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: 
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, 
Buster’s giraffes dueling in Hoedspruit.
300 buffalo trotting down for a drink,
Turkey buzzards and a mangy lion cub,
Ellies aplenty.
A happy Duiker and a Bright Little Light.
Dee in Mbombela, as unfazed as ever: 
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: 
$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, 
Bruce nursing me with Allesverloren.
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
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.
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
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, they hide 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.
water
so wet it is so
wash me again softly clean
to embrace the day
Face
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.
#introtopoetry
Friend
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.
Journey
Like a boomerang, we go forwards to go back
to our hearts home where our mum’s wombs rest.
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, leached 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.
Imperfect
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
Screen
Everyone everywhere should be screened
Let the camera capture
your face, your life, your ups and
downs.
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?
FlavoUr
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
#introtopoetry
Pleasure
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
