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Rowan Deysel Aug 4
Op hierdie aarde, groen en blou
Met torings wat die lug uit grou
In elke huis waar mens dalk bly
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In wye winkels en krom kerke
In nommers en vergete merke
Waar ryk sweef en arm lei
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In stede, woude, see en woestyn
In alles, geen, grof en fyn
In luuks, skaars, bont en plein
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In winter, lente, somer, herfs
Met albei vuur en skadu bederf
Waar ook al maan en son mag skyn
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
Waar sterre sing en sonne lag
Omring met komberse van die nag
Waar ou gode en planete gly
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In ou legendes en sprokies verhale
In dooie sang en in lewende tale
In woorde wat die hart oop sny
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In gister se groot verlate vlug
In môre se onmeetbare sug
In die nou wat ons so graag vermy
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In slaap te dig en drome swart
In die wandel en wonder van die hart
In seer, troos, kwaad en bly
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
Rowan Deysel Jan 17
With nothing in mind, on the soft green ground
While gazing around inside of a dream
Squinting of Sun, inhaling of sounds
Relaxed, next to a running river's gleam
Serene and sedated, the rustling of leafs
A lease - eternal, an ease inside
A polished, pure and perplexing peace
I slowly sway into the swallowing sky

Sounds of the gush and the wingless glide
Divided between blue and beautiful bright
A meeting of mountains and stars magnified
Below - a haze. Above - the great light
The delight of the earth, protruding and proud
Shrouded silhouettes and gorges that glow
Maps of the sky, echoers of sound
Transport me down to the wet below

Floating on top of the swirling blue salt.
Exalted beyond the liquid haze.
The deepest doors of this massive vault.
A conversation with the warping waves.
A daze of darkness in this alien waste.
Embraced in unknown - pulling me down.
A captive buoyancy with calm erased.
The essence of life, in which I will drown.

Finally, walls, blank and opaque.
The ache of vast indifferent time.
With a failed past comes a future vague.
Measured only by its dangling decline.
Maligned touches of world-less colour.
The collar of emptiness. The forever nothing.
Blacked out details unnecessarily smothered.
A ruined illusion of caring for something.
Drunk Penguins
Rowan Deysel Jan 2018
Near a town of history untold
Where everyone knows each name
Wooden behemoths - obliviously old
Each unique but each the same
It was meant to be a perfect day
Of tranquility through the trees
Instead, the sky is brood with grey
And the leafs flow as they please
Alone, in nature's splendor spilled
In a rainy wilderness, seldom seen
The birds and insects grow suddenly still
In a spread silence of the green
Like eyes embedded in your back
You sense the stare of something sour
The mood hurries to horrid black
As you quiver into a cower
In bending branches blended
Creeping in creases - camouflaged
Nature's imbalance to be amended
In the forest's full mirage
Witness a terror appearing
Frantically floating from afar
Emerged in echoes and vaguely veering
Black, bleak and bizarre
A malevolent, monstrous maw
Snarls of hunger, habit, and hate
A malodor of meat, reeking raw
A violently increasing heart rate
From frozen still to fearfully shaking
You are manically mesmerised
Your pupils promptly dilating
As you and the beast lock eyes
Your meaningless attempt to run
From a stride to a collapse
The beams above crown the sun
As the twigs around you snap
A soar of pain as you hit the ground
Chest cavity cracked open
As you faint, you hear the sound
Of a language never spoken.
Gutted and gargling gore
Eaten by nature's nightmare
Convulsing on a forest floor
Indifference chokes the air
It's just another perfect day
Of tranquility in the trees
The rain has stopped, the leafs still sway
With the cooling, comfortable breeze
Rowan Deysel Aug 2017
I think through exactly nothing.
The nothing of permanent plans.
The crushing ambiance - humming.
The hereafter is held in my hands.
I am anchored in absolute anthracite.
In the travel towards a tame tomorrow.
Surrendered sight. Goodbye. Great night.
But slumber's stare I cannot borrow.

I could feel fresh and rested.  
When the sun returns to wealth.
Instead, my mirrored mind is bested.
By none other than itself.
A bucket list - boundless and long.
A billion books for each day.
The distraction of the sterile songs.
All to suspend the swarming sway.  

