Immunity unto the Place of Wind had I not.
With no further defence against her landlocked lethargy,
We galloped down seaward
To the Place of Shade, the closest one-horse town
Offering a lapping shore plus killer pizza.

Left limp at lofty waves,
The Judging Bright Baron and I remained anchored to stinging sand.
Lifting the fecundity of fear, The Rock raised shirt off shoulders,
Heading bewildered into the depths of the salty foam.
He swam, far, deep, finally forming a salty raisin.

Come back, dad! You could die! Are there shark nets?
How would we get home? You are my home – not this
Messed up world and its bad-beaked inhabitants.
There are still so many people I’d like you to meet.
Plus we’re still on for a large Quattro Stagioni after this, right?

Slowly,
They wait.
For they sense
That, an an imminence,
Her bud will burst bright.

In
My thoughts
And my dreams,
It's her I see,
But not like the others.

A
Public spectacle
She is not,
Though deemed to be.
Her blossoming is for me.

They
Can wait,
But they'll find
That their cherished lady
Will run into my arms.

I didn’t seek you out
Or know but a faint sniff of your existence.
Whilst I sat by the quiet waters of Mpushini Falls
Where mighty Shaka and his impis speared tribes into oblivion,
You sleighed your way down crispy white snow
Once stained by the blood of atoning fathers
Which rolled the red carpet over white supremacy.

You got my details from the nuns.
They thought it would be best
To make connections over the hinterland and ocean.
You were much better than the German Greek who
Was your predecessor.
You should have seen him – posing on the couch
So snugly with mom, dad and sis. Where was I going to fit?

Was it shame that moved you to write?
Trying to water choked South African wild oats
With your western notion of outreach,
Thinking that you have everything that I don’t?
No swollen bellies or elephant-back taxi rides here:
I’m just a budding soul finding my peace.
You’re disturbing this process – now buzz off.

Ticket in hand, we led to the hall,
Stopping in front to buy toffee apple
At the spot where two kids '9one big and one small)
Were locked in a sticky, bantering battle.

Up we went to our afternoon dormitory,
Now devoid of the faintest trace of light.
I heard a rumbling in the lavatory,
Something which stirred a sinister fright.

“Whooohaaar!” What the hell was that?
Feet shuffled, strange lights glowed, doors creaked,
Plus there were these fake sounds all round of the cry of a cat.
A black arm lunged out of nowhere – everyone shrieked.

Sinking sheets of smoke-sheltering strobes
Loomed ominously over the stairwell.
Plasticky spider webs choke and coat our robes.
Where are we going? Nobody can really tell.

At the base, we were met by a friendly skeleton,
Griming, glowing, grabbing.
One cannot serve God and Mammon.
Thus, pray tell – on which side are you standing?

Why have you come, sorry skeleton?
To scare us?
Know ye not of the fate we cannot escape?
It’s you who should be chickenshit of us.

Cash now spent, a plan must be made.
Got those old sugar cravings in pangs and waves.
Sweet tea and pancakes lifted afternoon hunger to a fade,
Yet, in the braid of my belly, chocolate calls from charmed caves.

“Got a five bob for me?” I asked left, right and centre.
“Sorry, bra,” was the only response.
Suppose I should suppress sensations until later.
No, must go the mall – it’s my only chance.

“S’bo, want to go with me the mall?”
“Sho, laaitie, I’ve nothing better to do.”
CNA was where you could get it all –
Magazines, chocolates – even a stolen chocolate or two.

I supposed it would be best to settle on the Tex –
Aero, wafer and milk chocolate would surely set me on par.
As she help customers find a book on T-Rex,
I stole a Tex from her shop – poor Mrs. Grobbelaar.

“Put it back, laaitie – it’s not worth it.”
**** that – you don’t know what I’m going through! “Let’s go.”
As concerns regret or remorse, I felt not a bit.
How much profit do these companies make? I’ll never know.

S’bo not partaking of the spoil,
I scoffed the forbidden fruit in one fell swoop.
All would have been a neat and well-concealed toil,
Had it not been for the spy Louis the Fly and his interrogating troop.

Whistle blown and Sister Theodelind alerted,
I faced disciplinary action.
Upon the instruction The Bull telephonically emitted,
I gave Grobbelaar an atoning two rand, ashamed at her docile reaction.
Siboniso, you were a most noble friend.
Sorry for my insolence – you were right in the end.

Waiting for the Rock to pick us up,
We took turns tossing the glowing green ball
Way up down, spin spin, hiccough
Whilst the others stood outside the hall.

