Tag Archives: South Africa

CASCADE

CASCADE weaponize this poem harshly weaponize it softly need to defend the indefensible suck good blood truth (and hashtag) out of my thumb opposable entity, fattest of fingers and hey hey Deleuze happy hanaka Hegel me in line with arm raised high to deflect legal contention from terror, my accomplice me now in bed waiting for breakfast, as simple as a one slice two slice open-face sandwich making for an interesting dialectic, however you elect to interpret reader writer master slave blurring of these categories, until, who knows?, look to the East! Look to the South! maybe a cascade

BY THEIR FRUIT

BY THEIR FRUIT

I have such trouble
writing this poem

my words swell fat
like overripe fruit
burst on
   my page, on my fingers

covering everything with
sap wet, thick
and sticky

in colour and feel
indistinguishable from blood

and these
    are the same words
the golden children of the law
use in the court room

where
      such words do
not explode, do not
shatter the auditorium
with blood-juice
          and bomb shrapnel

proving
     (sadly, sadly)

that there will always be something about poems, about

poets
and the power
of their poetry

that remains forever
                          at a distance

tragically unreal

OLD JOHANNESBURG

OLD JOHANNESBURG

waiting by the roadside
in old
       Johannesburg

maybe
     resurrection
will
     befall me

maybe redemption
will come my way

failing which
              perhaps

a circus or carnival will
come
     round the corner

sweep
    stubborn old ideologies
off the street

as serious joke or
perhaps just giggles

a parade of Zizeks
tumbling past me as if
Red Square
           comedy

where figures from the
Commedia del Arte
are here
       to replace tanks

look
   seriously at the world and
it suddenly goes
Toy Town

confirmation bias
on open display for
everyone to see

      fat
conspiracy here:
buses passing every few minutes
not stopping for everything
the drivers
             believe

waiting for the curtains to open

waiting for the means
transport a boardgame
           on my back

set
of lewd Cluedo
              for whomsoever might
wish
to join me

help me
to survive
life on a billiard sphere

hustling to get by
wanting to be Master
always
      a slave

waiting for the lights
to darken

have
lost the book
in which
I was made
        

****

after a
while

everything
slithers

snakes and
ladders

perhaps better to
devote time
to generating boardgames
rather than
squandering my existence
writing
    poetry or composing fiction

****

bumper to bumper stacked together
owe it to them

    to not close my eyes,
keep looking

or everything before me
will disappear

and this funeral procession
miss its target

some poor
exclusive dignitary

about to skip his rendezvous
with captivating tombstone
of proportions extreme

so much here
so mechanical

yet so many
vital nuts and bolts

****

bureaucracy
is horror

      bureaucracy
              is death

I sat with
Slavoj Zizek

through yet another sunset
telling jokes

about philosophers
telling jokes and
    the end of the Universe

(not that this necessarily
implies a causal connection)

today the lawyers
of old and new Johannesburg
are
   heading North
with a holy bone to pick.

I sat by the roadside
     play after play

oodles of
         words, scenes,
dialogue
                                even

             still in my head

ghosts of tales
still
     to be told

            (media marvels yet
to unfold)

old Johannesburg

TUXEDO

TUXEDO

tuxedo
is name of
the game

you file your suit
hoping
     to agree
of definitions

promise not to fight
over whether
this or that
homonym
accidental or
         intended

all puns here
quite intended

but here they all are
creatures
      of the South
my fellow-travellers

fat portfolio in their satchels
speaking in each codicil
humanity out loud

arguing
      that a single sluk of
this evil
can
    erase angelic face
pollute the God-given concept
of eternal, outright righteous

hold mirror up to Emperor
to deconstruct
      all mind of god

yes
   a time when
courage must be superhuman
to vouch for
           civility, decency

to put us on the spectrum of
one indivisible being

and this to argue
          before history, in
tuxedo

lest the lie, the quite lie
the brutal lie, the truth
denying
        crushing line

find its path to become supreme
    

FARM STORY

FARM STORY I am all farmed out Tick tock me here on your doomsday clock on the farm you will see I need my tik I need my beautiful tribe of B to get me atomic golden shower of abracadabra (hashtag Hasbara) help me to isolate myself stand against every creature, every animal calls itself humanity doesn’t rwconize tgd beauty of a bunker buster pure cluster bomb (failing which there is always the nuke in the cupboard) but this just the beginning every true alpha needing its omega its sky raining gamma needed to sort out everything unspeakable that crawls yes my dear saviours in your sanctified flavours need to demonize every farm imsect out here every stick of farm produce every evil land mime of flower only B’s Heavenly true propaganda hits the spot righf spit can correct my poor eyes attune to the power show things as really are.

CHALLENGED

CHALLENGED

Like all criminals
I am arithmetically challenged

cannot count up to,
never mind beyond
20,000

    so many integers missing
fractions and
decimals
     buried under the rubble

so levy your articulate  accusations
against me

that I am
        chlld of darkness rapist
animal in
league

      with the Devil

go through the text, this text,
if not the eighty-odd
closely argued
pages

and we shall see
before Heaven and Earth

whose soul
    is damned here

awaits
historical damnation.

GOLD

GOLD

Ah! Mr
spokeperson all
that glitters

you shred what
was written

cover to
    cover

as aligned with
every slurred devil
every
     monster that
blasphemes

and this

       before you
even read it

not even a single
painstakingly argued
ruthlessy documented
                          worth

sent
   from ths South

our humble submission
where
   all are
               savages

know nothing
write anything.

AI poem in the style of Shakespeare: South Africa taking Israel to the ICJ

In lands afar, where shadows cast their veil,
South Africa strides, justice to unveil.
With heart resolute, they march to the fray,
Taking Israel to court, to have their say.

As rugby kings, and champions of right,
They face the champions of woeful blight.
Oh, how the irony sings in the air,
How shall Israel maneuver, now, to bear?

With twisted tongues, they’ll surely plead their case,
Beguiling words, their deeds they shall embrace.
Yet, in this court, a reckoning awaits,
Where justice’s scales shall decide their fates.

For Gaza’s plight, the world’s tears they’ve shed,
In this epic clash, hope shall rise, not dread.
From Shakespeare’s quill, new scenes shall now unfurl,
As justice fights against a twisted world.

FEAST

FEAST

Thank God that guy Pope
never put me in his Dunciad
or any other
South African poets there
for that matter
which is a bit
beyond belief

long since Roy Campbell
Wayzgoosed everybody
from Cape Town to
Durban to Maritzburg
Joburg and Pretoria

enough idiots with pens
and processors around now
to make
any such revival
a royal satirical feast.