Waxing lyrical, a poet friend enthused:
the world is an oyster if you're looking for pearls
Going similarly lyrical we can say:
the world is a jungle if you're looking for lions
the forest is a cold room if you're looking for game
the sky is a blue heaven if you're looking for a haven
the world is a shopping mall if you're looking for bargains
the world is a dealers' market if you're looking for a ****
and life is an onion that you peel and sometimes weep
when you miss out on wild parties and pleasure trips

aaah, the pain of the absence
and the futility of the longing
how these two start to linger
and grow bitterer and longer
as relentless time trudges on
to the inevitable conclusion
that everything is a shadow
slippery and elusive to the end
these things were never meant to be
except just as impressions
of sweet possibilities
and shaky memories
of things we think we did

after  the showers had stopped
we rushed out our hands cupped
to receive stray drops of sky water
then the games would begin in earnest
run,splash and laugh in the puddles
paper boat races on the meandering rivulets
we rolled in the mud and waited for the inevitable
mother screamed her head off about mud, dirt and disease
then like a chorus of cherubim we broke into happy songs
rain, rain stop! come another day; rain, rain fall again
we want your gift of pumpkins and watermelons
and though we knew it not we had stumbled on paradox
these are the things we used to do in our younger days

when i think about things
  i remember the flings
and the lazy afternoon walks
and stolen hugs in the dusk
i think about mother
busy in her smoky kitchen
and father with a pipe
in the corner of his mouth
puffing out smoke like a sage
i see grandmother's toothless smile
and hear her sing a happy song
lustily as if there was a throng
dying to hear her yodel
one last time this side of the great divide
and then i think of the girl
in the cheap cotton dress
and how she thought she was taken
although i was no more than a cadet
in these matters of sore hearts and headaches

Does it all lead to just this,
a gaping hole in the ground,
sniffing but impatient mourners
their predictable tissues at the ready?

an all-too-practised priest in familiar garb
does the expected; his suitably tremulous voice
has the standard formality as he goes through the ritual
and those years of convolution spiced with some straight and narrow

do they culminate in this terrible charade?
Surely this can't be it, this cavalier show by fellow-travellers,
by small cliques here and there, sharing juicy titbits of gossip
- least concerned with the slowly sinking forgotten casket

in my heart of hearts i say this can't be it, surely!

this is where you find us
with our bits of paraphernalia
and our shredded hopes
reclining upon our mad fantasies
this is where you find us
on our windswept bits of  concrete floor
hoping against hope to one day be loud and rich
our affluent mouths enriched with aromatic cigars
this is where you find us,
our women ravaged by the wind
and our children taking whatever we give them
from heaps of misfortune
festering like putrid wounds
on forgotten bits of terrain
along cursed routes that lead to where it all stops
this is where you find us
with our broken teeth and our losses
with our jaded dreams and our hallucinations
this is where you find us, we the deluded many
who were foolish enough to imagine a community
glued by common bonds of former oppression

quivering joystick
mellow honeypot
perfect blend!

fantasies
exciting hues
life is kicking!

huge dreams
coupled creations
cream puff realization!

dimples and smiling eyes
pretty gums drooling
sunshine babies!

art on the clouds
mad shapes
psychedelia anew!

o the futility
wishes were horses
flight and dissipation!

We go one way
Time goes the other
Patience is a myth
In your merry youth
We rush to the zenith of our folly
and so quicken our demise
Time goes its way and cares not what you do
And try as you might
You never can catch up
And you never can evade its ravages
These spindly legs
Once carried a proud athlete
These tired old legs
Were the pride of a queen of the ramp
But now alas, time has played an ace
and won the race
Time goes its way
And we go where we are bound

eerie plover cries
and night jar acrobatics
in broad daylight
were a sign of something amiss
especially coming so soon
after a barn owl
had pecked his fruit bowl at lunch
and a crow had sat on his head
and cawed lustily for an eternity
it's *** for tat from nature
when we think only of ourselves
without doubt we demean our stature
when we upset nature's designs
one of these days an ape will come visiting
and help himself to the fowls

to you all my good friends through time
i dedicate this poem with loving nostalgia
you each left an indellible mark on me
frankieboy you knew how to duck and feign
and you gave me a blue eye that wouldn't go
dannyboy you were always the funny one
making smelly noises under your armpit
sonnyboy you were the sleepwalking mother's boy
i remember you for being a neat dresser
but each one of you was just a station on my route
to places i thought mattered until i got there
now i'm back to stay, but to whom will i tell my story?
you're all gone now, transported by mother time into time

