SOLDIERS
had a box
of toy
soldiers
all red
took them
into and lost
them in
the South African
bush
all (presumed) dead
they fought across
India, America, China,
the whole
of Africa
in Europe too
but my little men
got lost
in this bush
and their flag,
it disappeared too
MAGWINYA
do i want
to eat
your magwinya?
well, sugar,
pop the lot
in my mouth
hot
from the oil
and to keep
the Celcius and
Fahrenheit
seriously up there
soaring
everywhere
let’s go to town
with seconds and chilli
crazy red pods and
green eyed demigods
seem to have come
from the heart of
Sirius
core of Betelgeuse
magwinya: South African fast food: deep fried dumplings eaten with a hot vegetable relish and polony
PLAAS ROMAN (farm poem)
crossing the farmyard
to my domicile
trod on something in the long grass
perfectly camouflaged
looking
for all the world
like a stick
which
of course it was
my penchant for attracting
disaster wrong this instance
not the ambush predator
viper with potent haemotoxic
venom we
both assumed it to be
nor
Cape Cobra (here in
South Africa we have
the prettiest cobra)
nor Boomslang, nor Rinkhals
nor that speed freak elapid of
supreme flowimg motion
olive-gray in colour
hero of
Tarantino’s Kill Bill
but with
silky pitch-black mouth
and me
child of 53, making me
in Chinese
terms
a fellow of that brethren
slow and quiet until called upon
then red-hot writhing, razor
sharp wire
sign of the
creature closest to the
Earth (as I am now) and
thus
with such gravitas
noodle with
nuclear chemistry, one
drop
never instil
thought here on the farm
might
get away from him
hide from the god of life-
energy where
there is
no much
life energy
everywhere I look
plants sacred
to you
and the way you crushed me,
destroyed me
injected me with tragic
beginning to fear
I might be sacred to you too
never to evade you
ever
escape your clutches
as my last days run out
and I can
no longer walk your wild
or love
your women, the ones
you singled out
chose for me perfectly
dreaming of our resurrection
wondering what
you
will tell me, what
you will ask me
man to god
(schemed as a
dithyramb)
about the shared pain and ecstasy torture and beauty
of this life
(forever fall
forever rise)
JOZIE
hours later
my eyes
still glued to the road
except
this is all afterburn
the road is inside my head
oh Jozie
flashiest of cities
will you
flash for me
as I flash by
naked on the hotel bed
I feel gravity, taste relativity
conjure you up
from every mixed memory
(and
much mixed metaphor —
woefully so)
the mirror is like
the bottom of the sea
so far inland but
I can hear the waves in
False Bay roaring
but is this dream
trajectory
or am I now, at last,
speeding homeward?
so many souls leaving
not staying, refusing
to stick around in case
of a grand finale
jaw-dropping twist
in the ending
like when you
first confessed your nakedness
AFTER THE RAINS
after the rains
the grass grew high everywhere
swamped the farm gate so
you can barely see it from the road
which is
frankly reassuring
helps me to feel
I am adequately camouflaged
as I coil up on the bed
communing with my snake self
at peace and in contempt
of all those
evil men of the North
desperately insecure in
their hemisphere of rage, fundamental
scheme of violence
with their drones and devices
submarine delivered nukes and
uranium depleted
ammunition
at the core
of their true being
oh good seed bad seed
such vagaries in our condition
spread thoughout the cosmos
I might believe
zero
to infinity
yes and now your hear me
how could not find me out, search
hard
for me
feeling that the rains the mounting grass
will hide me, save me
in the lack of all basic state
of the art
otherworldly surveillance
and, of course, deterrence
secret
serpent can sleep
at least
ABOUT
so South is heading North
turning
things
around
the globe
in your bedroom
best turn it
upside down
South on
the Equator
giving its all
all that it takes
dreaming
a new vision
no more
Northern mistakes
so
South
heading North
simple
replacement;
this what it about
MY FLAT COUNTRY my flat country scrub divided by highway stretching further further Oh, the luxury of a small town with a library chance to drink coffee be philosophical mediocrity entropy won’t say they’re married but rented a room by the hour for much of the night and when it comes, when all stalls at risk of repeating myself Oh, what a night incomparable night
FLOW I came because of cash flow problems, ended up on the river which must have had a sacred meaning once despite being the colour of stewed tea but we all had a nice lunch — correction, everyone had a sensational lunch but me taking a turn for the worse tottering off to the tiny aft toilet (adding to the discoloration of the waters no doubt) Oh life, against the current, can be a harshly blended mixture. And me here because of matters of terminally negative cash flow not so everwhere: here houses big as colleges whose manicured gardens sweep down in lush green to the river’s edge and here is one strikes my fancy as an African replica of the Palace at Versailles lost in wonder for a moment of breathtaking economic speculation (Marx on the Moselle) but then time to go home the boat turned around. Post-lunch the workshop am here to facilitate running softly downhill.
OF BELIEF Thought I should write love poem to (and for) the world but it probably will not end how I think it should how i wanted it to thos is the issue with creation never turns out how you hoped or thought and there is no going back to the drawing board Oh the architecture happening right now in my brain, my head, lying naked on the bed in my tiny house on this farm curtains closed lights left off (even if out of loadshedding but a moment before) imagining I could just rachet up the sensitivity and feel the flowers grow hear them breathe and talking (thinking) of nakedness, my dear, is yours not overdue? but hold that thought even worse news from the Middle East streaming in pictures of Dantesque horror words of insanity, of satirical vulnerability everything up to the max pushed to extremes (not what Aristotle was thinking what he figured on teleology would derail poor Socrates in his project of self-knowledge and moral sphere) things here so naked, exposed in all their ugliness (by every metric) bleak intensity things the world of the farm would not believe and so naked as I am speaking to you calling out to you wondering what your good self might make good or best and even better in whatever illogical gradation fullness of our together might sway the nature of belief.
poems 2 die for