A wisp of a bat whirled above,
Afloat with hunger, or busy at a late afternoon game.
The Judge took his turn to toss. Nice one, bruv.
Square in the bat’s mouth – nice aim!

Down the glistening ball plummeted,
After ******* failed to keep his jaws locked.
Our ball was now diabolically-pitted;
Indeed, on hell’s door it had now knocked.

Where are you going to, *******?
Back to hell to have tea with Helen of Troy?
After you have finished deeming damnation as divine,
Be sure to deal with these enemies of mine.

So, what do you say?
Think it over – but only for a day.

We were not friends by choice.
Our parents became lumped in little lanes,
And us as offspring became mutually familiar
Through school and church and sleepovers.

Do you remember when Mandoza menaced?
I was under attack – alone and helpless.
Amidst all of the guffawing giants,
Et tu, Iron Horse. No – after all, it cannot be.

Always one to swim against the shaky tide of confrontation,
You forced me against noble nature, filling me with burning questions.
In your defence, you justified yourself most artfully,
Leaving me unconvinced at your failure to apologise.

“*******!” Oh, that felt so good!
Not as good as it felt lifting me in the air, I’m sure.
Iron Horse, you kicked really well with your sturdy steel stirrups,
Deadly intent on the ****, but interrupted suddenly.

Is this the sanction for freedom of speech?
Think your blows are going to quell my venomous tongue?
Take the weekend to lick off your wounded ego –
I’ll spend my time sharpening my pink, wet sword.

Say, maybe on Sunday we can hang out?
Your mom’s margherita is killer – the best in town.

“Just the usual –
Milk, bread, cigarettes. Nothing more.”
I had my ordinary orders and,
Armed with my minted money
Now planted firmly in my left jean pocket,
I prepared to plough and crush over a mass grave of stones.

Secretive Shane was nowhere to be found –
Probably ventured of with the Knights of Da Gama
To the Cape of Good Hope
Searching for spicy hot ******.
Presence or absence,
I greet you only with indifference.

Must press on, not over the high, roaring seas,
But the rough, blanched rocks.
Crunch, crash, krooksh. I was
Mid-ascension, when suddenly –
Rrr!..grrr woo.. woo. Brutus breached the fence – finally.

He had been waiting for this for too long.
Juicy derriere would not be passed up this afternoon.
The pain, the shock, the horror.
Et tu, brute.
I thought you were better than the rabid dogs
In suit and tie going to church daily
Who torment me beyond measure.

Now high and dry, well away from
***** being kicked, orders being fired by
Sergeants in habits and the melancholy of misled minds,
I sit alone on the desk which floats supreme over life's listless limits.

A momentary meander allows for ripe reflection,
Its sharp spasm hampering heavy hands.
Abandoning the tangle of thoughts,
A loose leaf was plucked from the ream,
The quill now dipped in the bobbing black bottle.

Smudges and streaks stroke the initial lines,
Blotted out in choked coughs.
A quickening of the rapid's pace cleared the throat,
Allowing the quill to quell the heart's hinderance.
Stanzas threaded unabatedly over man's baseness on the blanched leaf.

The nightmare nine-metre vomiting verge approached fast.
I clinched the closing couplet
Afore etching the endangered ink on the etherised skin of my hand.
Holding on fiercely now to the desk which destroyed my drudgery,
Ready now to have my lungs filled to the brim with society’s sap.

Prior to the old soul taking its final breath,
Two bleeding and blessed eyes cast down to the bottom of the aquatic monster
Witnessed the immortality of black ink intact
Lifting up its lover leaf
Into the high heavens above,
Where man and rust cannot corrupt.

Having grown up together, I still have
So many indelible emblems of your existence.
Long afternoons in the mirror
Showcase the scar you gave me on my left cheek, its permanence retained..

Do you remember when Doris did that inside job?
You bolted to alert the Rock at the surgery,
Fearless of long-fingered goons whose only talent is to rob.
Oh, but you were too wise for trickery!

I miss going to the public pool with you.
You dipped in,
Driving everyone out,
Including all the rabid dogs on two legs – thank goodness.
Can you remember? Because I cannot forget.

I remember when I found you in the rain,
Soaked and motionless.
“What’s wrong with him?” the question reverberated.
“Flash is sick.” I never heard more than this.

Off you went to the vet,
Whilst we all waited anxiously on further word.
We lost the most loyal member of our family sestet
To leukemia as told to us by death’s bird.

We buried you.
I wept, but never visited your grave.
Bark for me, Flash – I’ll run to find you.

The beach was hot,
The sand stinging, too many bathers bobbing.
Not today –
The wild, warm waters would not taste our baked skin.
Need alternatives –
Things to trespass through temperature and time.

