Él,
Que se lo cruza, que se lo llama,
del mar que viene pero él
que se queda,
y forma todas las playas
de verdades, turbulencias,
¡que sólo los barcos de dignidad
alcáncenlo, ellas!

Yes, surely I am deplored by
the beauty of destructions’ marking, holding dear
what’s longingly perverted
through the lost.
Ravens’ repulsing cries
are the needed on the shores,
not just on the autumn,
the rotting of the sea tales
their voices hold,
the selection of exquisite
that my preference twisted wants.
And so much else I daze over,
that overlay of the Emerald Land’s
waves and beats that
my distant to the south shore pleads,
that jade,
that shock,
that valiancy of the Scots
which in our sands
and crashing skies
should be,
lusts
to be.

The awaiting
for that dripping glory
in a mellowed casing of a wrecking ship,
it’s in a waiting room
made from a lone standing rock
that carries myths and ventures
to fulfill,
the Young Verter’s
everlasting,
tinting
moment.

Show up on our silver days
at the bays,
El Acantilado,
del Norte, caro,
The Cliff, The Cliff,
Ese Acantilado!

Reflecting.....

As the pace of life slows
To protect my health
I sit here reflecting
For I can’t do much else

The global situation
On all our minds
Surreal as it is
The Earth is doing fine

I sit here listening
To the sounds of Soweto
Wondering if there’s anyone else
Like me.... locked down in Soweto

Luck it may have been
I consider myself lucky still
I wouldn’t want to be stuck anywhere else
What a story I now have to tell

There is hardship and struggle
Even for us every day
Yet there is also love... beauty...
Something so special to be here to “stay”

I’m no tourist
But still I feel unique
I wonder... is there anyone else?
Anyone else like me?

I feel I belong
I always have
But now this feelings deeper
I forget I’m not local infact!

It’s only when I sit here
And think, everything still
That I remember I’m different
Yet I’m treated like a local

I have become a Sowetan
And it didn’t start this year
It’s been happening slowly
The township adopted me, year after year

People are varied
Some are illegal
Yet, as written in the constitution
This country belongs to all

I love South Africa
But not all of it’s the same
It’s here in Soweto
Here - I got a new name

I don’t feel any different
To others around me
I have become one of them
But still wonder..... is there anyone else like me?

Getting stuck here was a blessing
How things fall into place!
Although no one anticipated COVID
Being in Soweto puts a smile on my face

I feel it’s almost sacred
To find myself here
During this global pandemic
I’ve been “protected “ it’s clear

I’m here for a reason
That has been proven to me
And whatever the reason
... it was just meant to be

I “belong “ here in Soweto
There IS no one like me
I am now a Sowetan
...just as it was “meant to be”

Ngiyabonga beautiful people **

husks of air pass
the shelled yellow left in fields
lake water like a bath that once
washed worries away.

this dry that takes my throat,
I ask it to tickle my cheek,
caress my soul,
embody the years passing me by.

Be my keeper of gone days;
I will carry you in whims yet-to-be.

Oh beloved country
Why do I cry for you
I have been told this is not my home
But how can this be
When I was born on your very soil
Country of division
The cry of the wild
Can we not sing one song
Sing in unison
Like a dry, barren and cracked piece of earth
We long for rain
Hungry for peace
And a reign without prejudice
Where all men are equal
And we **** no more
The ground has seeped up all the spilt blood
It has kept record of every innocent life lost
Until one day it will offer up the dead
And every sword shall be held accountable

I know Christians and sinners
misfits and winners
sprites and spinners who fed me my dinner
while we weathered the blizzard
of the grand wizard’s
****** trigger.

We watched in dismay
as Satan decided to stay
to beat the enslaved
and show them their grave.

Their white hoods brought fear
because they killed the queers
and those who chuck spears
we saw the Bible smeared
yet steered clear
because a black man’s teammate
was just as good to cremate
so we figured we’d leave fate
to those who only see hate.

Not our problem
was our solution
we let bigots call them
this world’s pollution
while we built an illusion
of a country of inclusion
yet punished any intrusion.

I saw
and didn’t help
just prayed to God
to avoid those welts
worrying about myself
the Bible went on the shelf.

