Tag Archives: childhood

PERIGEE

PERIGEE

I saw him
last day of primary school
for him
riding his bicycle,
exultant
   down that
street
in Parow

next year
high school
a big brainy
boy now

Mars
at its perigree
his head
full of
Ray Bradbury

nothing in the night sky
redder or
more relevant
than our brother
world with
its dust and its
oxides and canals
and
perennial
alien menace
(though
in Mr Bradbury’s
book it
is we
who colonize you
to our shame and
shock and
terror
(the tribes of the plains
know that
story through and
                     through)

cycling full
of joy
     leaving past
behind
for future

wonder
what come the end
of his days

what of this
he foreseen
what
the one
    foreseen
might possibly remember

this is a poem
about Parow

a God-forsaken place
jam-packed with churches

some of which, it must
be said, has
been said,

have needle sharp spires
pointing perpendicular
up at
the stars
       and the planets

Mars
    singled out high above
red
   as ever

something knowing
about that look
             if this
world of
dreams, and fears,
and desires
    and secrets

could ever look
         ever feel at all

IN THE BEGINNING

IN THE BEGINNING

IN THE BEGINNING

I was very small. I felt very small too: lying in my bed curiously warm, not frozen with fear.

The thing was massive and its violence was unimaginable. I heard the screams and the seconding sounds of slaughter through my bedroom walls, solid brick though they were.

Then there was silence. The dark shadow shape towering over me filling the room came through the door, then slipped into bed next to me as it did so diminishing in size and then disappearing entirely.

I knew it was there. I knew that it would remain with me forever. Sleep came quickly. As I slipped away I knew that this creature, this beast, this entity and I had an affinity. Whatever it was, whatever its nature it would be spending a lifetime with me.

Turning all the dark vision is churning my head into words, this would be its legacy and terrible gift.