I miss people, not followers

I miss people
I don’t miss posers
I miss… “and then we’s…”
cascading bumps of good memories
unguarded oopsy’s
fun, spontaneous “look! see” ‘s

I have no time for memes
or over artificialised when-we’s

AI doesn’t do it for me anymore
Sincere and honest “oh, why’s?”
are the real things to explore.

Genuine knock-knocks
Not the univited Mr Spocks
Days of good adventures
not superficial indentures
Remindful recollections
Like cups of good coffee
or pots of fresh tea
holding so much more promise
than mimed politics like algeebeetee’s

Wide fingered gestures
Investures
No, I don’t mean investiture

honesty is such a lonely world
we all seem to be running
to…
but no one knows where

the entropy of progress
the frantic advance of regress

I miss missing people
abandoned hand steeples
the plot of spontaneity planning
is the death of new life as in “I’m a spontaneity planner”
A fake surprise doppelganger
turning your best side first
only makes you look and be your worst

When did teaching become a formal, institutionalised occupation?
Whatever happened to sincere, spontaneous personal progress and natural morphic resonance?

If you can…
try get your head around the conceptual abstract idea of artificial intelligence?

say the word advert
…and then consider the word convert

(now consider the concept of artificial intelligence / “AI”
…the ability to acquire and apply knowledge and skills…
and here I’ve been thinking knowledge and skills come naturally – silly me!?)

People repeating repeatedly

saying the same things over and over

only louder and louder…
as if this makes us more wise, intelligent and knowledgeable?

You can’t repeatedly say
in order to be
you have the responsibility to be
before you can assume the right to say

Don’t follow the big names…
true relationship
is “knock, knock”
…not TikTok!

PURGE THE PERJURY

purge the perjury,
deal with the wheel
stir up the jury
strike at the heel
cripple the crippler
race to the wire
remove all the deadwood
silence the liar

scorching the earth

“amandla” punctuates almost every line
and mindless lips respond
a toneless growl
bellows from the pit
and reaches far beyond

when hearts and minds
are filled with nothing
but hatred revenge and greed
there can be no songs of peace
only deafening drums of war
…we bleed

and all who dance lunge
to this vulgar tune
as one they are self-struck
rendered mute and blind
with overfilled mouths gaping
like desecrated graves
a toyi-toyi story retold
…again

fools believing fools
who only believe in themselves
cetacean stranding on a dry shore

democracy in full flight
democracy in full fright
but at least we’re not alone
thank god we’re not alone

Kwezi, Zuma, Democracy and Us

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