t choose
You or my life? Oh, the answer is not right
But something asks. Asks, like a heart, us
The heart, we haven’t that. No. I lost that
No. You have a heart. Dropped my life
Hmm. But why? Because envy kills style
Let me live? Want you. Don’t want to leave
Never, never. And never. Just live for you
Without your style, just for you. Just for you
Can not choose, but want to be alone with you
With you, of you, from you. Live alone for you
Cannot, cannot choose. Not the chosen love
I can’t choose between you and my only life
But no escape, I will leave to live without you
Hmm. Yeah. I leave you. Because I need you
I can’t find our way
With you? Or without
I call the life
I call the Life
Send, send
The life, the life
I needed only
Only the life
The only
Life
But I can’t live
Can’t, only alone
You will trampling
Destroy my life
That’s why
Goodbye
Waiting you
My life
This is
The Love
You are so far
Why are you so far? Empty my heart
Why are you distant? Echo my heart
Why are you invisible? Blind my heart
You're causing me. Suffering. Trampling
Pain, in my heart. It’s not yours. Heart
Pain, in my life. That’s not you. A love
You are so far. Yes. Who created? Who?
This distance? Hmm. Are you everything?
No, you are not that. You feel like that
Yeah, I can live without you. Need you?
Oh, no. No! Just the love. Exists out of
Out of you. I don’t go there. No! Never!
I don’t go there. Never! Stay far! So far!
I don’t need your love! Selfish and cruel!
Where is sensitivity, empathy, honesty?
You haven’t! And I am dried. Here. I need
An ocean, a new land. To live the love
The love. The love. The love. The love
The only, the only, the only, the only one
The only one. That. The eternal. A love
A love. Everything. All world. Universe
I want this
Without you
But with you
Only you
Don’t need you
Never, never
You, you, you
Only a heart
Hmm. You
Be far
But
Close
Heart
Through anger
Fill breath eased back, dark
Empoisonment loss
Yet in faint warm-hued shadows
Trampling down
I, docile
Woven in and round
In unfailing peace
Breathless in truths solitude
Healing angst
As hostages to fortune, our crippled hands can’t share kind gesture
Neither help nor usher others toward greener pasture.
Our covetous hearts that are fortune-hostages never spend for charity with bliss
Bound by carnality of selfishness from greediness' abyss.
Held hostage by fortune, we are the arrogant competing vainly with the haughty
Trampling essence of humility while defying authority.
Imprisoned with earthly fortune, our minds neglect divine wisdom
Blind to the need of contributing to advance heavenly kingdom.
Confessing personal cravings for wealthy fortune-settlement
Our repentant souls now seek the Lord for contentment and fulfillment.
As heirs of God-given treasures, we strive for responsible stewardship
Triumphant to use fortune while engaging in ministerial partnership.
Gratefully praising the Almighty for endowed fortune, verily blest
Our spirits, freed from love-of-money bondage, live today with divine kindness-zest.
Do nothing pages.
Both nothing and by myself.
Weird, scattered, brain poetry.
Chewing my thoughts as if there’s a train derailing.
Poetry.
Words collapse and they do.
Fall apart like beads scattered, nothing.
Trampling energy.
The sun bursting energy all during my thoughts.
Both nothing and with my friends.
We chatter around while I’m thinking about writing a poem about death.
With nothing except the sound of a trombone wheezing next to us.
Foolish pages.
Do nothing like a moth does nothing.
Just likes light, except we understand death too.
We think we do.
Scattered but it’s supposed to be that way.
Both nothing and having friends.
Bursting as well.
The elder abuse of opening California up again without legal authorization
Auctioneering wisdoms residue
Trampling the vulnerable people whom are ignored with indifferent forces of silence and power of silencing the country whilst pursuing criminal neglect of office, for war profit.
Consumptives are littered in ridicule by the middle class work force vote.
The wind rose early with the busying dawn;
And, rushing into the long avenue of beech -
Laid down years ago to accommodate labouring feet -
Began to scatter over neatly cut verge and lawns
With its own inimitable unruly gust, blow and fuss...
Within a cascading maelstrom of vivid bright yellowness.
Against strong trunks, held firm by steadfast roots,
Groans from creaking boughs as they upwardly heaved
Upon frantically thrashing branches showering
rusted, golden leaves;
Carpeting the rough stones below my trampling boots.
A mad kaleidoscope of leaping, swirling, skipping
colour
Where, as a child, I had once rediscovered...
Two green sandstone gate pillars sat well back
That ushered me under this arched, canopied track.
You celebrate your Death-Day every year,
a “selfie” trampling on your grave-to-be,
without your knowing. Anniversary?
Through predetermined locks you have to steer.
As flotsam tumbles over each steep weir
in transit to the dark and formless sea,
you’ll pass the date of your finality
repeatedly, before the end-of-pier.
That day will dawn. It really will. The rows
of serried numbers, rigid, unforgiving,
that fill your calendar like Van Gogh’s crows
contain the fatal date. Your body knows.
You’ll dash about, stash cash and call it living,
but all your thrashing counts as dying throes.
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