it was a bitter day, early morning
and he'd just come out of moaning
the day after the weepy mourning
occasioned by a rather soft dismissal
of his peculiarly bad circumstances
leading to that unexpected acquittal
in the courts of street common sense
where they said he was not aggrieved
that he was too well-groomed to qualify
for the title of most distinguished destitute
and that he'd never been guilty of being adrift
and the bitter tears welled in his smarting eyes
he rather liked the elevated status of depraved excellency

like sugar and spice in separate jars
opposite but complementary, neatly-packed
and labelled on Mother's clean shelves
sweet and cloying like sunsweet sugar
tangy and exotic like the spices of yore
that launched hapless ships into stormy waters
that's what this thing called life is like
often  a dream to live and revel in, but also
a nightmare of garish detail in relief
fouled by the ghoulish glee of decadence
and the things that we do to pander to our tastes!

my dear little sweet pea
truly, you're my cup of tea
what the doctor ordered
a vintage prescription wonder
that guarantees i never wander
                  now
there's no more trepidation in my heart
and i'm on autopilot as i approach the gates of love
i will send you no flowers because they pale before you
you're a flower whose warm glow illuminates eternity
and your sweet tenderness has legendary attributes all for me
my sweet little pea tell them things to wring their hearts sore
and set my heart galloping with the absolute joy of certainty

here they go again , these experts
telling us things to sadden the heart:
game may not be that safe to eat
running river water is never a treat
for it carries upstream decadence

here they go again, these stuffed-shirt experts:
water is two to one hyydrogen and oxygen
boiled, the oxygen steams away into the air
and your cappuccino has a hydrogen flavour
we endanger our lives when it we drink and savour

here they go again, the learned heralds of demise
they tell us that nothing we can ever devise
can avert the armageddon that's surely coming
the entropy or second law of thermodynamics
transforms physicists into latterday prophets

here they go again on prime media, the erudite experts
talking about free radicals, anti-oxidants, titanium utensils
and the havoc that excess proteins, fats and carbohydrates can cause
it’s time to go puritan and vegetarian in this new poisonous present
where fun is frowned upon and barbecues are a deadly pastime

in this age of dietary enlightenment and forced moderation
we must eventually go raw in our cuisine and be natural about it
or perhaps be as creative as possible before the nutritionists come in
to tell us how not to cook our food and how not to eat it
living was great fun before this age of detoxification and cancer!

talk to me directly, **** you
look me in the face and see me
see me smile an authentic smile
talk to me directly,**** you
you have a silent wall around you
your gripping app has you enthralled
everything you do is choreographed
and you get your kicks from the selfies
you're at sea when it comes to real humans
warm, tender and wanting your attention
real people with brittle hearts that break
real people that you cannot programme
for there are no icons for such phenomena
so look at me and talk to me, **** you
lest we get lost in a world gone mechanical

it is all rather insincere and futile
when you’re old and almost senile
to try doing a few  new things this late
on the premise better late than never
you will learn much to your chagrin
how your remorse and deep regret
fail you and there’s no peace ever
lesson for us all dear fellow wayfarers:
‘isikhumba sigoqwa sisemanzi’
‘tis best you tan a hide in its freshness

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

insinuate me
into your waking moments
like a pervasive mist
unveil my presence
like a long-kept secret
and hold me desperately
like i matter
nibble my ear lobe
and whisper to me
things no one else will
drift away with me
till dawn
and walk us through the avenues
of your mellow dreams
till all i can do
is pace the mad floor
like van gogh in relapse
or splash paint
like a surrealist brat
carry me on your person
like a gem
and elevate my image
like a crucifix
be thou my muse
when i create pieces of rare genius
for posterity to marvel at
above all
savour me
like i was made of honey
and follow this template of love
like your sanity depended on it

he parted the flimsy curtain
and saw her petite figure flee
his impoverished life in some glee
his muscle and brawn weren't enough
and everything was suddenly so tough
as he contemplated the cold evenings ahead
and the silent moments without her infectious laughter
he knew without doubt that nothing would ever be softer
than her measured walk out of his life and yet have such wrath
that morning was a morning of sorrowful discoveries and pain
the flap of her jacket as she walked up the incline to the open road
was like a metaphorical but macabre shaking of the dust that he was
forgotten now but abandoned a long time ago as they both knew
it took a morning such as this one to put a seal to what once was
for so long, so far way and long ago in another country and another time
when he mattered and was still the prize she sought for waiting so long