The Rock had an idea –
Not novel by any means, but oh! so good.
Minitown!
Yes, painted boxes modeled to scale on a city rooftop.
Bustling Durbanites, beware! –
I stomp, sending shockwaves of mayhem and destruction.

Forget family –
Go to Happy Chappy and kiss your last lamb bunny goodbye.
Reck you not my lizard loathe?
I’ll teach you, motley Xanadu crew,
To promptly part ways with your Black Labels and head for the hills!

As for the unborn,
I’ll shred Addington Hospital in one crush,
Terrifying nurses worse than The Joker ever could.
Wait! – what year is it?
Is this the eighties? I’ll hold out for another decade.

Got all my stuff –
Bag, books, packed lunch all on hand.
Weather forecast foretells a day all too rough –
A menacing match for the coarsest Sahara sand.

The day would be over soon
After Dot was done scolding and whining in her mean old frock.
I daydreamed looking at the sick white moon
When my thoughts were interrupted by a knock.

“It’s too hot,” the hideously-toothed creature declared.
“Children, pack up your books and go to the pool.”
“Yay!” all screamed but, just as I had feared,
I never packed my costume – **** fool.

Boys and girls now frolicking in the water,
I stood alone afresh on life’s sidelines.
***** these nuns and these imbeciles’ laughter!
It is not their miserable rules that my life defines.

Fully-uniformed, I
Ran,
Leaped,
Splashed … aah, the joy!

Kids laughed, nuns spanked.
In the end, it is only my courage that I thanked.

Each June for three years, we vroomed
Up the back of a mighty seaside brontosaurus.
The Judge and I knew the deal.
Avoid talk of religion and politics and go to church each Sunday.
And be nice, share and enjoy yourselves. Love you boys.

Whilst we lazed about, cooked and played Sega Mega Drive,
Charlie dashed off in his crisp white BMW
To do Troy knows what
Utterly oblivious (or secretly oblivious) of the Trojan horse that now lay within.

Upon a received revelation of the Rock, I retained reconnaissance
Of Charles’ cunning charms and the beguiling of his brood,
Leaving me unswayed by the generous gifts and family feasts,
Adding to my appetite to attack.

Made to bathe together, Charlie’s Cinder later scalded me
With a coal that turned my heart to ash,
Elevating his own ego and solidifying his own existence
By scoffing at my member as a little worm.

Time to breach the horse, slay and burn,
Taking along only the Helen of healing humanity with me.
No, better yet – I’ll leave you to your adulterous ways.
Forsaking duty, filial predators and mercenary megalomania.

Now that I know you, I wish to flee from your house forever.
Stop me so that you can destroy me. Little secret – aim for the head.

Feast
Your eyes
And your palate
On the scrumptious friendship
Being spread across the table!

Relish
And delight,
Treasuring them all,
For a seat occupied
Is one lonely day less.

What
Will happen
When one day
You sit there waiting
While they are eating elsewhere?

Gorge
In companionship,
Eat you fill
Knowing that, one day,
You'll have to dine alone.

Towering and booming you always were, Primero!
I remember your rugged jeans,
That worn straw cowboy hat covering the cackle of your laugh.
At four-thirty daily, you woke up,
Attending to sheep, cows and raging sugar cane fields
Which were pacified with morning flames.

So, you grew in prominence.
From foreman you flourished to favoured fieldsman,
Showing us academians what’s what with your withering hands.
By God! – sun-kissed corn kernels still sing your praises to the day.
Why did you have to go?
Oh, but truly, it wasn’t your time.

One morning whilst I dreamt of crackers and balloons,
I received the rudest, roughest rouse.
“Uncle Alpha’s dead,” the Rock repeated,
Running frantically down the passage of the house.

Only later I learnt that you were shot dead
By some hoodlum goons trying to deprive you of your promotion.
They loaded and cocked,
Filling the tank with juice geared for the getaway.

One shot, rupturing the spleen and the gall.
Another, ringing into eternity, taking with it all.

Black skies and desolate fields
Are all that lie around me,
Now that they’re all indoors,
Waiting,
Hoping,
Praying for some hot chocolate.

Idle, I invite in
Never known needs
To challenge and conquer.
Depart empty-handed I shall not –
Today, this wall is mine!

Sudden rainfall saps reassurance,
Deifying doubt.
No – no. I pace wildly,
Ascend aesthetically, then
Slip on pasty mud, tilt and plummet.

Hamstring and right cheek now throbbing,
The heart of liberty now takes its first beat.
Is that all you got, sordid world?
Your sanctions of pain won’t squash my will – here I stand.
Bring it on – you can’t stop me.

Parents all dressed to their best,
The select candidates led in.
In putting their fears to rest,
Little knew I of my self-imposed disdain.

In the name of their father, son and holy spirit,
As well as the untrue catholic church,
Blind indoctrination was first within me lit,
Leading me astray with a most cunning torch.

Oh, Jesus, how I want to be like you
La-dee-da-dee-da
Yes, father, I do, I do.
Ceremony over. Time for lunch-hoorah!

Sunday school’s next,
Reading the Bible with some overfed brats.
What a boring text –
I’d prefer reading the Book of Sand with some ginger cats!

And still, the blind lead the blind
With plumes of frankincense to numb the heart and mind.

All seated at the breakfast nook,
We all took turns dividing eggs, toast and ham.
Like a mashed garden of daffodils and roses our breakfast did now look –
Most unlike last night’s roast leg of lamb.

Before long, the pleasant porcine potpourri
Turned acridly sour
As disagreement broke out afresh between mommy and daddy
Afore the clock struck yet another fateful hour.

“I’m going to leave!” pounded the usual threat.
“You’re impossible – you’ve always been.” The Rock’s head tilted to the right.
The Old Bull hurled an avocado at him full-heat,
Smearing the white wall green with all her might.

The Rock retaliated with Peck’s Anchovette,
With a better aim, but no cigar.
As I reached for a serviette,
I realised that my family life is most putrid a tar.

Why didn’t you leave her sooner?
Only flying avocados will celebrate mismatched marriage hereafter.

School’s out! – We both passed the term.
A month and a half of blissful idleness awaits –
Hope I never catch ringworm.
Why haven’t I as yet tasted any dates?

“I haven’t taken you guys to Sani Pass,” the Rock realised.
“It’s where I grew up. You’ll love it.”
Now there was a holiday plan, devised
To ice over our indentured past now closed with prayer.

Shabby Underberg Inn was our first hinterland halfway house,
And, with the morn’s dawn, we scuttled way.
Next was Alpine Heath, linen crisp and white as a mouse,
Indeed a far more luxurious stay.

Mountains clothed in lily-white shawls
Abound our abode as the day’s first view.
Too many routine breakfasts, conformers and Texan drawls –
Time to see what lies beyond these confined lawns.

“This is the bridge your grandfather built,” the Rock replied.
I could feel the limp structure yearning the tender touch of his artisan hand.
Next, we ascended the snow and heath of a neighbouring field
To look at the remnants of where the family house once did stand.

“Abandon all hope ye that enter here,”
Old Ridgeway’s sign threateningly testified.
Hey, Ridgeway – the stonemason’s grandson you rule not with fear.
Tell me, what was your last thought as you died?

Worn rough from the sandpaper of your searing sight,
I resolved, “No more!”
No more gifts,
No more time spent in the cave of torture,
Hoping for the berk of your love to anchor in my heart.
No – not ever.

Still, the oil of your oestregen
Oozed in my veins,
Morphing the yonder of youth into a base, bashing beat,
Commercialising you
As ******* legs *******.
Your coyness choked Cupid’s chances.

Right, then. It went like this –
You were on the field with friends
So I spotted your unguarded satchel,
Bright blue and brown,
Still dressed in the mist of your perfume,
Beckoning me into its *****.

Accepting,
I lunged forward,
Clutching and fondling it.
Brown-noser Duduzile saw me, told me you were angry.
All I could offer was one explanation –
“I was shooing a grasshopper away.” I hate you.

What a queer boy you are!
All prissy-missy and floating about
As if the world spread out before you
(With us as the rejected roses of your red carpet)
Owed you anything in the first place.
Just who do you think you are?

Oh, but how pretty you were!
Had only your overgrown turkey *******
Been crafted from the offset to be savoured
By the sweet lips of a woman
As nature and state intend them,
Yes – why, yes, our understanding of you would have been initially inked.

Pray tell – what was the charm you had with the girls?
Despite our best, you overshadowed us in a pitiful dust.
Our roses you turned to a morphine ash,
Morphing our sweet serenades to suffocating sulphur.
Know you not how you thwarted our plans so naturally?
Without even the slightest objective of mocking?

Okay, so I get it – females favour gay guys for company.
Good news for you – ***** for us.
Still, I think no less of you.
You inspire me,
Immaculately-skinned one.

I think you and Freddie will have a whale of a time.
You will meet him soon enough.

I nearly kissed a boy – you know that?
His name was Simphiwe – he was black.
That would have killed the Old Bull.

Where
Do I
Begin to look
For the very words
To describe your infinite magic?