I drink to you perfect stranger
You who ignored the danger
I drink to you son of another
You who took time to bother
About hapless misfits like me
Clueless sods that still believed
In the fictional good of humanity
In your moment of supreme grace
You freed me from my scepticism
So we became joined at the heart
And sealed our fates in perpetuity
For to have a mission is to perish
And be interred in some parish
A sentimental plaque the epitaph
To the vanquished dead and gone
By the ungrateful living here now

appetizing and delicious
wholesome and nutritious
enchanting and appealing
rich, tasty and unforgettable
is the simplest of shared fare
when taken with comrades
in the lull before the storm
when surreptitious glances
could be the last for some
and memories the testimony
to life's ambivalent transience
farewell comrades in love
to you belongs the glory
of mistaken ideas and inertia
and we who fizzled out long ago
salute you the lucky beneficiaries
of our pain and sorrow that are
your surfeit and your happiness

there are certain lessons
that life always guarantees
so, no matter how long it takes
we always come full cycle in the end
living with and loving a ******
is foolhardy and always misfires -
girl he will prize you away from decency
and love your money like a mad schemer
till the dead man weeps in his grave
weeps the tears of a sightless cadaver
whose one -time true love has gone bad
whose children are strangers and captives
in a home their father bequethed
now this smooth operator, sideburns, cigars and all
reclines in the dead man's armchair
and sips the dead man's vintage whiskey
in a vile act of virulent disrespect
and the voluptuous widow
worships the ground he walks on
she rolls around the house to please him
as her dead husband's children join the orchestra
of too many children weeping

she was once a true love of mine
but i left her to work in an old mine
where i sang my darling clementine
like a demented and forgetful libertine
but life always pays you back in kind
when i came back with those trinkets
she was gone and i was  alone in my old age
love had not waited for this poor thing in wrinkles
chasing time on dimming eyes and dulled memory
too many years too late for the girl who had tried to wait

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

mouth
  minty and fresh
     neck fragrant
           like
lavender in season
         navel
poesy of surprises
    cascading
        gently
into the valley below
where her tulips are
       a bulbous
       perennial
rain forest of ecstasy
profusion and fruition
    after the peak
        later
    his raisiny eyes
and smashed heart
        drool
   at the sight
        of
        her
lilies in the valley

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

squinting up the leaves of the bountiful tree
i espied a mango ripe and soft with goodness
as the sun came gently filtering through
aloft the wings of a little fellow with a long beak
and a brisk song to celebrate dinner found
my feathered visitor hovered above the vintage prize
and as his thirsty proboscis drilled the succulent mango
the warm enticing juice, natural and healthy as ever,
drip-settled in the base of my hungry open eye
i thought i heard a flourish in the triumphant bird-song
such as one at the fall of a big wicket; and
in that slow-motion moment, i knew: the mango was his,
and it'd now be eat and let eat, till the last delectable mango

the break-of-day eastern sky is a primeval crimson
tinges of rich yellow speak of the gold in the sun
i salute the coming day with a stretch and a yawn
and i know i must be up with the sun to caress life

a cackle, a coo, a rascally laugh and a gruff lament
tell me little has changed and all things mark time
i bow to those who die a million deaths in their time
yet up with the sun still sing songs about each new day

a little voice whispers to me softly about things cosmic
and how everything has a shadow that's its clone
i applaud the ingenious few who strike out bravely
and remember how they have upgraded things lately

up with the sun my dear maiden true; the ties that bind
are forever in motion seeking a breaking of tensions
i  **** a piece of me every day when i sulk like a reluctant groom
for up with the sun I must ride away into a velvet sunset dream

i'm the drone of a distant engine
   you hear it but never go to it
i'm the  rush of blood to your head
  you feel it but do not crumble
i'm the swishing wind in your garden
  i tell you about fads and phases
        but you pay me no heed
i'm the distracted man passing by
you want to know my destination
           but you never ask
lest that adage about curiosity and the cat
       should turn out to be true
i'm the love you know you're losing
      but sorrow and rejection
           were also made
                  for you
                  as for me
         So dear home-bound
   hold fast to what you found
            that nasty morning
of numb thoughts and frozen breath

