outside the makeshift camp
in uncommonly high spirits
sat an ageless greasy *****
with a song for the drunken
said the enigmatic *****
'can i get one if i want one?'
'you can get two if you want to'
the ***** with the huge eyes
waxed lyrical and melancholic
and, shaggy heads together
in wry musing and pondering
they asked what it was, really, that
floored them so very permanently

he had little to give, but gave it still
from his warm and generous heart
beating with a love pure and good
for his sister's children
so he seized the moment to stamp a value on my mind
gave me his prized bronze bottle opener
a fringe benefit from some fat kitchen where once he worked
with hot spices, sizzling grills and artistic salads
and now i have lost it, a thing of more than sentimental value
these gestures can never be repeated
they are the products of inspired moments
when somehow you know there can never be another chance
to leave some evidence that you too were here

a natty dresser he was
eight-button jackets
wide-brimmed hats
and designer shoes

hair neatly-combed
nicely patted-down
walked like he wore
a mark of distinction
his peacock plumage
and stand-out gown
were easily his crown

then one lovely day
his tie became mine
said i was a beau now
and must surely shine
lest i get out of step
with the pace of life

and before that mirror
we did the sweet knots
only one thing was left
a bit of stubble on my chin
so i could frown and shave
and be the man about town

uncle long gone
i'm standing here
his woolen tie in my hand
the only thing in my sentimental trove

This is the most likely place
to hide a secret and be safe
And Grandpa needed to be safe
Gleefully they hung all rebels
So he vanished into the night
across rivers and mountains
and right here under this tree
he put everything to rest:
what his heart ached for,
friends, family and love
in exchange for freedom
My obsession now is to reconstruct him
So with my heart in my mouth
I dig and scrape 'neath this old tree
But all I see is a gaping hole staring up at me
Grandpa's primitive gun has eluded discovery,once again.

this is what sustains us
this is what drives us
this twitch of the eye
this belief in a better day
this pulsating hope that
the one big one is coming

There are convolutions
and convergences
on life's highways and byways
What's in our in-trays goes out
And returns one fine day ahead
When the tray's contents bounce back in
We know they were never  gone

The old man sat before a flickering fire
The wild winds of august rose in a wail
And somewhere there was a deep moan
Like the earth fled by a painful groan

The weakening eyes swam in salty tears
The nostalgic outburst of a glorious past
And he knew 'though nobody told him
Somewhere in the distance was his apex

He knew too, that his time was done
This earth renewed itself that way
As some left, others made their debut
In time to soar then burn out, like a fallen star

This was his swan song to an absent audience:
Amble when you should, sprint while you can
And do all the things you want to do on time
The grim biological clock stays no execution

And you whose only claim to fame is your youth
You place too much faith in expendable things
Soon you too will creak, groan and moan sorely
As your body sags so does your morale sink

Old man that i am with gnarled fingers and dying eyes
I still have an inner spark that lights up my universe
And my heart tells me that when finally i take my bow
It will be to close a tale of near-misses and occasional joy

So young ones, you who are still beautiful and desirable
There's no tragedy in getting old;beauty lies under the folds
One day someone will compose a ballad in your honour
And we all shall make music of a kind in silent graveyards

Where complete strangers will wonder who we were

every walk that i take
every gaze up the avenues
exposes every low lie
about human progress
the glamour and the glitz
muffle the hungry cries
of bewildered no-hopers
the litter and the clutter
tell a story of decadence
and broken down values

life could be a pure wonder
with lots of real thunder
if we all became babies again
no past,present or future
just a drooling ,dribbling life
where everything is wondrous
and we trust  everyone too; in a
haven of arrested development
then would we spend eternity
trying to decipher baby babble
and the world would be safe

some people have it all
and they have it on call
to summon as they will
i only when there's a lull
in the bouts of slow-paced fortune
that haunt my every little move
i see you've changed your car again
since you came back from Dubai
you travel everywhere business class
and your collection of sunglasses is amazing
you want a suntan when you have a natural one
you pout your lips and roll your red tongue
you ogle men with those big deep eyes
where they read the fate of their fancies
i see that you've become a fashion guru
with low-cut outfits and cups running over
young people everywhere swear by your name
and i look on and wonder where i know you from

