Dried land with the shallow mud cracks
Barns remained with the empty sacks
Rolling tyres in the soft soil dust
Stained the leaves with brown coated rust
Scotching waves blowing all over
Unsown plants turned into stover
A curse of God! A few grumbled
Global warming! The learned mumbled
The farmer looked up at the sky
In dejection, he made a sigh
On the eyelid, a pearl drop splashed
At once, a thousand watt smile flashed
The hum of the tyres,
the rhythmic tempo
of moving legs, the hypnotic
gaze into the blur of roadway
passing beneath a wheel,
seemed to send the mind
into a kind of trance.
It was a doorway into
a state that rode
the laneways of dream.
There were times I felt
as if I floated above the road
and was convinced that
if I closed my eyes
and gave all to trust,
I could enter into
another world.
Yet, I found
I had not the faith
and would open my eyes
and snap back
into the effort and ache
of my body, feel
the bump and shake
of riding over uneven ground.
Now, a lifetime on,
if I could snatch
that moment back
and be that boy on the bike
once again barrelling down
the laneways of a dream,
I would close my eyes,
keep them shut
and peddle like hell
into the unknown.
The band plays joyously,
The fun fair is in full swing.
We walk along the promenade,
Stopping every few footsteps
To hail old friends and make some new.
Then from across the street
She sees a lifelong friend
She crosses quickly, unaware
That someone mad is driving
His newly bought Chevrolet.
The screech of tyres shattering the joy of the fair.
The immortal scythe descended
And death claimed its mortal dues.
I stand, dumbfounded, eyes filled with tears.
A bicycle is freedom
It's not just wheels and gears
It's more than bottom brackets
It's more than front and rear
It's freewheeling down steep hills
No pedals, feet up high
It's becoming young all over again
With hedges zooming by
It's finding winding tracks and lanes
It's getting muddy, wet
It's getting caught out in the rain
A love you dont forget
misjudging potholes in the road
And landing on the side
It's grazing knees and bruises
An exhilarating ride
It's falling in the Bracken
It's walking flat tyres home
It's fresh air and a peace
It's together or alone
Im back to being 12 yrs old
Exploring places yet unseen
It's going out for hours
To where I have not been
So look beyond the handlebars
The sprockets and the chains
This is perfect freedom
Will make you smile again
So free the bike now from the shed
Clean rust from off the frame
Set it free from cobwebs
You'll never be the same
Was it a car or a cat i saw
Screeching tyres like the scratch of a claw;
Mad? Am I madam
Why? I don't fathom -
Driving that car should be against law.
The grumpy wind cries through bottle glass and bone,
Grain silos whine like widows at the gate,
Each sunrise shows up but exits the dongas alone.
The main street sighs,its colors ages out of date,
A dronkie in overall insults the deserted mine,
His guffaws crack,deranged,underneath the weight.
The spaza still sells nyaope and wine
And phantoms line where concertinas used to play,
Their sounds of tiekie draai to hosannas of turpentine
Youngsters pursue tyres that stagger,then spin away,
Grime hides their glee,fields no longer yield,
Old topies sit like statues at close of day.
You comprehend-beyond the rot,
The shattered shield,
A determined ditty reverberates tenderly through pain
Great leaders are born to serve
Not to rule or dictate
With so much valour to defend
Their nation physically, mentally and otherwise
Steadily fighting all oppositions and liberating his people.
Steadily they tackle
The purpose why they emerge
Even amidst the threat of death
They never retreat nor surrender
Always igniting the people's passion for freedom.
Wake up Africans
How many more heroes
Will they kill without justice
Should we remain prey forever
Prayers without actions
Is just like a vehicle without tyres.
Manned missiles in a queue,?Each big as a prehistoric creature,?Lined up for a lowkey suicidal mission.
I fly so many times-?I don’t know which one will be the last.?Should I finally buy into the reassuring safety claims-?Marketing ploys boasting longevity of service??Nineteen years of going places,?Says a cheapy flight.?No class system could save Titanic;?Would I be so lucky to stump fate?
The airline food-?Promises, with no exaggeration,?It will be there for us-?Throughout the ups and downs of life and beyond.
But turbulence comes unannounced,?Like a bumpy bus ride.?A thousand other rough patches later,?Still stirs up anxiety and TV dinners within.
I think I got away this time.?The tyres light celebratory sparks?upon meeting the ground.?And we, realists who don’t experience happiness-?Ever even once,?Overanalyse ourselves into painful exhaustion.
Sun Rays dance on my Bed.
Sunlight arrives early
A few friendly rays
Sit on my duvet, warming it.