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

walk me to the end of my dream
and to the start of my nightmare
lull me to sleep till the break of day
and rouse me into pained wakefulness
show me my sweet hopes in terrible flight
and detach yourself from the woes of my day
as love dissipates into a hallucination
and what was most unlikely takes shape
before my enraptured and unblinking eyes
I dare hope that it is all one huge concoction
but there's no tragedy in being wrong

day cold as indifference
needing warmest apparel
booming business at coffee houses
long-forgotten thick coats out one more time
but see this steely stranger
barefoot like Sage Mutabaruka
and ******* clad in this rabid weather
smile like summer sunshine on a tropical beach
wants nothing and asks for nothing
his warmth is inside
where passions are generated
hypothermia has no chance with him

i thought i was alone
  till i saw the shadow
         behind me
          and how
                it
         trembled
              and
        hesitated
    at each next step
        i knew then        
    that we're never alone
          because
           there's
      always someone
          around

well hello hello big man
you're looking quite suave i must say
your almost palpable gloss is off the fat of the land
i suppose you could say you're the leader of the band
but you choose not to; you're far too smart for obvious moves
understandably, it's been goodbye to all that stuff from years ago
they suffer densely and in perpetuity who wait for providence
is your guiding principle; so the quicker, the greedier, the better!

With this pen
I fulfilled my dream
and a whole new people
in my own image
materialized in a once silent abode
and let there be laughter and dance
With this pen
I evoked images from the depths of life
and created unending literary melodies
From one pen oozed the seed of life
and from the other came the stamp of eternity
that made everything perpetual and precious

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

Somehow everyone will know
years after I have dissipated
that I too ***** this earth
and played a part in the demise
of the world as it had been
since the start of time and history
and that I too created the dearth
of the wholesome things of life
And when all is said and done
there will be nowhere to hide:
the tense clouds I melted into will cry
and I, excess baggage, will be spat out
the stars in the heavens will frown
and I shall weep endless tears
as the annals of the world vilify me
And when all is said and done
this is the one time that the poet
speaks for the quick and the dead

whenever i go away and i do so often
i feel like a part of me has stayed behind
and so i linger and keep looking back
at a world that's gone suddeny hostile
you have that dry look that shuts me out
like a smelly wanderer in a glitzy place

You want nothing and crave for nothing
only to be by the side of the one who chooses you
That's what happens when home is where the heart is

The sun may shimmer, singe or sear your flesh and your ego
and the rain may fall, patter or pour in heavy sheets cold
You stay because that's what happens when home is where the heart is

When they travel to far-off lands you're in their hearts where it's warm
You're in their  being where you need  no visa or residency permit; and
that's what happens to all and sundry when home is where the heart is

In time the great divide that has pleasure in keeping lovers asunder
silently stalks everyone without favour or discrimination
and creates the one time that the heart cannot be home

when i found you
i was looking for the sun in a smile
i was waiting to catch a melody from silent lips
and i was hoping for a latterday miracle on demand
when i found you
i was hungry for showers of adulation from your eyes
i wanted you to cry rivers and oceans because you'd found me
i wanted to recline upon a dream dressed in fanciful whims
and i wanted you to be the reason for happiness and wonder
when i found you
i was looking to spice up my life and give it  lots of deep thunder
when i found you
i was searching for sweet temptation in the arms of life's puzzles
i was waiting to hear the whine of the wind and the voice of a breeze
sailing the blue skies on a perfect afternoon for wishing and dreaming
when i found you
i knew you were the enigmatic lover and muse of my yearnings
and i knew i was looking at someone to contemplate in eternity

