The reflection of my heart are not heard by the whispers of my soul
for they hide beneath branches, and seek shelter in the cold.
Because the sun shines too bright, it love is too pure,
surely it could not reach an impostor with my allure.
But the warmth brings comfort, in his smile I find peace,
In his eyes I see the world I'd love to live in,
In his arms i feel alive like they reach through my chest
and rest around the curves of my heart.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
Alleen staan ek in die gang
Onsigbaar vir die om my
My woorde het geen krag
Soos ‘n warrelwind is dit gou verby.
Maar die bome ritsel nie eers nie,
Die wind verroer nie ‘n blaar.
Die warrelwind keer terug na my
Om saam met die ander op te gaar.
Hierdie woorde-winde binne my,
Worstel in my siel,
Dit deurdrenk enige gevoel van samesyn,
Soos ‘n slak onder ‘n trok se wiel..
Splat,
Squish
Eeeuw, gross!
Lê my lewe op die steen
Sies, Ga
Ag nee a man
Spoel dit weg saam met die reën.
Wie sal die woorde wil hê?
Wie sal die warrelwind kan verstaan?
My soektog is nog lank nie verby nie,
Maar vir nou berus ek myself op papier
en by die Maan.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
Once upon a time
There was a little seed
Who laid outside in the cold
Getting strangled by the ****
But there came a draught
The **** did not survive
But the little seed was strong,
The little seed was alive.
After that the rain came
Rivers started to flow,
The little seed used this chance
To grow and grow and grow...
When the winter was gone,
When there was not one more shower
The little seed looked up at the sky
And the little seed was a flower!
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
Hier onder die afdak staan ons nou
Sjuijt! Bly stil! Gouwsie gaan ons in hou.
Vir ‘n **** praat Mnr. Smit nou,
So ‘n langtam, papbek manier van woorde kou
Lees ‘n versie,
Gluur vir Stoute Daan,
Begin toe bid,
Maar wat gaan nou aan?
My hartjie pyn, nie fisies seer..
Dis verlange wat my hart so skeur.
Met oë toe en ore oop
Klink Smitie net sos Oupa Hendrik,
Terug van die dood.
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
Am I supposed to write a silly little love poem when I feel like this?
Are the words just meant to flow from my fingers to form a rhythmical melody of praise?
I don’t think so…
Not when I feel like this…
I’m torn between two worlds;
One light and inspiring where I’m floating on a cloud.
Where your smile ignites a fire in my heart,
Where your eyes are the fountain of youth,
The birthplace of hope and desire…
That’s when my world changes;
When I want to hide under a rock,
When I realize that my dream of us will crash,
Because plain ordinary me, with my frizzy hair, thunder thighs and freckles
Know that I am not enough.
I’m standing at a crossroad,
Terrified to make a decision.
I could forget you, shut you out, silence my heart and numb my mind…
Or, even worse, I could take the risk…
But what if I AM enough? What then?
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
Jy was my maaitjie,
Vol lewe, vol praatjie...
Jy en jou “ninnie”
Nou is jy nie meer hier nie
Behalwe in my hart…
Lieflike sommers dag,
Julle swem en lag,
In huis toe om te eet,
Scrambled eggs, of het jy al vergeet?
Jy gaan buitentoe, klaar geëet,
Swembad oop – ons het vergeet.
Na ‘n ruk soek Rina jou,
Hol buitentoe, sy het onthou…
En daar lê jy, die water koud,
Mietie spring in, jou pols is oud.
Boet is vinnig, bel hospitaal,
Maar Rina is koud, Rina is vaal…
Want liewe Jesus het haar baba seuntjie kom haal.
Ek pyn nogsteeds 10 jaar later,
My maaitjie, Jy – onder die water.
Familie kind, die helder liggie
Dof skyn nou jou gesiggie –
Behalwe in my hart…
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
There's a crack in the floor
Whether from old age or misuse
There's a crack in the floor.
There's scuff marks where chairs have been pulled across the room
There's scratches where kitchen utensils fell
There's dirt, whether carried in from outside or a prolonged build-up of a weary mind.
There's a crack in the floor
It's in the middle of the kitchen
A novilon road map to the life of a lonely woman
Did the crack grow larger as she grew stagnant?
Did she notice the ever creeping gorge,
or the rust covered table legs?
Did she feel trapped by her own rusted legs or was she so far down the hole that she'd forgotten how to use them?
There's a crack in my floor
Not visible, not tangible
Just there...looming
There's scuff marks and scratches
There's dirt and rust
There is need for a new floor.
But how? with my feet planted firmly
Not sure whats beneath out-dated self abused easily trusting floor
It's so damaged. No one could love this floor.
But I do. i I do? Familiar and comfortable, is that love?
It's also unforgiving, not compassionate with mistakes..
That's not what I want.
If I rip it up, how long to get a new floor?
How long will it take to remove the deep settled in scars of the old?
Did it make impressions in the foundation?
If I break it out, where will it end?
I just see darkness, scared of the mysteriousness that's within the soil
What if through all this, the crack is still there?
There's a crack in the floor
Whether from old age or misuse
There's a crack in everyone's floor
some just larger than others.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
If shadows didn’t lie
All houses would be skew,
If shadows didn’t lie
Trees would grow anew
Out of roofs, out of the walls and even out of the road,
If shadows didn’t lie
My dog would be a toad.
And if shadows didn’t lie
I’d be tall and slim and sleek,
If shadows didn’t lie
I’d be petite but still not weak,
I’d be pretty and graceful and …guess what?
If shadows didn’t lie
I’d be exactly that… a shadow.
[Written in 2005]
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
I'm looking at an object,
Disconnected from me
This object does not define me,
but when you look that's all you see.
I reject the association,
I refuse to be trapped by the limitation
there must be a gap...
between the person I see
and the person I am,
for my soul is concealed by superficial spam.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 11:21 AM UTC
Humble is the heart that can love without limitations, free from the mind.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC