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Category Archives: poetry

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?

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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

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

afterwards

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

I was browsing on my browser
and my browser browsed me
so I asked myself
if it’s really true what I see
or perhaps, instead,
maybe it’s only it who sees me?
or could it be my selfie
who thinks that I see?
but then my vision was clearly confused
and my little brain became somewhat bemused
because my selfie just stood there
still as could be
with those overposed eyes
staring right back at me

There once was a sociopath name Zuma
Who couldn’t fuck up the country any sooner
He raped Kewzi, then us, we applauded, even jumped on his bus
File that in the annals of protest humour

patterns form as experience talks

the way ahead is the sound that walks

but then, in time the trodden path 

stumbles on the aftermath

of ideas that come and eventually go

making progress extremely slow

the paths are fluid, running free

except for the likes of you and me

great ideas of yesteryear

far too suddenly disappear

quickly turning into crutches

when we insist on forming them into structures