Inside
Man’s *****
Or books’ jackets
Is where your glow
Perhaps lies warm, awaiting me.

No –
I suspect
Your sultry secret
Is woven like silk
In my mind’s romantic recesses.

Wherever
You are,
Just know that
I live for you,
Black verse on white paper.

You
Want to
Stay silent forever.
Fine - don't talk. Just
Know I'll always love you.

for
we only
meet on Thursdays.
Lamb chops, veal cutlets
and back to separate worlds.

Had
I not
The slightest courage
Just to tell him
What he could plainly see?

Why
Had I
Bled so long
In a fruitful marriage
When I truly wanted meat?

One
Fell swoop
Of the blade
Lets my heart know
That some things cannot be.

Just past the Rastafarian berry tree
Where bully beef boys tattooed their love’s names
On the tree’s outstretched arms,
A forgotten remnant lay
In relic and rot, its air choked with damp mildew and dust.

Not wishing to join Garvey’s gang
Or bow before Selassie’s seat,
I left Jah’s clenched jig hanging,
Allowed the inkers to indent incessantly,
Going solo into the house of rubble.

What a treasure!
From smudged, stale mascara,
The aged beauty’s heavy, dim eyes
Cast dim shadows on her rough, ***** neck
On which I now trod barefoot.

Her necklace of knackered newspapers
Hollered hoarsely through the overlying cardboard boxes,
Lowly lisping, ”Sovereign shed my lady once was
And shall forever more remain. Look not at her wilted skin –
Consider only this immortal necklace and live forever therein.”

Grinding along its age-old axis which knows of approaching death,
The world pivots on a baby’s breath.
The Rock beholds his baby as a plinth,
Its lungs lamenting the loss of a leisurely labyrinth.
Highwaymen hit the open road in rattling carriages,
Bibbed and drooling with mouths welcoming meat wedges.

In the mind’s meandering pathway
And the incubator cot’s cold corridors,
I sought to take away
Routine’s rasp and all of its bores.
No toy to be found. The whirling wheels left vapors
On highway tracks, chafing the skin of tarmac like sandpaper.

Only as the Old Bull lifted me from my minute home
And took me for a restful roam
Did I see the tempting toy in Guy’s den.
Now ground to a refueling halt, I skated to the highwaymen.

Wisped back from the ocean overlooking
Highway scenery separating bliss from bruises,
The Rock and I headed hillside,
Back to the fold of familiarity and frowning faces.

“When I was your age, we used to shoot pigeons,” he recalled.
“Something for fun – nothing more.”
Foul feelings furrowed far, leapt from the heart into the mind’s field.
I retorted, “Killing for fun? So, you might as well **** men for fun –
They’re as numerous as pigeons!”

Shocked, he shot a searing sideward glance,
Rock to rude boy.
He took hold of his seed with a summoning to silence.

Touring the tides of truth,
I was tossed in the current of straight-talk, pounding against the cliff face.
Fearing not Libra’s blindness in her determination
That the injustice of my tongue has tipped moral scales.

Stretched out on the wedged wall
Of derailment and debris,
We saw the dull bell
Extend its pendant arms,
Lifting a beckoning finger to finish food and lengthen lines.

Parting ways with unfinished and sandwiched beans,
I rose, packed, walked.
In a spattering flutter
Like a mercenary helicopter,
Larry greeted me, flashing his wings’ grotesque geography.

“Long time,” his crisp, short introduction
Gnawed. Knowest thee I? – Methinks not.
“Au contraire, frère,” dismissed ***** Larry.
“The siren of your soul seeks my submission still
Unto your need to conquer me – the burning oil of your will.”

The Chronos crawl of the gargoyle giant unearthed me
In trespassing onto my once fertile fields of courage,
Making the **** of my ripened harvest with chomping company.
Mouth full of green beans, he warned, “Conquer me –
Or we’ll devour the frozen fields of your future.”

The
Time's now.
Contemplation has waned,
Spurring me to action.
Worms wail for my worst.

Others
Are easier;
I move on,
Albeit with hearts heavy.
Sing sorry songs for us.

Yet,
Within myself
Lies the problem.
Desiring the dormant destroyer,
Chants to conquer are quelled.

This
Last stretch
of eternal purification
I must walk alone.
Old man, rest in peace.

The wicked candle of cindered vacations
Invites in the aroma of specials shopping
For school stationery, short-sleeve shirts
And books with which to bury boyhood.

Once scattered now reassembled,
All were dressed like occupants of a warm, neat nest,
Not a plume lent to a rebellious rise.
Barbered and beautiful in balm,
All gleamed gorgeously, save for your humble, sprouting speaker.