softly humming and deftly proceeding
unobtrusive like a shy one at a gathering
i make myself obscure and inconsequential
though my heart tells me it's only a matter of time
before i make my mark and cause a stir among my peers
and before we hear the distinct sound of the bell's chime
as it calls upon all and sundry, far and wide across the land
to declare their love in soft tones and hearts serene and sincere
to look upon love with wondering eyes that burn with longing
and drink to the love of a lifetime in a sunset glass blown by a master
thereafter to sing a song that is a tale of love unlimited and hope eternal
the thing to remember is the image of a backpacker at some lodge
sinking with the yellow sun in an obscure room where he lays his head
though he knows it not, his ritual daily enacts our final days

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

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

every time she went gently by
i felt like saying a mellow bye
to friend and foe alike, and to family too
for in all honesty that whistle had me dangling
like fruit about to fall from the mother twig
i heard the enigmatic whistle of the kite
a thin eerie sound that spelt doom to stray chicks
i heard the drone of the horrid ground horn-bill in my heart
and shook in my boots; the birds in my life were portentous
You see, there was never a bird in sight at all
yet the songs were shrill and so distinct they made me fall
the day she came by and i heard the call of a laughing dove
was the day that fire rained in torrents from above
and she was gone for good with all her numinous secrets

Blessed are the love-less
for they shall suffer no deep sighs

Blessed are the love-less
for they shall never have sleepless nights

Blessed are the love-less
for they shall never have to watch empty roads

Blessed ar the love-less
for they shall never know any pangs of anxiety

Blessed are the love-less
for they shall never have to re-arrange themselves

Blessed are the love-less
for they shall be free of dissembling

Blessed are the love-less
for they shall never be seduced by con-artists

Blessed are the love-less
for theirs is  the security of ignominy

Blessed are the love-less
for they shall inherit the estates of the heartbroken

Blessed indeed are the love-less
for they shall never have to chase after rainbows

this is the cap that poor jerry wore
the day that he beat the big drum
until his palms were so very sore
in the heat of the dance in the dust
now he sits still and takes it all in
saved from soiling his cap with sweat

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

the communes are here again
avant garde artists’ colonies too!
we produce but do not reproduce
everyone knows about the ******
and how it is a preview of heaven
the family is dead, long live the family!

the flier in me is not a fly in the ointment
the flier in me daily basks in ambient glory
the flier in me is a hopeful at your door
waiting to be puzzled by you, the enigma
and betimes be indulged with some attention
the flier in me glitters and sparkles truly
because you're the source of my highness
i rise into the sky and soar into the universe
propelled by the image of your birthday suit
that reminds me that that's the natural thing
to be; naked and noble like a new creation
so there i go again flapping flimsy wings
that nobody sees; feeling like old-time magic
i want to thank you prompt of my quests
i want to thank you agitator of my longing
i want to thank you lovely seer and siren
i thank you for these blossoms open in me
i thank you for teaching me to fly like a bird
straight into the shelter of your cuddly nest
where i shall be anchored in calm waters
and soon rinsed in a cascading shower of bliss
my sweet seer and siren, i promise you this:
i shall be true though my wings should melt
as did the wings of hapless ikaros the greek

life, said the vagabond,
is a busy highway
and we all walk it
bound for nowhere
when you see me again
i shall have been nowhere
though i'll have been away

Wise guys in Presley-style haircuts
mill around the booming jukebox
It's late in the fifties
and there are no hippies
Sweltering October afternoon
So you buy a soda and drink it slowly
Your meagre resources make you lowly
I stand in awe, dazed and wondering
This machine has a hand and a brain
Feed it a coin and it picks your song
Suddenly King Creole is playing
and they all jump like catfish on the pole
I'm no square so I too twitch, turn and jump
Everybody is dancing
and life is a rock'n roll song

young life is  quite distinct
exudes the beauty of innocence
and has curiosity without bounds
calves run about, seized by the paroxysm
of joyful life oozing through milky teats
and lambs and kids not to be outdone
go on crazy adventures on the pastures
Lo and behold, even baby lizards are
projectiles of life bursting from within
life was meant for them and you
brother, the world is waiting out there
what does it matter if after a long journey
you discover you never left the world?