I saw my brother murdered
yet stood still as a girder
knowing if I went any further
I’d feel the end of their burner.

I wanted to speak out
but there was nowhere to reach out
in America’s deep south
so we put up signs saying KEEP OUT.

It doesn't come as a surprise,
Of course life’s always a struggle;
But with Coronavirus too,
The struggle is only more real.

Suffering is not new,
Nor hunger, or poverty;
Yet more than ever
People now see the reality.

Coronavirus not the biggest risk,
yet its presence here is still deadly;
With an Economy crumbling to pieces,
We all wonder what will happen to this Country?

Though numbers are low,
Compared to the first World,
Collateral damage is devastating,
With the lockdown, the situation deteriorating.

We sit here, we wait,
Watch the news at nine,
For its impossible here
To be online all the time.

Some people are scared,
Some people don't care;
Or perhaps its more a case
Of being used to living in fear.

Queues are miles long,
Yet these people are lucky;
For many there is now dire hunger,
Food parcels not reaching the poor.

The Government is doing its best,
To limit the effects of this virus,
On the health of society,
But perhaps more, on the dying economy.

Inequalities are not new,
But now they are stark and real;
The rich minority at relative ease,
The rest of the Country diseased…

People die here all the time,
The health system stretched as it is;
So how do we tell these people,
They need to go hungry to live?

With untreated disease already a burden,
Coronavirus alone is not such a risk;
But what it does do
Is creates yet more poverty and sick.

People are trying to understand
What is happening in the World;
But for most the World is far…
That World is now affecting this World…

For us, neither rich or poor,
A rare case of “in the middle;,
We are able to grow vegetables,
Write music, get to the clinic.

We also watch in horror
At those suffering now even more,
For those in informal settlements,
Social distancing is just not possible.

People are going without,
Trying to live on one meal a day;
Or going to bed hungry,
Feeding their children instead, as they continue to pray.

People here live day by day,
Earning just enough to buy bread;
With this now taken away,
They’re desperate, and some are dead.

Not due to this virus,
But death still continues;
Beaten to death by the Army,
At home, with their families….

The situation here is dire,
This Country far from developed;
The poverty, the hunger, the desperate,
No water in taps in some districts.

The situation here is dire,
I cannot lie or pretend it’ll all be fine;
people are suffering all around me
And yet all I can do is …..stay at home.

I sit here writing this helpless,
Able to teach, if it was possible for those to learn;
I feel the desperation of parents,
Education in this land must go on.

But as for now
We are either “stopped in time”, or desperate;
How the schools will eventually cope
Is anyones guess.

People need food,
People need school,
people need help,
But…..people have not lost hope.

As for myself
I write, and I plan some more;
Hoping that one day soon,
I’ll be able to help a lot more….

……Nomkhumbulwa…….

replica of the statue of liberty, made of
concrete, a beacon for weary motorists
stranded on route 66, endlessly
drifting in the dusty abyss, stands in front of entrance
with her readymade torch.

she mumbles into a phone, then hands us a key.
a tiny room for breakfast goes unused
and the swimming pool is cloudy,
the concrete walls reverberating
empty chlorine
pleasantries, a watered down
hotspring dream.

above the headboard
is a long mirror, spanning
the length of the smoky room's
back wall, a silvery strip
reflecting faded yellow wallpaper
with subtle unspecified flowers.

the side exit leads to an empty lot, long
grass growing out of neglected potholes, a cyclone fence
blocking off a direct route to the sonic
drive-thru.

the sky is orange, it's always been
orange, it always will be
orange, looming over distant mountains
with narcissistic strata.

Southern Icarus
by Michael R. Burch

Windborne, lover of heights,
unspooled from the truck’s wildly lurching embrace
you climb, skittish kite ...

What do you know of the world’s despair,
gliding in vast solitariness there
so that all that remains is to
                                              fall?

Only a little longer the wind invests its sighs;
you stall
spread-eagled as the canvas snaps

and ***** its white rebellious wings,
and all
the houses watch with baffled eyes.

