A Queen Proteas uprooted
and left South African clay
She  floated on a wind of love
and  arrived  a full bouquet

Black, red, white and pink
were the colours of her bloom
And all these  leaves and petals
she shared, her natural perfume

Gabriel,
blow your trumpet in my ear
so I may hear
the rise of lilies
Marching down my throat

Naked ladies and daffodils
King proteas and petunias
Spinach, celery and rocket

For the venus fly-trap has lost her teeth
in semi-nation feasting --

My gut is a gaza-strip:
holier than seven maries
times eleven matzot, squared

Who would raise the dandelion and the khaki-bos,
Who would shield the cornflower and the joseph's coat
in semi-nation trepidation

My gut is a gaza-strip
My nerves: a dead sea . . .

But Gabriel,
blow your trumpet in my ear again
so I can see
the significance of shattering


14 August, 2014

You came from The Cape of Good Hope
the land of proteas, frangipani and antelope
I was there but not in the seventeenth century
rather, I waited for you to arrive from history

Your dark violet blue flowers looked my way
as though they had something special to say
they said that you will deny me three times
whe you arrive in these wonderful climes

But there I was amongst beautiful flowers
amazing in the place where Shaw said:
that, 'They have no scent and the birds have
no song,' even great men err - he was wrong

I t was a time of transition, bright light
not only dark magical blooms but pure white