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did you see the other houses down Memory Lane?
the time when you wondered
how the garlic and onions smelled and tasted?
the way they said they did when the others first heard of it

did it taste like they said it would
when it was first believed they did
when those who left Kermet,
those people of the Black Land
a land so black and rich
it was a dream so easy to pitch

so tell me, did you see the other houses down Memory Lane?
the last time you wondered there when it rained
and how will it look the next time you go again?
when you go there in their dreams…

we all go there

some of us never leave


This is apparently a quote from Ken Peters, Professor of Economics in the Czech Republic.

“The danger to South Africa is not Jacob Zuma, but a citizenry capable of entrusting a man like him with the Presidency. It will be far easier to limit and undo the follies of a Zuma presidency than to restore the necessary common sense and good judgment to a depraved electorate, willing to have such a man for their president. The problem is much deeper and far more serious than Mr. Zuma, who is a mere symptom of what ails South Africa. Blaming the prince of the fools should not blind anyone to the vast confederacy of fools that made him their prince. The Republic can survive a Jacob Zuma who is, after all, merely a fool. It is less likely to survive a multitude of fools such as those who made him their President.”

the covers are worn
its leather looks frayed
the introduction is over
a new turn is paged

the next chapter begins
and the story unfolds, …again

and of the plot
who can tell?
an adventure delightful
or a horror story from hell?

it was a chance event
and as luck would have it
our luck ran out
now what are the chances of that?

little bubbles on the horizon
transient rolling foam
bustling, popping, bulging, bumping
looking for some space to roam

bigger bubbles pressing through
devouring, absorbing, expanding goo
all becomes one, one becomes all
increasing the space inside the wall

smaller bubbles lose their name
new spaces form, all the same
but on the rim, the outer lip
it’s the cutting edge that steers the ship

jagged edges expand the bubble
pesky lumps which cause the ‘trouble’
the shape of new things still to come
spiky angles only spoil the fun

the spaces shout to stake their claim
to give themselves a defining name
while the edges cut and break new ground
forging on without a sound

it’s not the empty space within
but the outer rim that grows a thing
perhaps over time as we look back
we’ll learn just where our universe is at

when hearts and minds are filled with nothing but hatred, revenge and greed
there can be no songs of peace
only the deafening drums of war will be heard
and all who dance to this tune will be struck blind
the charred soil will rise up to meet them
and their mouths will be filled with nothing
except the dust of death

reaching out to beckon to my wife
to join me for an embrace as I lay on my bed
my crippled hands wrapped around her willing body
and the searing pain sent shockwaves through my body
I lay there saying nothing
savouring the moment
forever grateful
knowing that there are so many
who would give anything just to have arms
to embrace those they loved and cherished

it’s not the cards one gets dealt
it’s the way you play your hand
everything is relative …especially immediate family
time and chance happens to all
circumstance is defined through observation
to adapt and survive is the most noble of achievements
everything else is vanity
a pursuing of shadows
frantically grasping for the wind
chasing handfuls of emptiness
living dreams without substance
never able to be truly shared
and no real story to tell
better a skillful dodge
than a boastful wish

we can speak of these things if we are willing…

if we are secure enough within ourself

to believe or not to believe what is said

without feeling any transactional debt

to each other…

in any way

whether during or after whatever may happen when we speak


in many ways not to believe

is as much an act of faith…

which requires as much,

maybe even more strength

than that which is naturally believable to us…


…to have this peace within


and with the other

and the other’s system of belief

the other’s process

especially if we don’t agree…


perhaps this is the true beginning

of a walk to real health?

there’s a poet locked up inside of me, waiting to shut up