change is a constant
motion in life's instant
organic factory of growth
thus the folds at the back of my head
are a recent intrusion against my image
so are the hairs in my ears
and in my now dilated nostrils
you used to have these lovable dimples
and a delectable bounce in your walk
but now all you ever do is talk and talk
about the fictional excellence of your life
and how you're much sought after
even in this, the twilight of your days
            head bald as an egg
            walk a dawdle
           mouth a dark cavern
           physique like a sumo wrestler
           memory like a closed book
          and demise like a meteor
will i know you when i see you again?
my heart has kept you frozen and young

When the grass has  sprouted and the countryside is a soft green hue
and the hills are clothed in feathery russet and gold
Remember me upon a drowsy afternoon
with the cicadas singing in hypnotic monotony
Remember me when the milk-laden cows are lowing
for it is in such serene moments that we recall our regrets
When the countryside is mad with life
and natural perfumes spice your safari with wild abundance
Remember me upon a dry riverbed
where once we stood upon an island happy and free
*Remember me when the milk-laden cows are lowing
for it is in calm and peace such as this that we mellow betimes

This beautiful but slippery thing
   Could it be the much fabled happiness
This ethereal whiff of possibibilities
   Could it be what it's all about

This driver of  human craving in perpetuity
    Could it be the prize we seek so diligently
This balm for broken hearts and chapped souls
    Could it be the hearse for our hopes and dreams

When the pursuit of happiness is your driver
       Might you not miss out on binary experiences
When the pursuit of happiness is your driver
     Will there be a smiling usher to guide you home

always  always be ready for when trouble
comes knocking on your door with a flayed knuckle
for trouble always has a bare visage to make you buckle
it always has the patience of an hour glass and its sand
thus, you must needs learn how to endure and stand
against troubled winds in a sometimes irksome world

when you're bigger
are you any bigger, really
perhaps you're just the trigger
of an assortment of events
when by others you're called small
are you in truth really small
perhaps you like playing the victim
with what lens do you look at things
with what misgivings do you struggle
against all the things that in you huddle
isn't it time to dump it all in that puddle
now that the spotlight is on your fuddle
somewhere within sight of your experiences
then walk forward in keeping with your destiny

your every word was a gold nugget
and you made me feel so very rich
but that was when you were my brother

you spoke about strange things from afar
though you were always at home with the hens
but that was when you were my brother

you strummed your old guitar like a lost lover
and spoke about the sputnik, Russia and heaven
but that was when you were my brother

now the rot has set in and our wounds are festering
you tell me i'm not your mother's son
now that you're no longer the brother i adored

i am the miracle boy
i spoke the day i was born
and had a full set of teeth
i'm the one that the crocodiles fled
i tell you this but not in jest
i brought down a Boeing 747
with a single shot of my sling
the sun winked an apology for daring to be hot
i did  not fancy wiping a sweaty brow
with that fancy white handkerchief of mine
the symbol of a heart i broke under a moonlit sky
i'm the one whose wardrobe tailors die to fit out
i'm every woman's peculiar heartbreak
and every man's litany of sad tales of loss
i walked through fire and up a wall like an ant
i marched through a hail of bullets but none touched me
when i pass by all the girls rush to have a glimpse of me
this beautiful mother's boy with charm too much to fight
i have gone into bars and made patrons cry to buy me one
my list of spectacular feats  is endless and longer than eternity ....

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

you took me on a wondrous  space trip
to the vastness of a foreboding outer universe,
to places i had never thought i could traverse.

i learned that the imagination is as vast as cyberspace
and that all things are possible to a fertile imagination
especially to one looking for  magic and wonderment

so in the depths of our speculating minds
the word was made flesh in a spectacular flash
as your imagination wove a tapestry of things uknown

it mattered not that spoil-sport reality soon set in
or that once more i landed on terra firma with a bump
we had the power to wish into being all our fancies
and the duration was of little importance in our utopia

backdrop
animated face
wandering eyes
the word lay on his tongue
              naked
as all lies are
and truths too betimes