Untitled (About writing poetry)
Ou maatjie, sigaretjie
Kara Thrace and her special destiny,
help me face this
Challenge put to me today
Left style flow writing parallax
Into the forest I throw wood back
After using matches to light up
Forgetting again to write those
letters I’d like to send
Into frowns is my face always drowned,
those
Who don’t ‘get’ poetry seem to say to
me
And yes, perhaps I’m an
obsessive-compulsive word gambler
But just maybe I’m the world’s best
friend
While they carve up the world like
Christmas turkey
I prefer the magic real of crinkled
sheaves
Of tree shaving’s release relief and
choose to
Choose to choose to be this body
Me and everything and everybody
Gets to choose to be whatever they
want to be
Wherever, whenever, whoever, do ever
Everybody gets to be free, we
Just got to awaken to the possibility
Then use it, choose it at every
opportunity
Everybody In The World Is Not Doing Something
Without Me
And if I had known I was to live a
life as lonely as this, doodling verse,
Scribbling my metaphorical maths
‘cross a page at slave labour wage
Sjoe, maybe I wouldn’t have chosen to
be quite so radical, eh?
Picking up junk to rearrange the world that is this stage,
Looking up and slowing down the pace,
looking around to see how
Mostly people are afraid to be wild
and crazy, and how
The underground will always thrive as
long as ignorance stays alive
Well yay I’ve found a niche that fits
me completely, and hey,
Why not grant faces swift me swift
As languish fades, these lounging
lions that charge me:
“Why?”
They wake past day
The beckoning moon that scries a
starlit sky
And Sky asks for portraits to be
painted
To bring back darkness, to make
daylight garble garlands though
Streets of non-rhyme and non-sense may
quick and hill suddenly
The roundabout way, therefore by foot
the best means, I say
Wait for lavender to trim the
municipal edges of
Old neighbours and favours asked, help
given
 |
| ink, black marker and ballpoint pen, cutouts - from 2012 sketchbook |
I gather brothers and sisters, come
back always to
Self
heart chest feel touch gladness at
these metaphysical children
Granting access to metatronic wisdom
through symbols and letters
Because we’re on the same cloud, you
and me, whether you do or don’t
Get poetry and if indeed it’s on a
cloud that we
Truly find ourselves to be
And the underground needs exist as
long as ignorance persists
If I had known I was to live a life as lonely as this
