in the hour glass

gulp your jug of hot water
as you sit beyond the pale
sip your thirst asunder
lip a mug of ale
there’s much to ponder
as we savour, waterways for sale

poisoned wells run empty
drip dries a poet’s fountain
oil gushes down the drain
flushes a fool’s mountain
there is wine aplenty
but little to save the pain

despair blindly walks the desert  glare
praying desperately to find rain
delirium flops in the footprints of a rainman
that once roamed the earth freely
the rain-woman’s tracks tell the story
of the decimated man

placed faith in a system of vote
to find truth cryptically revealed
in a suicide note, of a landscape
maimed and enslaved by a thirst
make rain while the sun shines
and while it’s overcast, harvest water

make new proverbs and metaphors
where language runs dry
and meanings start to cave
sip your ale and water
with a mind that’s fully aware
of a thirst deeper than the grave

as a jug drips half full
the mug drips half empty
in a zero sum game of human waste
the abyss an ideological long drop
the eye of a bottomless pit of bones
staring down the human race

a vessel lies hollow with no tomorrow
bone dry and empty, save
for a message on a scroll
marked return to sender
with love
anonymous
!gda

boys die to be men

boys die to be men
tombstones and ashes line pavements
from cradle to grave, a pattern of
lives short-lived and ruined
along the way of men
a fly on a wall
to appease the master-minds
at war, with the minds of boys
in body-bags
dying to be men at war, to wage

with a conscience
conscious of the life of war’s income
the light of love’s embrace
when patriarchy holds flag
and warlords run amok
at justice in daylight, a mob
rewards fear, buys silence
with the blade
pillages the fruits of freedom
deferred, by night
scorching the fields of peace with aid

the earth mourns, the skies tear
for boys dying to be men
at the hands of boys
man-made, armed and dangerous
fighting because they are men
man-made, willing to kill
to keep the peace
dying, killing, to be men
of territory
!gda

storielyn

asyn,
witwyn,
samesyn,
storielyn,

vee die blad
met asyn,
meng die verf
met witwyn,
my land, jou werf
vir samesyn,
en so verdwyn
my storielyn,

verf die landskap rooi
horison met kwas en klei
waar bome bloei en mense gly
en al wat bly van veld is vlei

windverwaaid en ongenooid
kom vind ek self die plek van nood
waar mens lewe vir water en brood
en daar ‘n prys hang op ‘n ander se dood
!gda

treur van die korhaan

uit die oggend mis van ‘n gryse verlede
kom daar ‘n geween van mense van mense
‘n getap van hotnotsnot en trane,
voer aan ‘n ontspannings-vraatsug,
ont-land en ont-tong as onding gedwing
en verdoof met verwronge geloof,
verkondig deur besigheidspriesters
met ‘n smaak vir land en liefde
vir die evangelie van rasisme,
verlam met beste wense, leë kliere
en droeë krane, verwoes met buskruit,
die gekringloop het tot stilstand gekom,
die wereld is omhein en onheilig
die lippe van seisoene blom van dors
diepe verlange brand van die honger
die korhaan se lewenslyn dui rigting aan,
vervalle volke weerkaats in vlakwaters
van gif-poele en borrelende wolke
leeg van water, landsmense ontneem, dros
en wentel in kampkassies, omring
met skerp draad en gruwel daad,
in tronk en kerk gekonsentreer
met geweld van opvoeding, gekonfronteer
nood trek strop om ‘n bottelnek
op aandag en gewillig op die uitbuit
van lewenskrag vir die belofte van kos
en gerief vir altyd op ‘n ander dag
dis aan die hand van ‘n god
wat hulle sterf vir liefde,
sonder kus wat hulle sterf met liefde,
in die mis van ‘n oop graf wat huil
sonder om ‘n traan te kan stort
!gda