I didn’t know it then but I was blessed
It took this woeful person so wretched
To dispel my sweet-nothing illusions
And wipe away my vast delusions

I didn’t know it then but I was spellbound
It took this ranting being to quell the hound
And restore my sense of mad reality
Till I began to believe I was wholesome again

In truth they are mad who are made breathless
By the simple things of a commoner’s life
Dangled before your mesmerized eyes
In that moment of sighed realization

When you grasp the beauty of absence
And know just how sweet loss can be in essence
These are the lessons life has always talk
That absence invokes the presence of the other

And that none is so wretched as one so unfortunate
As never to have known the pangs and doubts
That condemn all seekers to following their bouts
Of distraction to the limits of the conscious world

These dear lonesome wayfarer adrift in time and space
Are the lessons that life has always taught us
When it is time for great moments you will know:
Each moment carries you along regardless

once there were lavenders here
            blue and mellow like the song of a blue waxbill
                              swaying in the breeze
            in obeisance to your hypnotic lilac outfit
and i sat there mesmerized like an alien on foreign terrain
          as if the outer person mattered that much
                  till like Houdini you broke the chains
                        of the intensity of my need
                                 and i was alone again
                                          naturally

the moon tonight my darling
riding the fluffy clouds of night
its aura a lovely ethereal blue
is like the skirt riding your thighs
and i'm thinking, oh that blessed moon!

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

i'm writing
the mother of all poems
a poem with a taste like late harvest wine
a poem with whiffs of smoke and loud bird calls
i'm writing
the mother of all poems
a poem that closes the schisms and binds like glue
one that makes you drowsy under the shade
and gives shape and size to your thirsts
i'm writing
the mother of all poems
a poem with the delicate poise of a ballerina in a tutu
and the raw energy of an entranced ethnic dancer in the tropics
driven by the booming sounds of a pulsating drum
i'm writing
the mother of all poems
soft to the touch like finest silk or velvet
restful like a wind that's been around the world and back
i'm writing
the mother of all poems
a poem that will say it all in a single definitive word
a poem whose cadence is a hypnotic chant for therapeutic sessions
i'm writing a poem for all people in all places for all time
so indeed they wait and hope to catch the word in their hearts

out of bouts of manic depression
into whirlwind ego trips

the poet ambles along
taking in the delights
inhaling the morning
in a world gone awry
while others  huff and puff
to unknown destinations
on the highway to nowhere

Roll your mesmerizing eyes
Like you’re some out-of-this-world creature
Waiting to be in that lovely magazine feature

Roll your eloquent tongue
Like the pizza is heavenly cuisine
For the high table at the messianic banquet

Roll your rich undulating body down the street
Like you’re a cask of articulate wine with body and bouquet
And step out like one that’s caused some beauteous dismay

With the exquisite allure
Exuded by your bubbling personality bathed in mystic aura
That’s forever in evidence in your metaphorical salt licks

Where those who want emotional nourishment and equilibrium
Seek to be satiated without risk of odious opprobrium
From the curse of attention from despicable grovellers

Then roll and rock to the beat of a classic song of intimacy
Like the theme and melody were created just for you; and to
Break the hearts of the faint-hearted many lying along your way

To the peak of hypnotic arrest in the folds of time
Where those whose lazy silence slew them are forgotten
Like they are the discarded wretches of obsolescence

perfect poise
between diction
imagery and tone
measured rhythms
and true fine feelings
that fall like soft rain
to mirror humans
in tender moments
and coarse grim cameos
of things best forgotten
things nuanced and bitter
this vast field of experience
is the business of poetry
the art of aptness
the art of compactness
and incredible depths
leading to damp squibs
we search nevertheless
for unique form and content
that exercise in futility
till at last we rest from our labours
and we understand at last
poetry like life is a bitter-sweet  illusion