the clouds hang very low
like my heart rather sore
the distance to the depths
makes your thoughts dizzy
this is the top of the world
made mystic by a waterfall
cascading down the cheeks
of a mythical bride in tears
wetting the earth endlessly
so walk softly here friend;it's
easy to  land on your teeth
tread easy and slow friend
your shoe is all wrong i say
but that's the beauty of it all
people fall all the time here
i too fell in the mist of night
with the sound of the waterfall
lulling my unease till indeed i fell
welcome o you lovelorn people
welcome to this jewel where people
are always falling,  falling in and out
of step with the  wily seasons

roll into a ball
and be on call
time to time
until the dew
snap and growl
whimper and moan
soar like an eagle
strike like a shrike
hop like a frog
and croak your
anxious moments
with your adam's apple
bobbing in your groans
be sweet as a dream
even when you tense up
your eyes hooded
in those cobra moments
then relax and smile like an angel
you're so venturesome
in your 'bedhaviour'

cry baby, cry, though you are no crybaby
cry, baby cry, they must hear you in the end
those whose privilege it is to dispense favours
hope, baby hope, confetti might drift your way
whispered on by your delayed gratification

I saw him again today
someone with nothing to say
The open roadsides are his world
Standing under a leafless tree
In his shredded apparel
The sun beat down upon him
Yet he swore not and sweated not
Silent as a watchful sentinel
He scanned the surroundings
Eyes narrow slits like a hooded cobra
He knows no songs and tells no tales
Life is a closed book with his story inside
What juicy morsels might we glean therein?
What cries from broken hearts and what deep sighs might we hear?
I saw him again today
Standing at the traffic circle
Life went on without him
The dignity of his demeanor
Well beyond the reach of any diplomat
The winds and the breezes are his free bath
They carry the scales of his his scent to the ends of the earth
And so he remains free of convention
His own man to the last moan of broken branches
Today he looked up for the first time
And smiled a rusty smile in hues of yellow and brown
Aware there was  another in his universe
Then he spat out his disgust at my priorities
It clung to the dust in a mess of spittle
And I knew I had been exorcised from his world

there was a wild fig tree here
no other  tree stood near-by
on cosy sunny days we lay
under its spreading branches
watching birds chirp and peck
now only this gnarled stump
speaks of the memories  made
how do we choose to trade
a haven for this barrenness
and everywhere it's the same
we seem to like this sad game
of erasing familiar old places
and things from fond memory

i've been to places deeper than the deepest sea
much higher and bluer than the bluest open sky
and perceived deeper than the profoundest seer
that all things lead to a destination somewhere
thus my mind saw and true thus my heart spoke

my heart wept silent tears
that gushed out of sad sighs
to lean upon withered wishes
and the sounds of dead words
out of the frozen lips of seers
in this silence and aching gap
at life seeping through i gape
and long to march to the beat
of the words of  dreamers -
dream of finer times to come
they urge in a raspy chorus
among these few am i counted
though it were better not to be

the brooding night lay quiet
in the stillness of arid shadow
and wayward shapes amidst
the soft fluffy moonlit clouds
stripped down to wondrous
pieces of surrealistic attire
sired by nights of wild fancy
these nights were made for us
we the hopelessly captivated
suns of a witless universe
we whose  entrapped light
would not glow or glimmer
even as the dark screamed
its innocence; and in all this
was none so sorry and poor
as the hapless hopeful few

In a polished falsetto
About love gone awry
In bitter word pictures
Painted he the images:
a wild afternoon wind
Her skirts ballooning
As she sent him packing
The sun winked sadly
The milky way chuckled
A brooding hen cackled
And she gave him a smile
That buried him forever
Outside  her true annals
Just as his forlorn song
Faded in the empty distance
And so the sad tale ended
Even as it was starting

a shooting star falls
mythology
it's trail blazing glory
magic

When words are used to express uncertainty
As if they are the source of knowledge and wisdom
Know you then: no matter what we might say
All in all it's just another blind walk in the dark

With a baby giggle
And a shaky dawdle
The toddler advances
As with a dry cackle
And senile posture
A senior citizen true
stretches an arm out
To meet his soul mate
The two are helpless
Against technology