Originally published by Poetry Porch. Keywords/Tags: Icarus, flight, flying, hang-gliding, kite, glider, wind, canvas, South, southern, truck, unspooled



Note: The following poem unites Icarus with Tom O'Bedlam in a final, magical quest ...

Finally to Burn
(the Fall and Resurrection of Icarus)
by Michael R. Burch

I.
Athena takes me
sometimes by the hand

and we go levitating
through strange Dreamlands

where Apollo sleeps
in his dark forgetting

and Passion seems
like a wise bloodletting

and all I remember
—upon awaking—

is: to Love sometimes
is like forsaking

one’s Being—to glide
heroically beyond thought,

forsaking the here
for the There and the Not.

II.
O, finally to Burn,
gravity beyond escaping!

To plummet is Bliss
when the blisters breaking

rain down red scabs
on the earth’s mudpuddle...

Feathers and wax
and the watchers huddle...

Flocculent sheep,
O, and innocent lambs!

I will rock me to sleep
on the waves’ iambs.

III.
To Sleep, that is Bliss
in Love’s recursive Dream,

for the Night has Wings
pallid as moonbeams—

they will flit me to Life,
like a huge-eyed Phoenix

fluttering off
to quarry the Sphinx.

IV.
Riddlemethis,
riddlemethat,

Rynosseross,
throw out the Welcome Mat.

Quixotic, I seek Love
amid the tarnished

rusted-out steel
when to live is varnish.

To Dream—that’s the thing!
Aye, that Genie I’ll rub,

soak by the candle,
aflame in the tub.

V.
Riddlemethis,
riddlemethat,

Rynosseross,
throw out the Welcome Mat.

Somewhither, somewhither
aglitter and strange,

we must moult off all knowledge
or perish caged.

VI.
I am reconciled to Life
somewhere beyond thought—

I’ll Live in the There,
I’ll Dream of the Naught.

Methinks it no journey;
to tarry’s a waste,

so fatten the oxen;
make a nice baste.

I’m coming, Fool Tom,
we have Somewhere to Go,

though we injure noone,
ourselves wildaglow.

Her trust in you is as good as an empty tank headed south
She won't use the rearview mirror headed far from you
What she leaves behind remains no concern to her burnt out heart
Eyes on the first exit out of here
The highway is her only vision, burying your bones
This is her farewell

I was beginning to know who I am,
Or so I thought until now;
But now im thinking again
…..do I really know who I am?

I thought myself a good person,
Though this thought comes and goes;
But now im not so certain
Am I someone you should know?

I feel like im under performing,
Stupid, and over reacting;
As Coronavirus reached our shores
Perhaps everyone is over reacting

I look on at the rest of the world,
Most Countries affected 1st world;
For South Africa the danger is greater,
Yet others say we’re not in the world…

Do they now understand?
Or is it me being pathetic?
Im not mocking these countries
I know life must be hectic

But is it wrong to be worried?
Although our case load is small,
For with a huge *** burden
The case load surely wont stay small

Here people struggle each day,
The economy fails more and more;
Yet we need to pick up the pieces
We need to do this for all

This is not a time to be greedy,
Solidarity and compassion a must,
There wasn't any money before…..
But now finding it is a must…

Though numbers are low right now,
200 overnight to 750,
With densely populated areas of deep poverty
The spread must be contained immediately

Yes, the measures we’re taking are drastic,
But the worry and fear is real,
If this should enter our townships
Its too late…too many will fall ill

Our poor rural people are vulnerable
The mass communication campaign not accessible
What will happen to these people?
To forget about them is just cruel

I dont think its a time for mocking
Or laughing at us here in SA;
For if we don't act, the risk is far greater,
affecting millions, more than the UK

Sometimes I look forward to isolation
But not from the people here,
Rather from the ignorance online,
To help me keep things clear

No one even sees im stuck here,
Not that I wish to leave;
But just knowing people are unaware
…of the disruption here by this disease…

I have faith in the Country to act,
They have witnessed mistakes made by others,
Yet never once did we mock them
For these are people- our sisters and brothers

I care deeply for this country,
So distance myself I may;
From the cruel internet entirely,
….Thats all I have to say…

……………………..Nomkhumbulwa