The song in my poem
is pure gold
My poem
overflows with cuddly music
that's a comfort when I'm forsaken
and is re-assuring when days are bad
The song in my poem is for all seasons
devastating when I'm in ruins
fortifying when I march to my demise
and a prompt for the compulsive actions
of the fools of history
The song in my poem
can lead you to perdition and oblivion
or it can lead you to ecstacy and contrived joy
or the sweet freedom of being gone forever
I am alive to all the posibilities on life's menu
and I'm the gourmet that chefs rustle up the magic for

words quite often lie
but actions are mostly true
now let me this trend defy
though i have no clue
how to start a new fad
i have soiled my purity
with this accursed oddity
in me that assails my schemes
and now i pay the sore price
of fixations and obsessions
so hard the comeuppance

i'm the blue sky
with a swallow careering around it
i'm the void
that has room for you no matter what
i'm the blue sky
dotted with fluffy clouds
on some lazy afternoon
i'm the blue sky
waiting for evening to come
and you're the star
that lights me up on dark nights
see how i blossom
and how you tickle the smiles out of me
we emblazon the universe with soulful bliss
and we're for ever riding the wings of time

in and out of my waking moments
drifts this flirtatious apparition
the ghost of a smile on a broken face
i feel the sanctity of my shores breached
by this stranger on my bewildered shore
the sometimes leering face is like a cloud
hovering above me only in a thick crowd
this stranger on my mystified sandy shore
forever tempting my imagination with glee

i looked in just as you were looking out
and the thick smoke stung our eyes;
the tears went down our hands into the palms
and when we touched there was a fluid bond
that said we had drowned our sorrows in the tears
and would forever be washed clean in the rains we make

I am thinking with some nostalgia
about the simple but unforgettable things we shared
and how beautiful everything seems now with time gone by

There were four of us clumsy but sturdy Mother's boys
One Sunday best shirt and one Sunday best pair of shoes
We took turns to go to church and proudly wore our shared attire

The other boys on our street - how they envied us our pair of longs!
Gray flannel freshly-laundered with benzine and neatly-ironed
Worn so proudly and revered like a family coat of arms


We shared the near misses and the sore heartbreaks as well
When it wasn't your turn at church she looked around for you
With marble-sized eyes, this girl - the one for whom you fell

I remember the bitter tears I cried when you tore our shirt
And I could not keep my tryst with the one who sent me crazy
The things that we shared - how they broke our hearts sometimes!

But the beauty of it all was there was no malice or avarice
We accepted our fates and guarded the family secret
And none so jealously as I did though I was often in tears

how so very sore
the irksome loss
of life and shine
of aesthetic personality:
the configuration
of your widely acclaimed assets!
lost too
what you had in mind:
a cruise on the lake
luxury on a house boat
with tiger fish jumping
crocodiles dozing on the sandy banks
and sleepy hippos yawning
alas!
the things you had in mind,
lost now, but not ever forgotten
you had such fertile dreams; a flight to Shangri-la
to live, love and frolic in the foliage
where thirsts are quenched, and
longings are satisfied; these are the things
you had in mind
so sad the converse reality of providence:
sweet dreams really should come true sooner!

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

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

Wherever the drum is sounded
There will his feet and ego lead him
For there's none so adept as he
At fouling the mood with a few
                home truths
when the village brew is frothy and virile
There too will his keen appetite him drive
For there's none so deferred to as he among
Folk hungry for forgivable misdemeanor
                and some home truths
He's the inimitable village drunk
Endowed with a surfeit of expletives
For there's none so free as he here
To douse all and sundry in invective ubiquitous
               laced with a few home truths
This village drunk is high on the power granted him
By a grateful captive audience that's allowed him
Freedom to free them of secrets and all
When he dons his invisble crown and dispenses
              a few home truths 'bout everyone

when he spoke
his voice was the sound of tomorrow
and his words were sweet and enigmatic
taking you to the fields and the forests
to the sound of the go-away bird
and the apocalyptic ground horn-bill
when he spoke
he was not  so small a boy
his was alive with things no one understood
and made you feel it would all go well
even as the storms gathered and there was a swell
of fervour, mysticism and gallant conviction
that sent the sons of mothers to their many deaths
his name was freedom
liberty today and tomorrow the moon!
the cry rang out everywhere with electric effect
and there was no need for the double-speak of diplomacy
or the hollow-sounding epithets of hair-splitting academics
freedom spoke for himself