I pat the sunlight
Still half asleep
Trying to remember the night`s dreams,
Is difficult,
Before they slip under the radar
Of my alertness.
I do not write any deep poetry.
Only light things enter my mind.
Water in the car
checking the oil using the dip stick
And air in tyres.
To think, a week ago, my heart stopped.
But the ambulance people
Got it ticking again.
Spring and sunlight, yes, this will be
A beautiful day. s
Your ear has to be
tuned to hear
the City's rhythms
buried below the noise
and be able to discern
a melody woven through
the dissonant chatter
as in the rumble and splash
of motorcar tyres moving
along streets slicked
with watery reflections
and in the jarring grind
of tram wheels,
screeching brakes
and warning bells
and in the cadence
of human voices
as heard in quiet
conversations and loud
yells - to feel
a sense of elation when
all the scattered notes
of a City come together
and you hear
its surprising song.
JULY 2023
Hazy, Rampant, Hammering
Foggy-headed, I must be lazy enough to put just the right effort in.
It drips down and stains the pore.
My disease is acidic, fatal,
And the way that your alkali sense draws me in ...
How I'd beg to neutralise once more.
But the ants won't push against my unmoving tyres.
And anywho, isn't this against your morals?
Vivid, Violent, restless still
I'm floating away, I'm just really not lazy enough to notice it.
I'm ruining your favourite dress,
Your uniform for every non-uniform event.
Please don't let me soak you.
Please disappoint me again. Or you could prove there's no shame,
Because either way, at the end of my every walk, I fear that I'll be the same as my love for you when it isn't to see your uncloudy eyes,
But I'm not being lazy enough.
And I'm trying so hard to not try hard,
But I don't think it was ever really enough.
Old wishes carried into the new year,
Former desires brought into the new year,
Dim lamps longing for brightness in the new year,
Incomplete books searching for the missing pages in the new year,
Feeble trees in need of vitality elixir in the new year.
Redemption songs buoy the soul into a new world,
The bell chimes in the old cathedral reminding us of the creed,
Orbs in the sky strengthen the weary elements for another chapter,
A divine majesty accompanies us into a new arena,
The old fountain still grants wishes.
The new year revitalizes frail strands,
The new year highlights the pale colours,
The new year wets the parched ground,
The new year replaces worn-out tyres,
Bring your old wishes into the new year with hopeful hearts.
January 5, 2025.
When the sun shines down on a concrete town
And no one dares put both feet down
It’s hop from one foot to the other
Dancing like you’re your grandmother
How does concrete get so hot
I didn’t know how hot it got
I got stuck in the parking lot
My tyres melted: four wheels shot
I saw flamingoes in the zoo
I’m doing what flamingoes do
With one leg up and one leg down
I’m standing in a concrete town
So here I stand in this hot street
I could pour water on my feet
I think perhaps I’d rather choose
To buy myself a pair of shoes
The CRUNCHING of tyres on the gravelly driveway
The CLANG of the garden gate sharply closing
The CLICK of the key in the lock
The old door CREAKING open on its hinges
The SNAP of the light switch to brighten the house
The SWISH of the curtains being drawn
The CLATTER of crockery being laid on the table
The GUSH of water from the tap into the kettle
The WHISPER ,HISS and SPLUTTER of the boiling kettle
The annoying SLURP of a GULP of tea
The CHORTLE of laughter around the table
The SCRAPING of chairs being drawn back
The CRACKLE of the open fire in the sitting room
The SCRATCH of a match to light the pipe
The comfort of being indoors at the first CLAP of thunder
The even more comforting CLINK of glasses for a safe homecoming
It stands propped
against a wall in my memory,
that green two wheeler bike,
my first, bought second hand
from a neighbor.
A deep, gravel graze I got
from learning to ride it, I swear,
still pains a phantom nerve
in my now arthritic knee
after all these years.
How I loved that bike,
its dented frame wearing
layers of paint pitted by history,
its last coat was a thick glaze
of leftover house paint
the same green color used
as trim on window frames
and fences fashionable
back then.
To me it was a gem.
I rode it to the boundaries
of my world carried on the
smooth ride and hum
of its tyres, sank its rims
deep into the muddy riverbank
and raced around a track
that skirted the football
ground. That bike
was pure freedom for me.
One day someone took it
and left it hooked on a tree
in the local park. The top bar
of its frame had been
snapped clean through.
Beneath the layers of paint,
rust had eaten away
its metal core.
In tears I wheeled it home
and put it in the shed and closed
the door. It was like closing
a book on part of my life.
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