Naturally averse to clipping claws
And vehemently opposed to malting manes,
I slipped through the scorching Serengeti to school,
Rugged and sharp in every stride,
Intent only on ******* on the porch of prissy pigeons.

Horrified, they weighed up my Transylvanian talons,
Convinced such manifestations hail from heretic or heathen heritage.
Looking at my lumped locks with gentrified gall,
They whispered low squawks, suspecting lice.

Two metallic hand-held instruments housed in pouches and boxes
Brought my feline rebellion to its guillotined end.

The wicked candle of cindered vacations
Invites in the aroma of specials shopping
For school stationary, short-sleeve shirts
And books with which to bury boyhood.

Once scattered now reassembled,
All were dressed like occupants of a warm, neat nest,
Not a plume lent to a rebellious rise.
Barbered and beautiful in balm,
All gleamed gorgeously, save for your humble, sprouting speaker.

Naturally averse to clipping claws
And vehemently opposed to malting manes,
I slipped through the scorching Serengeti to school,
Rugged and sharp in every stride,
Intent only on ******* on the porch of prissy pigeons.

Horrified, they weighed up my Transylvanian talons,
Convinced such manifestations hail from heretic or heathen heritage.
Looking at my lumped locks with gentrified gall,
They whispered low squawks, suspecting lice.

Two metallic hand-held instruments housed in pouches and boxes
Brought my feline rebellion to its guillotined end.

Sifting through the mangled mundaneness
Of routine and pitiful patterns,
I sought to retain only a divine diversion
To mark the end of a day
Marred by the devoid bleakness of black and white.

In a silent, sun-lit room,
Canvasses monitored the seismic activity
Of boiling multi-colour hot springs of paint
Neatly circled across a white rectangular mountain plain,
Inviting the weary of foot and heart to bathe in its magic mud.

Blue button shirts now rapidly rent
And grey shorts peeled with impatience,
Leaping, I laughed,
Splashing into the mirth of self-expression’s liberty,
Cindering all thoughts of menials awaiting me at the mountain’s foot.

No towel in sight –
Only a pan of brackish water and a protruded paintbrush.
Clenched with a dripping crimson hand, the brush met the canvas
Like a tangoist, the paint nearly scalding the board.
Hopping from pool to pool, tango practice concluded with the abstract.

Breakfast now polished, we all climbed in
The warm silver Mercedes automatic,
Headed for Durban’s deep indigo tides for the day
To forget the ache of isolated hills for a brief spell.

The mighty, gargling Tugela passed quickly with its bellowing bovine
As we trekked on through toll booths,
Shell Select shops
And then past Shaka’s Kraal, Ballito and finally into beloved Durbs.

Now parked on philandering Point Road,
We entered The Wheel, South Beach’s green Ferris jewel.
MacRib was struck off the list first with a bony feast,
Then Wimpy knocked off next with a bubbly milkshake.

Two o’clock and we were on Pickering Street,
Where I saw a seated elderly mystic
Searching for truth and enlightenment in a black forest
As told by paint on 7-ply Canadian maple.

On the way home, I saw a man shorn of abode and company.
wheredoeshelivedadwhydoesheaskformoneywhydoeshehavenofri­endsdad
OH – I SEE (why doesn’t this happen at home?)
“Never look down on him – only learn from him,” the Rock advised.

Kind soul nested in rags, teach me your ways.
Loosen my heart from civilsation’s self-fulfilling coil.
I’ll keep the *** warm for tea and marmalade toast
When we meet and dine at the passing of this sordid world.

Alone on my bed I Iay,
Warm in red and grey pyjamas as the Rock rasped away.
The red sheets gently licked and lapped my cheeks –
Yes, I’m sure I can stay like this for weeks.

Like a numbed mind sharply stung by *****,
Quickly I entered sleep’s secret symposium.
Most of it was a soft, misty haze.
I sought peace and bliss in its chaotic maze.

But, of all, one dream definitely stood out,
Making me jump, scream and shout.
A boy opened a jar of bees that swarmed at me,
Drowning out the preceding dream’s swollen glee.

The bees chased me through the hallway –
I remember forgetting to pray.
I dived into my parents’ bed –
The Rock continued to rasp whilst the Old Bull wiped my forehead.

You cowards! Why do you torment in teams?
Who gave you passage into the sweet sanctuary of my dreams?

Along came twelve.
Most girls by then were well on their way to being women.
Greg and I took a different route,
Sharpening the first sparks and flints of manhood into something beastly
Only to be shared secretly between us.

