Surfer Grandson Smoker
Manager Traveler Father
Daughter Cook Teacher
Mother Reader Lover
Trainer Son Painter
Volunteer Exhibitionist
Santa Claus
member of a fishermen club
tomorrow
or you name it
if you still have air

we left ourselves outside
alone with these explosive days
blind witnesses
have buried their faces
into the desert of time
the concentration of pain
remains a universal constant
the world is a helpless arena
of master plan illusions
what shall I become
or what shall be consumed of me?

and these rupture faults
body-dynamite against ego-dynamite
culture crushing nature versus
nature crushing culture
the soul famine
in the book
of unknown faces

we were all just enlivened cells once

while we feast in our blood
the discreet continuities
remain hidden
identity encapsulated
in the wave length
of supernovas egos

poetry is left with this
apparent nonsense
camomile turns into laughter
and the pride of butterflies
deserves better

this rhythm consumes us
faster than the speed of dreams
the speed of thought
the speed of forgetting
how our mothers
were never healed

to be or not to be simple
that’s a question

I need to escape
The grave weight of my shadow
It always haunts me

My name is Queen Stuurman.
Not Queen Elizabeth,
or Queen Latifah,
but simply just Queen.

I am a unique being born and raised in the roots of Africa,
my culture and roots are proof of where I'm from,
I'm not made in China.
I AM PROUDLY AFRICAN!!
A representation of my country,
its war cry resides within me,
my rainbow nation skin colour,
the many stories about my beautiful country I have yet to tell in my head.

So next time you see me,
call me Queen Stuurman
that's my Afrikaans and isiXhosa surname,
made and bred in Africa,
I am the African Queen.

Let this start,
As many doth do,
Between the fires,
Of grace and anew,
Always I wonder
Of your loving Truths

Again I am asking,
Can we live again,
After the wars hostilities and more,

I call on thee Love,
Your crying call

Of devotion and justice
A guess of the times I see into you,
The nothing of this
Is something of you

There is a subtle grace
To the whispers veiled
In caress of autumnal promise
Would that I could offer their solace
Where all seems beyond repair

So much light hidden
Where it once shone brightly
Your touch offers strength, always
Taking this mind, this soul, this heart
Offering something needed, something new

So perhaps it can forever dwell in the senses
That have long ago left to dwell with stars
For there was a time when sorrow yielded
To a future soundscape of colour and intrigue
A desire called destiny that called to me

In tears we paint the future
On a landscape of sorrows
Building towards the clouds above
Searching for a glimpse of the sun
For we share ourselves reluctantly

What else is there to do?
But take the moments
Seize the hurt and watch it die
For in its death
We shall liberate our cries

Set free the chaos of emotions
Where bonds were created
On the power of friendship
Throwing off our shackled lives
To be free, to be at peace

You shouldn't point out things about people's appearance if they can't fix it in ten seconds.

I've becoming a better me.
   I'm happier.
      I'm confident.
         I'm me.

But...Tantric mumbo-jumbo Joe
Issued from a dribbled lip.
Issued from a tortured mind
Which writhes in phraseology to slip.
....slip between the now and then
Slip between the right and wrong,
confused about reaction to
Our capacity to sing your song.
....that eerie tune of deep lament
Lament for what should be, but won't,
For we is but a subterfuge...
Who says it did but knows it don't.

M.

By the maths block
at recess lunch time
Yiska waits for Benny
sunshine's

above her head
Benny said
to meet her here
other kids

are on the sports field
some at ball games
others sitting in groups
talking

some alone
wandering
then he comes
running up

sorry bit late
had to see Mr H
about the cross-country run
later to day

that's all right
she says
feeling relieved
that he has come

running her eyes
over him
sensing her
heartbeat quicken

where do you
want to go?
he asks
what about there

behind the maths block
no one
can see us there
ok

he says
so they walk back
by the fence
by the maths block wall

and there sit
on a low wall
and she kisses him
and he kisses her too

and he embraces her
feels her waist
her slimness
she holds him close

feeling along his spine
feeling warm
sensing her
body glow

they kiss and tongue
and with eyes closed
all seems alive
and hot

then someone bangs
on a window
of the maths block
a teacher stands there

shaking his head
and gesturing
them away
with his hand

so disappointedly
they walk along
by the fence

and out of his sight
and onto the sports field
hand in hand
she keeping

the memory
to hold
and re-dream
that night.

Moments pass like leaves
on a windswept November day.
Beautiful and Golden
dancing merrily in the bright sunshine,
swiftly passing out of sight and out of time.
Until all that we are left with are bare branches
and memories of what once was green.