More Medium Matured Pomes

It's been a while, so here's a little more delving in the back catalogue...

Here’s some performed in the following way…

‘Sisters and Brothers, We Come to Dance our Loving Freedom Tunes’ at various events against gender based violence. ‘March against Monsanto’ at, well, that event, now needing to be upgraded as the hellish merger of Monsanto and Bayer went through a while back. ‘Who are we?’ at a Solstice gathering in Buffelsbaai; ‘Arch of Time’ and ‘A Royal Proclamation’, originally written for events at the Von Trapp house (thanks Michael and Lindie). ‘Proudly Shaking Down’ written following deep dives at the Burn and performed there. ‘Praise Singing for a Planet’ was actually published first by New Contrast, the South African poetry magazine, many years ago. ‘A Jozi Folly,’ ‘Stuck Record Trekkers Needing Healing Through Their Force Fields’ and ‘Desert Island Dance, Centuries After Crusoe’, have, however, only had one or two outings at Off the Wall poetry sharing evenings at A Touch of Madness. It’s time to get out and perform some of these again methinks :)

Sisters and Brothers, We Come to Dance our Loving Freedom Tunes

sisters and brothers, we come to dance our loving freedom tunes

with bodies listening in to the womb-beat of our ocean mother

with hearts blazing with sunlight and moon-wisdom, pumping out our chorus of Enough!

with feet feeling the feisty fury of the Feminine beneath us and around us

for when you strike a woman, you strike a rock, a stream, a tree, a bird, a fish, all the way to the explosive yearning volcanic core of life itself

with voices calling Vukani! each declaring I will build our safe circle bigger

with bold respectful limbs, softly embracing, strengthening the forcefield of peace

riding the waves of remembering and reconnecting

against the deformed cancer-tide of abuse

shedding bold tears for the rape-frozen victims

making ever more space for healing howls of gentleness

ever more space for the icy broken boy-men to choose to step out of the shadows they have made and commit their swords of light too, to our glorious pledge

Nothing shall be done to harm the children

Nothing shall be done to break the bodies and the spirits of our mothers and our daughters and our sisters