He would come to the house every now and then,
Cheery Goodie dropping him off in her blue and VW Golf
And wishing us a good afternoon, carefully reminding in parting:
“Be good. Play nicely.”
I tried to – Greg had other plans.

With lunch done and SABC 2 re-runs boring us to another life,
We went to my room.
“We’re going to play a game,” the cutting voice told me.
“We’ll take turns – I’ll punch you, you then me,
But no happy family – winner takes glory.” I lost.

Adding proverbial insult to injury,
Lennon’s kin summoned me to the bathroom,
Myself being the esteemed guest to a ***** hair bonfire
Followed by a hard-on measurement contest.
Hugh Hefner outinched me on my own turf.

Who knows what you’re up to now, *******?
Last I heard, you went off to Rhodes
And got yourself an Honours degree in Finance and Economics.
Your marks and career prospects probably outshone mine –
Triple victory. But you didn’t have to be a **** about it.

He
I envisage
Is but memory,
A ship silently fleeting
At the waves of woe.

He
Was everything
Before hull's breach,
Calling me to lands
Where my best would blossom.

She
Doesn't cure;
She's no nightingale.
She blows at night,
Bringing winds which worry wills.

I
Keep on
Looking to memory,
Ready to set sail
To great distances from disdain.

There
Are days
When no soul
Pours me love’s liquor.
So, love myself I must.

You're
So mechanical,
Grinding and menacing.
Why did you change?
Remember you not our bliss?

I'm
The same;
I resist alteration.
It's true - seasons change,
Yet that's about it here.

Your
Leery labyrinth
Of menacing streets
I searched inside out,
All to find you've gone.

Why
Don't you
Just come back
To our sweet nature
Where our love was pure?

Alone
And unread,
The loose leafs
Of my very soul
Lie unbeknownst by the world.

My
Untimely awakening
Left them forlorn
In a lowly-lit attic,
Entombed and awaiting my return.

Across
The fiery fields
Of purifying perdition
I shall riotously rush
For the salvation of literature.

Sweet
Mother Nature,
Stave the flames
From my abandoned abode.
Its contents are my life.

A swarm of blue and white
Shot-putters hurdlers sprinters javelins long and high jumpers
Congregate before esteemed guests whom the PTA did invite
To secretly scoff at losers and worship winners.

Not quick or strong,
All I could do was jump high.
Alwyn came in stone last in the cross country after long.
Poor chap – their sneering and booing made him cry.

Soon after, it was my turn,.
Third jump – down went the pole.
Alas! – one corner poked me in the back. The pain, the burn!
Need something sweet for the shock, like a Swiss roll.

Into the common room I went,
Where smoky, limp athletes unwound with a movie.
There I encountered three foes infernally-sent.
Alwyn was among them – out to get me.

“Why are you crying?” one goon prodded.
“I got hurt by a pole,” was all I could muster.
At this, Alwyn’s raucous laughter erupted and exploded.
One day I’ll get you, buster.

Didn’t you cry moments ago when they sneered at you?
So, your solution is to do as the Romans do?

As the light creeps through the soft, stained glass,
Marking the coming end of cindered days,
We roamed like Roman pilgrims,
Able to preach salvation only to a wooden audience
Of Turbo Peter Rabbit and company.

A leisurely loiter later led us to
The girls’ hostel,
Fully-kitted with a Telkom payphone.
Pick up, push buttons, pout lips.
Waves of rings stopped with an answer.
“Yes, operator. Reverse charge, please. To myself.”

“Hello?” pulsed the less than gingerly
Grown up greeting his shed self.
“Hello, you – me. You see, we are one,
Grafted together to the vile vine
Of man’s megalomaniac enslaving of mind and meaning.
You’re an adult now – be free, unlike me.
Remain ruled and you will pay a far greater price than this call.”
Drop down, dig deep, don’t discuss.

Let
Not the
Passing tides of
Infatuation tainted with lust
Choke our eternal love’s breath.

June was upon us once again,
Signaling the approaching low roar
Of vrooming vans coming to set up apparatuses
Designed solely to lift the cracks of
Dismembered and swollen youth,
Replacing the wear and tear with three days of lekker bliss.

I never missed a day.
On Friday, I saw the remnants of the monster’s mangled victim –
A patron of the Terminator was hurled high into the grapefruit sky,
The pink and orange hurl telling a tale
Of after-lunch airborne woe and chemistry.
Hell, man! – what did you eat? Gross.

Next day I was shipped out to Vietnam,
Where I saw brother consumer brother
In a wave of splashing paintballs
Whilst I pondered what to engrave on the tombstones.
Poor, artless souls –
Why not settle scores on the dartboard and win a teddy bear?