The daylight waits for no creature.
And prepares the slumber song.  
But darkness is a wonderful teacher.
I wish this waning clock was wrong.
As long as I have a moving mind.
In the richest and poorest of weather.
A waste in rest I'll invariably find.  
In the Neverlanded nether.

When absolutely nothing's wrong.
When Time doesn't spill its touch.
To procrastination, I belong.
Am I asking for too much?
To grow into or fade out of.
The ideal temperature and tuck.
My eyelids cannot shut enough.
Outside the celestial flow, I'm stuck.

What if I never dream again?
Uncertainty honors each night.
What if I just roll around and then,
I am welcomed to morning's light?
What if I've lost the built in will,
To even further bother?
What if no book, no bed, no pill.
Could satisfy rest's hunger?

At best, this future is now failed.
Prevailed pause to a downhill stroll.
Detailed, another mated stale.
Thumb up into the endless scroll.
Roaming legs, wakeful brain.
In this domain, I'm just a guest.
Just close your eyes and try again.
I, alone create this terrible test.

At worst, this is my nightly fate.
Renewed again and again.
Much too little, much too late.
Still, awake, I still remain.
Nothing will solve the stalemate.
Nothing can stifle this absence of thirst.
What a terrible plan to perpetuate.
What a horrible night to have a curse.

But just as I accept my due.  
I've somehow ended my eternal night.
My eyes glazed in Sandman glue.
A miraculous recovery of sight.
I awake, escaped from a sleepless doom.
But tonight I suffer the same.  
If I do not substitute something soon.  
I will only have myself to blame.
I actually sleep fine now.
Rowan Deysel Aug 2017
Their strange screens sounding loudly.
With electric magic imbued.
There's a mirroring all around me.
In bordered boxes and ceilinged cubes.
We're absurd, and all advanced.
An emergence carefully compiled.
Bend in a delightful, blurred dance.
Blend into the social wild.
Life is pretty, plain and plenty.
On this nonredundant sphere.  
Even so, it's essentially empty.
An assortment of souvenirs.

Through veined paths, my blood abides.
And a beating heart repeats.
A life that comes from inside.  
A bloodful sack of meat.
The ghost in the flesh machine.
Proves a life in my pale past.
In the strange nostalgic obscene.
When I was a lesser, younger cast
There is life still to come.
Between now and the coffin.
I should sprinkle it with fun.
I should carpe this diem often.
Rowan Deysel Dec 2016
Caucasian cadaver in the windless woods.
Carelessly hanging from a tree.
Colorless face looking down.
Carrion yet to be seen.
Creation of an evil man.
Displaying his departed art.
Completed, his compelling plan.
Of helping death do its part.
Few colors, fewer sounds.
White skin contrasts the black dress.
Faded yellow floating all around.
Splatters of red fill the rest.
A frightful figure that overwhelms.
Above the confused and thorny trails.
All the shallow know themselves.
At the sight of this female.
Breathless before being dangled.
Dead before being displayed.
Beautiful body, cold and mangled.
Death magnificently portrayed.
Multiple stab wounds in your back.
Added to the smell of war.
Mind immersed in barren black.
Gnawed eyes to watch and adore.
Dripping, dim and dreadful.
The portrait he wanted to smear.
Your future as empty as your words.
Your hollowness shown clear.
You don't know what you're missing. 
Elders still die, the young still grow.
The leaves below are hissing.
At the corpse of a girl I used to know.
Made when I was an angsty, silly teenager who just got dumped by his first girlfriend.
Rowan Deysel Sep 2016
Kyk! Kan jy dit sien?! Dis wolke.
Dis waar! Dit is gemaak uit spoke.
Mamma roep ons, lyk soos kos vir wolwe.
En boetie sin lyk soos 'n klomp golwe.
Ek kyk op en sien 'n hartjie.
Dit is groter as my hele handjie.
Mamma se ek moet my kos eet.
Maar ek hou glad nie van die beet.
Ek kyk weer op en weet ek speel in die sand.
Wolke is vir my so, so interessant.
A poem by my little sister - Annuschka Deysel - 10.
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