Cape DoctorOn and on racing North West you batter the limbs of the old man tree launching plastic pirouettes white and Shoprite red with silver glistening through.Cape Doctor
On and on racing North West you rummage through dustbins, snatch crossed-out love poems and feel your way up short cotton skirts, whistling as you work.
HomecomingTrapped for eonsHomecoming
on this guarded jewel in the sky With the veil tied tight, across all three eyes - You’ll live here, after you die.
Breathing with the vivid dreams
you bequeath your saddened nights And they call! How they call But your name’s not the same Until you dare see past the light.
Devour those forgotten fragments that come drifting in over the breeze, And breathe deep, fabled friends, for Fortuna smiles wide, and the furrow that sits on her brow Is a landmark ne’er crossed, for beyond it awaits
The dock at the end of t
NowAs now is big so big am I my feet the ground my hands the sky.Now
Now is forever and forever am I I'm never born I never die.
SeptemberThis is the season when one bright blue-sky sunny day can dissolve a century of hatred in an instant, and the smell of jasmine that clings with such fervor to the air woos open the barbed-wire electric prison gates to our postage stamp homes, and tells of a Utopia half-hidden beneath the earth's dark crust.September
Today, the gentle arms of the pink and blue mountain still encircle her infant children proudly like a mother hen, and we, her errant offspring, glance uneasily amongst ourselves
in this place we call home.
the last day of the WorldOn the last day of the World we discovered, (of all things) wine favours the liver far better than brandy.the last day of the World
Remember when there were so
many goddam miracles, we couldn’t seal
the embankment? Those bricks wept of hand-blood and still they poured unstoppable,
those weird serendipities,
like leadlight candles, through stained glass moulds.
And You? Well, You grew my feet, to fit certain sandals. But hot blotches and spacious sizes are no substitutes for freedom. Objective phil
--
BT.
"The truth knocks on the door and you say, "Go away, I'm looking for the truth," and so it goes away."
— Robert M. Pirsig
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintanance
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