My poetry page


Regrettably profundity is not really what I do.

It’s too deep and accurate;

Too honourable and wise.

Though sometimes, coincidentally, a time or two

I create a phrase or thought

Which may click or resonate.

But that is not my aim:

I prefer irreverence and whimsy,

Quirks and stabs at the overfilled balloons of conventions

which have outlived their function.

The Jam of History

Way back it was just God and Adam, who was lonely.

God was not, but had compassion.

Eve arrived to brighten the night.

All was good … for a while.

A snake whispered: whisper to me

the woman said why?

He couldn’t deny

and it all went awry.

Exile and exodus, murder and flood.

Never look back, just follow the man,

He’ll take you back to where it all began.

Or fail you, like He did in Japan.

The pot keeps boiling, sticky like tar.

We can’t recall what went in the jar.

We can’t look back, it stretches too far.

Second generation souties

Can I have a flat white and a…

it begins with a ‘c ‘and has frothy milk?

The blank spot indicates my state of memory.

But I remember the best: friends and family.

There were smiles and tears again and again

And heartsore we couldn’t see more of you for longer.

The Wests and Bridie in her summer flower garden.

Jeff and Gail came all the way to see us.

Tinker in remote smoky Sabie, giraffe duel

Buster’s giraffes dueling in Hoedspruit.

300 buffalo trotting down for a drink,


Turkey buzzards and a mangy lion cub,

Ellies aplenty.hurricane lamp

A happy Duiker and a Bright Little Light.

Dee in Mbombela, as unfazed as ever: spode

Giving us all the china for tea.

Tim’s Bushlands generous and green with so many old friends.

Biltong and oxtail, gin and tonic;

Enhanced by the super Manten and Bride caravanserai.


Family icons snagging the heart.

Rita and Bunny in misty Mbabane

And the ruins of homes past.

Lunch with Ash song in the bush

… and a tick or two!

102 in a 60 zone instant fine: speeding

$6 please – thank you!

Bren and Rick in Durbs and all their hatchlings.

Dinner with three Purcell Dunnett generations.

A bustling Cape and Somerset West

Vergelegen with Suzie, Hendrik and Claudia.

Spider strike on Rosie:

Walkers to the rescue: Belinda gently bustling, allesverlorenport.png

Bruce nursing me with Allesverloren.

Table mt

Table Mountain on a clear day

Hermanus, Betty’s Bay,

Noordhoek with the Moults

Cape Point and Simonstown for lunch.


Off to McGregor with Watkyns cousins;

A new SA cemetery in an old Cape village.

Back to Jozi and Bride again

cathedral pk

In the old home house with gentle ghosts.

Off to the Berg with Jen and Rich.

Cathedral Peak and five meals a day.

Exercise should balance intake…

Beautiful skylines, eland and sophisticated baboons.

Then Perth and Biddy for her 30th.

Lovely city and good friends too.

Irv and Louise and Janet.

After 17 beds, 5 flights, 3 countries, 2 cars.

Home at last? I think so.mind vs heart

One can’t go back after 20 years;

So we stand with a foot in each land

And our hearts in the middle.

Poetry in Music: A Billy Joel poem

And so it goes…

In every heart there is a room

A sanctuary safe and strong

To heal the wounds from lovers past

Until a new one comes along.

I spoke to you in cautious tones

You answered me with no pretense

And still I feel I said too much

My silence is my self defense.

And every time I’ve held a rose

It seems I only felt the thorns

And so it goes, and so it goes

And so will you soon I suppose.

But if my silence made you leave

Then that would be my worst mistake

So I will share this room with you

And you can have this heart to break.

And this is why my eyes are closed

It’s just as well for all I’ve seen

And so it goes, and so it goes

And you’re the only one who knows.

So I would choose to be with you

That’s if the choice were mine to make

But you can make decisions too

And you can have this heart to break.

And so it goes, and so it goes

And you’re the only one who knows.

Springscent memories


The anise scent of yellowMimosa distracted me.

It was brought by the springwind which whispered memories

of the shimmering sishing Msasa leaves in Africa.

So soft and beautiful,  hiding the horrors of the Gukurahundi:

“the rain which washes away the chaff before the spring rains”

but not the blood on the hands of the tyrant.




so wet it is so

wash me again softly clean

to embrace the day




Fool that I am

How can I face you again

Without flailing foolishly or feebly fleeing

From frivolous offers of fancy-free flings?

Fool that I am

I have no fame or fortune to offer

So my favours and foibles will feebly fade

Into faltering fatuous phrases

Fool that I am

I have fallen for you

Fortitude faltering, I flee,

Frivolity is false – I want more.




Again we meet

Laughing comfortably

We enjoy the

Absence of any

Years apart

Smiling sillily

That’s what friendship is

Having no sense of

Ever being different together.

Ready to laugh and argue;

Easy to talk and feel as usual.




Like a boomerang, we go forwards to go back

to our hearts home where our mum’s womb rests.

From light to dark and smooth to shoddy.

People simple but direct, not so friendly.

But it’s the home of our heart and soul,

darker Africa, so far and so near.

The warm people now despondent

about unrealised comforts, leeched away by lazy overlords,

Maybe blamed on us, who give, build and take.

Where I die, twirl a thorn twig,

catch my ghost and take it home,

like a boomerang, back from where we came,

to the bosom of the family we left.

Then maybe I will rest.




It’s just too late

That line is  too straight,

it needs a deeper blue

with an iridescent hue…

D’ya think I’m God mate




Everyone everywhere should be screened

Let the camera capture

your face, your life, your ups and


And hers and his and theirs

All must be screened – t’will

make us feel safer and happier, until

we think about

Who screens

the Screeners.


Look at the screen

be obscene and herd:

you’re on tv!

This is our new morality

I was on tv

did you see me?



bottom shelf books.jpg   middle-shelf-books

English speaking Nostalgic from Africa with a tint of Irish and a hint of Danish

The Elite: The Story of the Rhodesian Special Air Service

What colour is my Parachute

The Jungle Book

The History of English Speaking People

Hornblower and the West Indies

Something of Value

Rob Roy

Robinson Crusoe

Memoirs of a Fox Hunting Man

Selous Scouts

Celtic Mythology

Rhodesia and Nyasaland

Out of Africa

Jock of the Bushveld

Natal and the Zulu Country

Lost Trails of the Transvaal



A puppy happy to see you home

A “Da-da” from the little Miss

Gluhwein on a frosty day.

Belly warming bliss

Gravy from a lamb roast

Coffee with beans on toast

A gap-toothed smile from the boy

Belly warming bliss