Fair’s final day dawned.
I rode, roamed and remembered
Above all else what matters most –
Rides come and go,
But carnival candy floss from foreign fields
Comes but once a year.
I smacked the beautifully basted schwarma first before picking season.

Oh, the joy!
Pink and white swabs turned into sweet acid
On my wet tongue which begged for more and more
Sugared garments
As I suddenly realised I needed new uniforms for next term.
Take me with you, cotton candy – I can’t stay here.

I
Fight hard -
And I fail.
He crawls beneath me,
Yet he doesn't look detestable.

He
Is mine.
Others claim him,
Only for a season.
Yet, he always returns to reason.

That
Means nothing
Until I decide
To return to him
What has always been his.

Only
When I
See him again
Will I truly know
Why I have been created.

The agile man stooped low in its bow,
But made no apology for his lack of yellow suspenders.
Our motley crew congregated somewhere in his left armpit,
Crickets announcing the day’s blaze.

Diners decorated with bibs,
We now awaited word as to the specials.
An aproned crustacean chaperoned us
To our linen-smothered tables.
Pincers stretched forward to place the menus,
Count Devon tramped Mr. Crabby into a mushy patty,
Much to the jest of roaring King Henry.

Glancing over the rest,
Mr. Crabby’s twitching eyes found mine,
Conveying only this: Get out,
While you still can. Man fears my pincers,
Yet they are harmless compared to him, the venomous mincer.

Surely
You don't
Have to go?
Stay for a while.
I'll tell you the truth.

The grass baked liked wheat in the smoldering afternoon.
Tea and eats would be served soon.
In the meantime, to get but a mild breeze,
It is the Sun God we must appease.

A small sacrifice is in order.
Some measly living (or barely living) thing would please her.
Ah! – a cricket.
Catch him – he’s our breeze ticket.

Out came the magnifying glass –
Beyond death’s depriving door quickly shall he pass.
Eagerly, we explored his roasted guts
And even contemplated enjoying him with some nuts.

No. This crisped corpse we shall not eat,
For he is most precious to the Maker of Heat.
Your Highness, accept our humble offering –
Right now, it’s all we can bring.

Guys, just take a feel of that breeze!
Sorry, cricket – your life had to cease.

There
Are times
When I say,
"Why was it you?"
What could I have done?

Where
You've gone
Is not known,
But you're with us,
From now until the end.

You
Were beauty
And love's gift,
Torn like a veil.
We'll have one more day.

It's
Just impossible
To forget you.
Shine on, dark rose.
Why you and not me?

                                                           For Dylan

Grey blue and black swishes dash
To and fro up and down
In luminous swirling stairwells
Leading to the shared bunkers where short dreams
Teleport young minds to Gotham City or Mordor.

Clap clap – wake up wake up wake up!
Self-same stairwell raided anew,
Fresh faces now need fast fuel.
Rosary bearers offer only two anecdotes:
A blue cup of Ceylon and hot syrupy pancakes.

Stop stop – line up line up line up!
Uniforms adjusted first,
Cup and plate received next,
Off we went to the low face brick wall,
Overlooking the garden with fat cabbages and bright carrots.

The magically sweet and warm feast
Lightened hearts and rouged cheeks,
Enticing talk of marbles, dolls and brave rabbits.
What did you do with your lives, friends?
When will we dine by the garden patch again?

“Wayne’s turning 21!” we were all told with jubilation.
Three invitations flew over clear wires – not the envisaged four.
Off we went to see Johannesburg in all her splendid animation,
To see rowdy Bosmont and Hillbrow where one could easily score.

Welcome, welcome. Hug, kiss.
Decorative drinks,
Fiery foods,
Howsthingsgoingshesgoodwerewellthanksohpleasesayhellotosoa­ndso

Young couples and old lonely perverts boogied
To cheesy, overplayed Montel Jordan
As a token of celebration of the coming of age
Of a distant stranger in their shoulder-brushing midst.

Unmoved and unphased by the utterings of
Worn walls which let off more than they should,
I steeped out for air –
All too surprised what I found there.

Head patriarchs and young bucks were locked in a humming imbizo,
Ironing out the kinks and strategizing links.
Circled were the Rat, the Rock and the Rock’s Mirror:
His unknown carbon copy warranted no introduction.

Cheerio, charming castaway.
Sorry our moms couldn’t bury their green feud.
Of all the dirt and grime Jozi spreads,
The memory of our encounter is a most indelible mould.
Meet you on the flipside, lost brother.
You live your life and don’t look back – you deserve better.