Skip navigation

Monthly Archives: May 2015

the dream was a good one

or so we had thought

but once we’d put the money down

it wasn’t what we’d bought


a promise is a promise

a wish we hope is true

but once we make our little cross

there’s nothing we can do


when the walrus does his little dance

from far it looks like fun

but when the lyrics reach the ear

one only hears umshini wam


what it means is just a guess

and what is said is seldom done

but from what we now begin to see

only a few are having fun


a little boy in old mans clothes

a childhood filled with stress

was it this or something else

that got us in this mess?


the heart of man is what it is

we carry it together

but when the heart is fully unleashed

there’s nothing one can tether 


the best made plans of man 

in the tome it is said

cannot be bridled nor controlled

when the heart is dead


a democracy of twisted hearts

at breaking point entwined

knotted firmly in hopeless hope

in demand of a better time


the mouths that once promised peace

a rope of hope, in hope itself

now dangling from the hangman’s pole 

with great dreams left on the shelf


but still the masses sing the song

and dance until they sweat

but when the dust finally settles down

they’re no more rid of their debt


“the time has come!” 

says the walrus song

but before they’d even finished singing

the time had already gone



too much CAPS LOCK

full stopping,



VOLUME! … far too much loud!!!

…too few pauses, …commas



far too few questions

there is that, …this thing
seeking exclusively to entertain
vulgar upheavals
gagging speaker
and listener
fit only for superficial profit
that of no end
of any worth

there is this, …that thing
which cuts us where we’re human
a knife that heals
the surgeon’s tools
leaving scars
and beauty manifests
…only later
well after ripened fruits have fallen
long after decay

gemination in waves
reaching into the divine
scars of life
a faint memory
seldom understood
if ever

…if we think, “…okay, what do they want to hear?” …and try to play to them… this is insulting for them (+/- 2:33)

if the food is good

then so is the mood

in the presence of pigs

nothing is understood

it matters not

lest it matters at all

the height of the drop

or the speed of the fall

it comes from within

then it goes back without

the silence of scream

or the deafness of shout

many a tear did flow

between the promise and the blow

a lie so sweet, so secure

who would have thought it was a lure?

so in the chorus line we stood

it sounded sweet, it felt so good

the bass grooved on and did its thing

man, that band could really swing

that was then, and this is now

the golden calf became a plow

and now it’s not even the Blues we sing

but a mournful dirge, with a sombre sting

for they spun a lyric filled with hope

from a stage with a scaffold and a stretch of rope

who would have known they dug us a hole

and we would be swinging from that pole

but hope is not lost and we goose step on

in endless pursuit of that evasive song

after all this is the day, humanity’s finest

with our eyes shut tight no one can blind us

the preface is defaced
it was once
but now is no more
the epilogue is a monologue
an exiting bore

we came, we saw
we were conquered
by ourselves

and as for us
we needed no help
we were equal to the task
now we have no more feet
merely holes
and a smoking gun
breathing its last gasp
hanging limply by our side

and in our hand…
our once clenched fist…


all spent
no return
non refundable
suicide by number

the religion of maths
a calculated God of our own device

the man looked backwards
while going forwards
he fell
the flight was enlightening
the landing was hell