A WHISKEY STONE AND A NOISY NEIGHBOUR

what-are-whiskey-stonesHe tried the sandman’s stones and thought he’d conquer the world.

Like a short shot added,

But, unlike a whiskey stone,

He never took the tone.

 

She tried the love bird’s tone

But sounded like a  gloom trombone,

And unlike the ring of Victorian crystal,

She merely was the Boatswain’s call.

 

And when he took the whistle,

She was through her troubles and blew out the candle.

He looked up and could only see her window sill,

Then he knew the song been done to the thistles

 

Yet again unlike a whiskey stone,

He was not and she was not worth the whiskey,

And sad creatures like Un’s greatest missile,

Landed on an empty isle.

 

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SEE YOU TOMORROW

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We wait for the sun to come out tomorrow before we head out into the field.

Today will end in anticipation of tomorrow,

For the sun or the rain or whichever way the world fancies.

Life is bitter,

Life is very bitter.

We are running a script with no end and

Hanging our heads in shame because of the past.

But tomorrow still comes and we might go out into the field.

Tomorrow we might plant the maize and weed the sugarcane.

Tomorrow too, we might take the cattle to the dip.

Tomorrow is the day that the Lord will make.

MY DEAR LOVE

Poetry is all there is,

When the high heels fail,

And the Law edicts make no sense,

Poetry makes all sense,

When the rabid wolves come to the offense,

Poetry feels all sense.

For all one can make of life’s chances

In all failures, victories and suspense,

Poetry makes sense.

EL CULTO QUE AME`

 

I always wondered at a man who had utter contempt of his mortality,

Until I met him that preached by the river.

He was ever in the company of his little goblins,

Kind creatures and slaves to his whim.

When I met him, he looked at me as if I was a burst of air,

Nothing more than a passing wind.

His eyes scraped at my skin,

Made me feel like unrefined Kapok straight from the rainforest.

He welcomed me into his arms,

I ran to him seeking meaning and a cause to be remembered by.

Long did I serve him, for a long time I fell in love with him;

He was everything a girl could want and everything a man could ever be.

I persisted in my obsession and took him like a drug every other time I felt sick.

I have seen on the telly many like me, mad, obsessed, in love and unaware,

I loathed them.

Soon I forgot about them,

Soon I felt no pity for them for they were the enemy.

With their foreign gods and foreign cultures and foreign filth.

The preacher assured me that they were all very necessary

He told me that I should not think of ways of getting rid of them.

Singularity is not natural, complacency is degeneration.

Focus on not being like them, focus on hating them, he urged.

I fought their spirit and out of my spirit became the spirit of hate.

Not to kill the ideal but to kill the poor souls attached to it.

To make them afraid.

To make them suffer and whimper at my sight with dread.

To make them die and wish for death more than the starved wish for food.

One day he had a meeting to attend that he said would change everything.

He left me in charge of the river and the goblins.

‘What is this meeting?’ I asked.

‘A conclave.’

‘Are they making you Pope?’

‘Sweet Child, no…not that kind of conclave, but do stay here. Things will be much different afterwards.’

I took care of the goblins and the lukewarm worshippers of the Preacher as they came in trickles.

Soon, they started coming in floods that I had to stand on a rock to address them.

‘Mend your ways,’ I pleaded with them

‘Can’t you see that you have been misled.’

Some listened and came back week after week. I parried on, spewing hate

At times I was overcome with emotion and,

Out of my little mouth came outbursts of affection for the damned souls not there with us.

At night I would roll back in my cave and wait for the Preacher.

I would pray to him for a miracle,

That he would be there in the morning when I woke up.

He was never there, ever, but I did not feel the slightest loss of faith in him.

I waited,

I grew up.

I wrote books and,

I made love to a few people.

I was getting used to be Lord and Master of my surrounding.

I was stepping into the shoes I once worshipped and kissed,

When one cloudy morning during the rainy season,

When the river banks had burst and,

The Goblins and I were sheltering in a cave together with a few of my followers,

The Preacher, fatter than before came back.