Wanting something too much
Lands you in something of a bind
When it finally is in your hands
You have no idea what to do with it
Having burned out your verve
In your fire of desire and fantasy

The morning breeze
Puts the freeze
On bygone grudges
And we start anew
Life rises with us each new day
Though our hearts are the grim graves
Of the hopes and dreams of others
The morning breeze
Tells us ever so gently in whispers sweet
That the world can go on without us
So, like the rivers and the lakes we must flow
Into the cupped hands of the destiny that awaits us
Doing what we must do as matter of course
My prayer to the morning breeze
The breath of life incarnate
Is that it broadcasts to us, news of the future

In the first few years
Time ‘s just a word
Thereafter, time’s a hurdle
In the twilight years
Time’s so expendable
Yet so hard to find

Fresh as a hot bun out of the oven
Buoyed by the glee of a bubble bath
Dying to put the best foot forward
Warm tongue of the sun on my nape
I saunter to greet my fate of the day

See how the jealous clouds frown
As they creep in like a jittery thief
Hear the twitter of soft, sad bird song
They know for certain, sultry winter's in
And we must soon be shaking cold

The sons of man are frantic I tell you
Day gone is another chance lost for good
When will they make their mark in life?
Sweeter halves are disillusioned now
They've lived too long on dreams and fantasy

Moon above as daily you court that wily old sun
Teach us the art of relentless patience and labour
Show us how grim persistence matters most
How reward, elusive as ever, comes one sweet day
Though hope diminishes day by day each day

Sultry like a winter morning, but delectable, nevertheless
She looked at him with an adjudicator’s eye for the indefinable
And down into the doldrums sank his loud bravado like a stone
He became a blubbering idiot, breathless at her royal presence
Whimpering like a blind, hungry puppy in its dark world

Bereft of height but redeemed somewhat by a rather rare face
She looked at him as if to say he was the answer to all her prayers
The boy’s disdain for seekers of things personal shot through the roof
He became a despicably insensitive dreamer living only for music
Red-carded by her heart on a sleeve he sent her home early to moan

Her clear complexion with the juicy tone was like ripe yellow peaches
She walked out of a shower into the sunshine like a subject of art
When her eyes touched his doting face he was lost forever in her gaze
On this day his obsession with allure was well and truly fanned; he
Became a devotee at the altar of romantic slaughter where dreams die

Dark, with dancing eyes and a full bobbing *****, girlish but feminine
She ate him up with a hungry look and threatened to swoon as her knees buckled
His infatuation with girls that treated him like the killer of their dreams began here
Sorely tempted was he to become her instant lover under that sunny September sky
But alas, it could never be; she was just a maid and he was on the way up

Tall and sweet with articulate eyes and a younger sister that spoke for her
She was not one to play hard to get and declared her love like a blessing
She made his ego grow in leaps and bounds and had a figure like an artist's model
He was stunned by her openness and began to feel like someone arrived at his station
But circumstances, as always, altered cases and they went their separate ways for good

Succulent like the clementine, her namesake, she spread her feelings out for him to see
She had a bigger sister who treated him like he was what her younger sister needed
Clementine and he shared yearning secrets about brief looks and shy touches
Henceforth his love for intrigue in matters of the heart drove him full throttle
And he grew into this heartless beau in love with love, cursed with a wandering heart

Today he sits in a tired armchair under a weeping willow wondering what happened

it is sometimes a blessing
when life kicks you out
it is sometimes a blessing
when doors are closed
when new webs are spun
and bounce you back
to mainstream struggles
it is sometimes a blessing
to walk familiar old paths
feel the tongue of the sun
lick the back of your head
as you moan in soft delight

he wrote in his diary
how the lord had blessed him
t'was the thirteenth of the month
a fortnight later the lord blessed him with demise

a thoughtful little frown
on his face like a crown
the little boy's cute words
waft gently from his lips
as sweetly he intones:
grandma when you go
how will grandpa know
how to get to where you are
grandma, tell him the way.
his words are like the cream
oozing out of a sweet spout
into life's waiting receptacles
as out of the mouth of a babe
words about demise come forth