niks so mooi./nothing as beautiful.

Daar is niks so mooi soos wanneer iemand voor jou staan, jou masker van jou gesig afhaal, jou in die oë kyk en saggies vir jou fluister;
“Ek sien jou, hoor jy my? Ek sien alles wat jy wegsteek en alles wat jy terughou.  Ek sien jou.”
en dan liggies die traan wat oor jou wang rol afvee nie. 
Daar is niks so mooi nie.

There is nothing as beautiful as when someone stands in front of you, takes your mask from your face, looks you in the eye and softly wispers;
I see you, do you hear me?  I see everything you hide and everything you hold back.  I see you.
and then gently wipes away the tear that rolls over your cheek.
There is nothing as beautiful as this.

this is what it is like to kiss a man with a beard.

Whist! -

Listen to the electricity zzzzinging, 
bzzzt bzzzt bzzzt bzzzzt
the red lights flickering, 
the autumn rain approaching 
one -
    one -
        one drop at a time

and you,
 & waiting
wall, your shadow 
on the floor                   next to you,

you brought your guitar 
and your Derby hat to keep 
you warm - to keep you company;

you strike chords and hum a tune 
to your shadow, to the raindrops, 
to the zinging electricity that make
the red lights flicker -
you start singing to

          the      man          
    /            in            \
         t                n
          h e  m o o 

I walk over to embrace you, 
to kiss your chorus, your ears, 
your lips and your guitar - 

this is what it is like to kiss 
a man with a beard, 
this is how you wish on
s               cars

and long healed scars.

another dreadful Tuesday.


Fortune telling does not fall 
within my scope of expertise,
but I am sure that the world
will come to an end on
some Tuesday in the future;

the same way
    my world abruptly ended
        that Tuesday
when they told me you will


be coming home and that
I should get accustomed 
to living this life alone.


As your body returned to the earth
and the guy in the black suit
holding a black book said the
ashes to ashes, dust to dust speech
when you meant so much more to me.

Another dreadful Tuesday.



i write my way.

The dark aftermath 
of a sullen conscience;
drunk from forgotten songs, 
lost in my own desert 
I lose the favour of sensibility.

This poem is already
coming down on me 
as these words 
invent their own passion 
to crash like waves 
against my thoughts…

The calculated motion 
of a thousand moans 
as ink from my pen flows - 
melodies that cannot 
hold my verse.

//You are moving past 
my static words like shadows 
skydiving from forgotten hopes//

I write,
I write my way 
through the map 
of your shade.

time and time again.

There is beauty in time, 
in the angst of eternal rushing 
to keep up with every breath.

To see the day fade 
in second upon second
increments that
fasten the strings that hold  
midnight blue meets violet
canvas as playground 
to the stars.

Ay yes -
there is beauty in time,
in the never ending lullaby 
of memories slowly slipping
through the crevices of life.

desember reen in april/ december rain in april

Ek weet dat ek moet ophou soek, 
maar jy het jou dagdrome 
soos wilde blomme in my siel geplant 
en ek water hul met my trane 
wat vloei soos Desember reën 
wat eers in April val; 

jou drome is in volle blom
maar ek het lankal reeds verlep.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

I know that I need to stop looking, 
but you planted your daydreams 
like wild flowers in my soul 
and I water them with tears 
that flow like December rains
that only fall in April;

your dreams are in full bloom 
but I have long since wilted.

always the cynic, never the believer.

Sun spitting laser beams of heat
drinking in the sweet nectar 
of the cold front’s defeat 

and I,

I am ready to winterize 
the fragile shards of doubt sticking out 
beneath my feeling against your lies

and I,

I am an adventuress seeking shade
from the hesitance of your words 
because I do not believe in fate.

let me rage.

You express me in poetry because that is the only way I will ever be tangible to you.  You always paint me as fire, fierce and destructive, but how am I to be blamed when you still warm your hands against the scalding heat of my flames?

I am not passive.  I am burning.  I am a bright reflection of the nightmares you try to blink away, you try to drink away. 

I am made from the same elemental force that lights a candle, but I do not flicker - I rage. And I will never settle for any man not equipped to handle my heat.  I will never settle for a man too afraid of his own greatness.  

You express me in poetry because that is the only way that I will ever be more than a passing memory.

I believe that some people grow into their madness so eloquently that it replaces their personality without anyone noticing and these people are the best kinds of people, because they become their madness instead of trying to fix it and that, to me, is an absolute thing of beauty.
—  Luci Black, A thing of Beauty
an always with you without you.

The sun rises and paints your smile 
a lovely shade of peach meets crimson 
and my toes start itching to dance, 
dance their way over to you before 
my thinking gets ahead of me…

When you rise, when you smile 
the world stops and turns in reverse, 
you fall and this time I catch you 
and safely put you down in 
meadows of loving memories… 
your smile, 
your cinnamon kiss.

I think I will always love you like this.

the world i want to live in.

I want to live in a world
where we choose to give each other
hardcore body slam embraces,
dripping passion & love instead of blood.

I want to live in a world
where we choose to exchange
warm kindness and mindfulness 
instead of fusillades & hand grenades.

nie genoeg/not enough.

Ek wens daar was genoeg woorde vir my
om my vreugde uit te beeld, maar daar is nie;

nie genoeg woorde in my woordeskat
nie genoeg sterre in die naglug
nie genoeg skulpe op die strand.

Ek is nie genoeg nie, maar ek is bly
want jy bestaan.


I wish there was enough words for me
to show my joy, but there’s not;

not enough words in my vocabulary
not enough stars in the night sky
not enough shells on the shore.

I am not enough, but I am joyous
because you exist.

symphony of tears.

Some days I find bits and pieces
of those I loved, those who lived
so dear to me in the
very beating of my own heart
and for those lost few moments;
my heart beats in symphonies
my heart beats in memories
and my tears rhythmically flow
over sentimental smiling lips.
Always loved,
                   never forgotten.


What a beautiful tragedy it is 
to live my life weaving 
in and out of yours, 
creating a tapestry of stars 
with our fingertips 
always parting… 

It could have been wonderful 
had I loved you
and you loved me 

but all we are, I daresay 
will ever be 
are different patterns 
of the same tapestry - 

weaving in and out 
of the other’s heart;

good together, 
better apart.