A sword at his side
looking ahead
always ready
alert and prepared..
A million ideas
perfectly ordered
comprehended in depth
ready to share..
A sense of humour
sharp as a blade
a hand on the trigger
of irony and wit..
A spirit of love
always aware
nothing escapes
his sense or mind..
He is brilliant,
a wonder..
His heart beats
like a lion's,
gentle and kind..
Friday, September 30, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Lara
Have you ever walked
in the light of the moon,
where the day slips away
to a distant world?
If you have,
you might have seen
the weeping willow
at the sun's retreat.
She sways gently
and waits..
never hurried
she waits...
It won't be long
till a song will come.
She is miraculous,
a wonder..
threadbare spun,
a silky moonbeam,
pure silver light.
in the light of the moon,
where the day slips away
to a distant world?
If you have,
you might have seen
the weeping willow
at the sun's retreat.
She sways gently
and waits..
never hurried
she waits...
It won't be long
till a song will come.
She is miraculous,
a wonder..
threadbare spun,
a silky moonbeam,
pure silver light.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Kringe in die woud
Jy het my asem gesteel.
Sover ek kan sien stap die glimagte
van jou en jou nuwe girl
oor die bladsye van my hart.
Elke voetslag dryf dieper
die kennis van 'n dagbreek
wat nooit sal kom nie.
En nou..
en nou moet ek weer
soos 'n boom sterf
sodat my hart
op nuwe bladsye kan klop.
Ek weet nie waar nie,
maar ek het 'n saad geplant.
Die doel en die kleur
van die onbekende plant
was nog nooit aan my ontbloot nie.
Miskien..
miskien was die saad nog altyd
die kiem wat ons twee versmoor het.
What now?
It is not that I despise the winters of my indecision
but the way they speak of me with derision
how valleys low in lush language paint
our bodies quick and fervently spent
This is not fickle or even delight
it is much more morose
and sheds little light
on the absence of longing and long lonely nights
Even I grow tired of being correct
when questions from others
feigning content
come begging and pleading for a solemn lament
What man can fly like the wind in my hair
or walk quietly by my side to be fair
without question or doubt
to be worried about?
but the way they speak of me with derision
how valleys low in lush language paint
our bodies quick and fervently spent
This is not fickle or even delight
it is much more morose
and sheds little light
on the absence of longing and long lonely nights
Even I grow tired of being correct
when questions from others
feigning content
come begging and pleading for a solemn lament
What man can fly like the wind in my hair
or walk quietly by my side to be fair
without question or doubt
to be worried about?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Gaia
Wie se oe is dit
wat die agterkant van werelde kan sien
die weerkaatsing van ons herinneringe
die betekenis van gister?
Wie se woorde is dit
wat so ongeduldig knoop aan ons lied
die drade wat vertel van die onbekende
die vleg van more?
Drie maal meer as gewoonlik
sal ons moet kniel
by die altaar van ons hart -
Sy is vergewend
Die uurglas sand
drup een vir een
ons bestaan hier as besoekers
Niemand kan haar aanjaag nie
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