A coarse, yellow coat with dark spot aplenty
Lean as a greyhound with limb long and lengthy,
Faster than hare from a cold standing start
Impossibly glimpsed in tall grasses that part.
Crystaline jewels in two huge hazel eyes
With the svelt of a feline’s cold killing surprise,
Explosively quick with an elegant gait
And a murderous jaw full of canines that wait
For a fleeing gazelle or a springbok at speed
Then a launch that would emulate bullet, when freed.
Incredibly smooth with a fast loping stride
That would tax any racehorse an envious ride,
Snapping manouvers to left and to right
That mirror a quarry’s evasions of flight.
A blur in a frantic explosion of dust
Then the life blood erupts, splashing red as the rust.

Heaving great flanks after thrill of the chase
Wide open muzzle and gore on the face,
Guarding the game till the kittens locate
Then the spoils of the chase will make portions dictate.*


Marshalg
Serengetti Plain
Central Africa
30 November 2012

So I'll have mine
and you'll have yours?
who could ask
for anything more!
grey beards march
the union jack
build a wall
and send them back!  

Grudge, sludge
a sanguine view
****** off
and take the cue
hide, plunge
aristocrat
run the field
like an old tom cat

Narrow pass
and capital flow
falling crude
and currency woe
deep depression,
mutineers
the mastermind
of project fear!

Silver spoon
at Hampton court
madness waits
in Davenport
divisible
and off the grid
**** it up
100 quid

Helen’s horsemen
unified
the springbok club
will never hide
plebiscite
in deep despair
an open scroll
Trafalgar square  

Grapple, grovel
sentry shame
along the shore
of river Thames
king of wankers
lord of beat
break the rule
of old elite!

Stone the posse
bullets bare
load the chambers
fists in air
voices, faces
haunted souls…
should i stay
or should i go?

This desert is our life.
From the dry earth we gather roots and melons.
Over the endless sands we hunt the gemsbok and the springbok.
  
Sometimes the ga roots are shriveled and bitter.
Sometimes men are sick with thirst and hunger.
  
When there is water we drink and sing and clap our hands.
When there is food we eat and dance and clap our hands.
  
The eland does not come to us and ask to be eaten --
one must know how to make the arrow and poison it
and where to look and how to hide and shoot. . . .
  
What man is so foolish as to expect more? To expect
the rain to be always falling, his eggs full of water and
his stomach full of meat?
  
You have strong animals to carry you.
You have much food and water.
Your digging sticks are hard and sharp.
Your shooting-sticks are like lightning.
  
You are a powerful man and a good man.
I can see that in your eyes.

But what you offer is a dream.
  
You can give us water and meat.
You can fill our hands with tobacco and perfect beads.

But you cannot give us happiness.

  
A man can only drink so much and then he is full.
If a man is always eating honey, he tires of it and becomes sick.
  
And even if all life were sweet --
what man is not food for lions and dogs?
A man who has tasted in his life no bitterness will find death very bitter.
  
My mouth longs for sweetness
but sweetness brings bitterness
and in the end they are one.
  
So I ask you:
Take your digging sticks and your shooting-sticks.
And do not leave them behind.
Go to the green lands you came from.
We shall walk in this desert as we always have.

So....
you were tactile
when we first met
the showing
and, then,
seemingly
welcoming

But....
And....
(it was easy to beguile him)

I wanted something
You had something
we agreed with smiles
(nothing written down)
....
regret is but an emotion;
not a dribble of ink.
....
chasing shadows
springbok in season;
sharp claws
arched back;
pounce.
....
The Prey just rang the buzzer
(three chapters later....)
....
So you have to leave now -
Thanks for playing my game
I am not interested any more
I have had my enjoyment
(at your expense)
....
you can go now
....
Leave
more confused
....
than when you
Arrived
....
She purrs
>
Who is next?

An illuminated sky
An azure forest
A springbok ..

. a month spent listening to (a) grandfather's medley of memories, an eroded imagination, an inversion of a figurative- something of other... a month spent with the breath of Shiva... dementia... no wonder my use, subsequently, does not represent the vitality of a springbok... less a torrent of a waterfall... and more... heavily reliant on: perpendicular and subserviently cryptic.

what came first:

   the vowel,
or the consonant...

|    standing ground...

figments
of the imagination -
vowels

and the rigid
   arches of
huddling
consonants...

unkept lockets
of birches
woven
in pine forests...

dead to humor
English oak:
numbed
a'pathos
           vater...

vague wounds
caressed
by the winds...

in beast: siamese -
no differential,
unto a blast from
a sputnik's
starry baron knead
of the knee

   third letter:
surd...
            what the eye
and the aye does
see...

  but the: hushed
agreement bypasses...
to 'now
is no sentiment of
a nauw...
  Cymry:

                     piquant,
the difference
between
  (k)now
   and  n              A             w

no... 'now...
   brigadier is
not (a) /
     no              trumpet-tier /
player...

            -teer...

         a vowel,
a consonant,
a surd...
                          
                  and if...
VII were again,
and 7 far from F...

         tickling e. e. cummings...

translation?
missing...

                  the obscurity
of the concept of flesh
when wearing
a pair of gloves,
the Sait Paul & Peters...

flesh disintegrates,
what remains is...
the mediating
numb between gloves
and the "abstract"
of skeleton...

            what came first...
the "vowel", or "the" consonant?
past the moral "question":
the glaring contort...
a letter - L, 90°...
   that gave birth to
               the Girth of Delta?

360° and the "missing" 5...
   Kant: negation = 0,
reply...
                    Λ = sanction.