for we all come from the same great mama-goddess womb

and we are rising in her honour

we are rising into a space

of love

sisters and brothers, we come to dance our loving freedom tunes

A Jozi Folly

She stands somewhere west of Yeoville

sniffing the persimmon winds across the flat roofs

while an old flatscreen blares down and to the right

Mexican mariachi in monochrome providing a new baroque soundtrack

she lifts a wiry foot that secretly reeks of cloves and fennel

freed from the circus of everyday perfection

and skates upon eddies of ebullience

rising through the pavement cracks towards the thinnest air

and with her broken arpeggio heart she turns to face

her ethereal suitor’s turmeric-laced dance and lifts

a finger tipped with gold leaf that yells of yet untold tales

dripping rich with saucy wealth

sprung from caverns by winking tongues

echoing up the lift shafts and

bouncing from the concrete peaks

while the trains rumble through the city’s hidden crypts

and the moonlight steals a furtive glance at her invisible ostrich feathers

she brews her warming moves beyond the stale nettle leaves and

dry tastes of ancestral Highveld dawns

and oozes a hungry clarity

bursting through the crumbling illusions of dusty car horns

He crouches somewhere east of Orange Grove

tentatively pats the broken paving outside the ruined porch

knowingly notes the spoor of passing ghosts and takes

a duck brown notebook from the secret pouch behind his eyebrow

and as he scrawls prescriptions for the dying trees

his leg-hairs stand on end

antennae tuned to lost languages

broadcast to the beat of the saucepans in the fast-food kitchens

rising high above the crowded walls that zigzag madly over the koppies

dense with yesterday’s smog

and ready to crackle

mirrors of patchwork suburban floor plans are electric-etched

in the sunset spring sky

he mumbles then strides his seed-casting syllable-spells

that peel back the layers of perceived possibility

and breathe an untouched canvas

his footsteps float across the fadened blackened turf

each one placed with memories and promises

She sits somewhere south of Soweto

pours a little liquid in an ebony bowl and

as the snake inside the city’s spine shivers into the night

she rises in flamenco red and wails a new lament

that holds the yeast of new seeing

as she pierces the pineal film of scattered seeking souls

across the heaving layers of this collective life

and awakens harmonies hidden in the songlines ’neath the road signs

while a starburst heartbeat of a forgotten landscape

starts its pulsing ascent from the realms of fossil rhythms

mingling its white lion frequencies into the drive-time static

making our cell walls throb with unknown desires

hinted at in our dreaming dives

and as she steps airily into the icy darkness

brimming with the simmering essences of snorers and slumberers

bats veer off course bemused before her regal aura-hum

and your part of this potion will join mine and theirs

thickening the trumpet-laughter hanging silent in the breeze

until a feral metro-harvest shall appear

blessed by those we usher in

from the hearths and heavens

PRAISE SINGING FOR A PLANET

here lies the simple crumble-mantle-dust

folding and unfolding the blocks of time-juice

now she is a hungry girl-child

waiting patiently

for solidly stretched seconds and hours

until the mushy fight 'twixt the seasons

unravels in bold moments and stratovisions

unwrapping the dormant glacial extensions

of her thickly matted tundra-drops

Pacific eruptions of tense teenage skin

cast a numbing fog

and crystal crusts of tottering madness enshroud our

prayers that heal God's traumas

gently the discords align

and our sounds arouse a throating vocal beauty

awakening thunderous emerald hymns in her easy bosom

and hadedas on dawn lawns

for those not blinded by their diaries

Proudly Shaking Down

You were there

amidst the vodka-fuelled fire of the desert-dusty dance floor

proudly shaking down with me amidst the unleashed energy of the night

and yet tongue-holding the new ‘no’ learnt from your mother’s wounds

received in patterned prickles from the fast and frozen patriarchs

You were there

in the sweet soft longing perfuming the air around us

daring to open that heart-mind fist into new body-thoughts

fearing to be the one who wounded your life-long love

and yet a darting tongue breathed towards wise freedom

You were there

awake and playful as we shared memories and textures

in a fondly fondling dance towards the rivers of our dreamscapes

absorbing and reflecting the love-lightning in our beings

till safely you surrendered to a chuckling snake embrace

and I feel in this moment the building truth of my gentle gallop to desire

listening softly with my fingers in an honourable love-quest

meeting you with a muscular vision to form a fertile fearless chasm-smile

trusting that this sensual surface-chaos is held

in a wiser easily bouncing vibration

hurtling heavenwards, powered by our shameless beautiful quest

for boldly loving bodies

March Against Monsanto (and, these days, Bayer…)

Nature is not a straight line from perfect pesticide to plastic plate

DNA is not a rancid relic awaiting reconstruction

Soil is more than dusty stuff needing to be cleansed

And our Big Mama Planet is no junkie lying back anticipating a

monstrous Monsanto fumble-fiddle fix

We are not separate from the ground our feet touch today

And so we have tuned our inner ears, and we hear that

beyond the dull-dry treble techno-beat of flashy fast-food farming with its exotic toxicity

Nature is actually a vast vibrant feat of complex holy engineering

Erupting in a constant fractal-feedback of volcano-juice and greenwood gifts

Guiding those who husband her with spiral-flows and season-signs

Trees that love hugs and songbirds that love bugs

Bugs that dance for balance in the fields between the cycles of life and death

knowing autumn’s fungus will lead to the buds of spring

knowing, when we support her with care, we will witness abundant harvests

arising before our eyes, even as we sing

our most perfect appreciation of natural inspiration and organic opulence

We are listening, we are choosing to lay down our agri-weapons for the sake of

our bodies and the body of the earth and

We call on the CEOs with grandchildren on the way to join us

A Royal Proclamation

Hear ye! Hear ye! News is just in from the Winter Palace

Many mouldy monarchs were seen leading courtly dances

Dignified waltzes and traditional two-steps

Rocking only with the infirmity of pedigree heredity

And no doubt this ancient pageant

Of survivors from whom we are all descended

Forms a pungent bassline in the bottom octaves of our beings

But there’s been a backstreet backbeat revolution

The jester’s jumped out of the bearskin box

And with magical murmurs and wild whisperings

Rumours of rebellious rhythms have been storming the gates

Crying out for syncopation for the nation

We have woken from our fairy tale slumbers and remembered

(after first saying thanks for that fabulous kiss)

That we are the subjects of our own imperial dominions

We are the rock’n’roll royalty of all that we survey

Beyond the forever-fixed strangulation of precise triangulation

We’ll map out our blurry border lines with love-filled quills

For our inter-dependent territories are dancing once more

into uncharted waters and continents unknown

We could claim those dazzling countries for the crown

Another pleasure chest to add to the magnificent millions in the royal mint

Or we could simply smell the fleeting glory of the flowers and

Taste the birdsong floating in our peaceful conversations

Sense the wisdom of the smiling ruler of each solo realm

Whose shifting source of power is no throne-game of merely meeting brain to brain

But a boogie from the belly that leads to crossing of moats, drawbridge-dropping of jaws,

portcullis-raising and grail quests from heart to heart

And remember, while dressing up is fun,

There’s an honourable history of nudity among the aristocracy

All with chivalrous intent, my lords and ladies for

Just remember that the shackles of our ancestral feudal minds have been forever broken

We owe allegiance to our mighty selves; the majestic truth has been revealed

We will only kow-tow bow to the sun in salutation

We’ve discovered our divinity calls for passionate creation:

We all want to break free in harmony from the

Polite limitations of official processions and catch the real royal wave

We are all the electro-swinging kings of kings with wings and the techno-queens of heaven and

In this chess game we move as far as we dare in any direction

Be the chieftains of the thousand hills, the sultry sultanas of the spicy isles

At a collective coronation of our infinite regal styles

Let’s shake our jungle-juicy jewelled grooves, our impressive empress goddess moves

There’s no limit when we trust the power blazing from our mirror eyes

There’s no limit when we trust the solid ground of love beneath

There’s no limit when we drink the air in grateful gulps

And share the joy that bubbleth over among every one of us Narnian boys and girls

The time has come to seal this treacle-treaty in the traditional manner

With presence, poise, pursed lips, and seriously sacred partying.