‘It has been too long.’ I cried when I ran to embrace him.

GOBLIN NAMED GOBE:

The Preacher stood there motionless as our Mother embraced him.

He looked around coldly that you could feel the warmth run out of your body.

He sighed loudly and wrapped his arms around Mother.

Mother feeling relieved, held him even tighter and we all sighed loudly.

The Preacher in return squeezed even harder,

But nothing could prepare us for the symphony of bones cracking and the escape of the soul.

LES SODS

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I know a couple of unhappy sods,

And an even bigger poor sod,

All day long they hunch in their caves,

Waiting to light the fire with dead wood,

The bigger sod pisses on the little sods,

The piss spatters to the dead wood,

And the unhappy sods just keep rubbing the wood in their caves.

Hoping to light a fire with the wet dead wood.

THE KNIGHT AND THE KITTY

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I got to dance at fall and I got a wish granted by a wiry fairy,

I flew away to a land of knights and damsels,

Those sully idiots took but a shower a month.

The rivers were rough and the dams were muddy,

Just a shower a month.

Then I thought to myself how much I would like to be one of the damsels.

I’d get kidnapped by a younger dragon every month.

The knight in shining armour will sweat so much getting into the cave for me.

Just to kill a dragon every month.

‘But wait, why kill all the dragons?’

‘Oh my dear lass, they are dangerous, doth not seeth?’

‘But what if I want to keep one for me?’

‘Then I suppose we will get you a puppy.’

That sully idiot got me the puppy,

I pouted like a hungry kitty,

I rode my horse like one of those short fools of King Henry,

Vi veri verniversum vivus vici.

COPY CAT

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You look at me and you say no, just no,

You don’t see me but still no, just no.

You cannot hear me yet no, still no,

I sing a love song but no, a still no.

 

I dressed the way Lulu does and you said no, just no,

I dressed the way your mother once did and you shouted no, just no.

I talked the way the robins do yet no, still no,

I cried the way fairies do but no, still no.

 

I mimicked the peacock, yet no,

I copied the cat but no,

You still said no, you banged the desk with your no,

You close the chapter with a firm no.

 

WHEN ANTONY CROSSED THE RUBICON

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Hurt that my heart does, the knowledge that I have  killed you,

Cry that my eyes do for the blood I know I poured.

Oh Captain my captain, see what I have done you!

 

Better that you would have been blind,

Indeed you were blind.

Did they not beg you to see?

 

I am but a high wretched lady,

With a heart of stone, with a dead lover who is ever too blind to see,

And all fingers are pointed at me.

 

 

Forgive me sweet Anthony.

And while you are away, remember this charred heart that loves you,

Do not suffer  very much, in eternity, soon I will join you.

 

 

 

THE LOON OF OXFORD

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I picked my bike and in a hurried way that is rather my own made my hurried way to Loon’s house,

I got in through the window and I got in through the door,

I knocked over her precious window vases and rather displaced her door mats.

Loon did not mind, it is Oxford you see.

 

I spoke quietly to Loon as she likes,

Then I shouted at her a little bit because she is somewhat deaf,

I bled her ears and rather made wet her face,

Loon was unfazed, she is the loon of oxford you see.

 

When time came for tea, she did not brew it,

In a rather conceited way, she threw two bags into my cup.

‘What a strange thing to do Loon!’

I was  not surprised, she is a loon you see.

 

I spoke to her of her mother and her father and her siblings,

She spoke back at me dispassionately in terms of logic and reasonings,

‘Reasoning’ she corrected, I stared ever amazed.

Loon then took a huge swig from her bottle of gin; she always has one you see.

 

When it was time to say goodbye, she rose up rather too quickly,

Extended a dry yet warm handshake and a hug a squeeze too tight,

Said she would write and think of me as often as she did rub her eyes,

She is the Loon of Oxford, she often rubs her eyes you see.

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