Mum:
Slippery certainty,
and the solidity of a suckle on a teat.
Mama:
To still my thoughts and dream.
Yes, to dream less, but, dear mama,
I dream about you still.
Grandma:
A fleeting fragment
of faith in a memory in full flight.
Happiness is…
brief because morning dew
cannot stand the sun’s steady stare.
Life’s goal is…
to dress your dreams
in garments of fancy delight.
Life is …
a soapy bubble,
unbearably beautiful;
its fateful, dainty dance, daringly displayed!
Beauty…
is a consistency in simplicity
and a logic lodged in geometricity.
The Future is…
a fleeting flare of fire
from the clash of distant gods.
Our heart’s calling is…
to leap bravely
over austere mindscapes.
Me, you, who are we?
We are the live ash
remade from countless fires of dead stars.
The Raindrop…
protests its forced marriage with the pool
and fails to detain memory in the widening ripples!
Silence…
Why does cold, stony silence
insist on flaunting its spoken eloquence?
Question:
What is it that happens,
when matter and matter,
in obedience to gravity,
exchange momentum?
Woodpecker:
Have you ever walked in the woods
and eavesdropped on the woodpeckers’ seminar?
Water:
What is it about water,
that makes light dance and twinkle?
Fear & Tears:
What is there to fear
if the cost is a private tear?
Why be:
If to know is not to feel,
and to feel is not to know,
then why be? Why?
A pebble:
I am a pebble in the stream of life,
abiding through tides and tumults.
What can serenity teach me?
Rain:
I grew up in the rain!
I grew up in the rain!
What can sunshine teach me?!
Alone:
Alone, alone, just alone,
dreaming all the dreams I own.
Africa:
Africa, it is true,
is a land of time and honey.
In fact, one day, it will export time for money!
Mercy:
In the African Savannah,
cheetahs streak through the grass to deliver mercy.
Thought:
It is hollow
when it is not well taught.
Wish:
Oh God, I wish so much to live today
that I could die right away!
Hope:
A fragile flutter,
A firefly in a dark night.
Re-school my Heart …
so that a tear is not a child of pain
but a twin sister of joy;
so that pain can bear no children,
and so that a tear can be an orphan.
Mountains …
All dressed up with nowhere to go
makes me wonder.
Violence’s birthplace…
Peer deep into Deep Time,
tiptoe on the wings of escaped light,
into the heart of ancient violence,
where, thus begotten, so we beget;
on and on, besotted; married to living death.
Our Destinies are…
are smiling storms that know no norms;
illustrated illusions buffeted by fate.
Betty was…
A warrior, not a worrier
Neither worried if the earth did not spin
Nor cared about the finer details of sin.