Who are we?

We are crystal grains and mild-mannered munching mushrooms and solid steady stone and delicate webs of moss and soaring hawks’ wings and intricate snails’ shells and rooted milkwood trunks and dragons’ breath and trumpet calls and piano chords and chiming bells and lovers’ moans and laughing bellies and racing children and caring parents and life-soaked shamans and masterful wizards and visionary leaders and imperially majestically 21^st-century humans and all of this and more is true so

let’s dance the thickly matted maplines beneath our feet

and the fantastical dreadlocks of light emerging from our wildly meeting dreambodies

let’s sing the mighty myths of bold explorers setting forth on

oceans of energy in this double-prism double-helix awakening moment

and as the ever-shifting sands express the earth’s latest skin-shedding

let’s welcome in the joy we once were told (or told ourselves)

we were not worthy of

let’s welcome in the joy that IS our due

knowing in this embodied mirror-birth the truth about those

praying for us now: monkey-magic angels and gruesomely gorgeous goddesses and frolicking horses and sinuous snakes and lions enchanting us with their cuddly roars and dolphin divas in seaweed wigs

it’s a waveswept windlicked toe-twirling prayer

ringing with curly lagoon tunes

full of forest-fruity num-num nibbles and tidal-tribal dancing

it’s a carol for Mary Magdalene and our holy hips

it’s a causeway-mantra Michael beam sent to harmonise this passage

beyond limitations to a brave new world full of mothers and fathers who know how to father and mother

and wide-awake sisters and brothers seeing each other

it’s the sound in our pulsing hearts giving form

to our freedom-desires for love

hear it! feel it! be it! you are it!

STUCK RECORD TREKKERS NEEDING HEALING THROUGH THEIR FORCEFIELDS

lonely moans from drovers echo off

the sad flat-topped dirt-cake hills and

though passing tents may rock with sensual insurrection

and drums hum with flowerfoot harmonies

many men still walk this path

obsessed by skimpy guns

heads full of high-revving gigabytes

which empty

drily like the hourglass they seek

deaf to the songs that waft in the pear

they only know the smoky dice-throws

of last-lost warblers flying off course

till one day a fruity ambush leaves them

plucked and ripe for planting

Desert Island Dance, Centuries After Crusoe

while rain wrestles icicles from my beard of contemplation

while pigeons coo and guano-coat my tonsured scalp

I lotus-sit and sense the quickened pulse of the earth within

while sandblast swirls draw fierce sonatas from our stoep-chimes

while passing ships snort smoke and leave curses in their wake

we lean and pirhouette into airy imprints left by nimble toe-curves

while dogs howl at moon-rabbits and eager trees murmur

while silent webs trap wanderers and ant nests grow unchecked

the sharp edges of our personal walls soften and blur beside the fire

then in that weeping land we help the elders find their long-lost feet

there in night's darkest zone we howl our hidden voices

while our children in their dreams

can stay safely lush-winged

till the first rays spark healing and trust

till the day dawns and finds us

unclothed still

but decorated with thick lines of cremation ash

and drinking from streams of dew the night made

while the serpents of the morning crawl freely

sleepily composting our fears

Arch of Time

We stand at a threshing point, a threshold for our curvy community

While a creamy cello-thick centuries-old culture has bred in our bones a loose precision

A skilful softness

A tear-shaped crystal cloud of power

And with the coming of sultry dusk we feel those

Polished buttons of our double-breasted warblings oozing out of iron-anchored ancestry

Here, the archangelic architects’ archway is born,

A righteous rite of passion and courage passage-way (or corridor)

Long-sketched in battle-weary birdsong

Built by twinkling archbishops twirling their Tutu-wands

A world-bridging meeting point for us wild heart-archers and our mischief-arrows

And it rises from our collective mind-pond in gloriously thrashed harmony

Hinting at millennial memories

But daring us to step beyond the decadent decades of humanity’s growth

Into the pyrotechnic love-showers of the cosmos

Beyond our deep paleo-desires and archaeo-wishes for nothing more than ancient monstrous dust

Into the silver ocean tunes of child-breath temptation

Beyond the junk-fuelled topiary of our sickly hammerhead hedge-pruning years

Into the freaky neon featherbeds our inner serpents are singing awake

Beyond the brittle goosesteps of the snowstorm months

Into the unveiled medal-winning routines of our raucous superheroine undergarments

In a risky roaming right out of cellulite range

At this enchanting crossway

Choose not toxic fuming glances but toasted heartbeat dances

Not weary breezeblock dwarfish droning but grinning giant gumboot prances

Not dollar-debt-brewed leaden-shields but foxy gloves and moon-meadow trances

Carrying us from oversprung rusty wound-up and wounded weeks

To sweet mulberry chimes and long lovers’ rubbery lances

At this enchanting archway entrance-moment,

we stretch through the bands of time-traps

around the sobbing spirals of day and night

over the endless espressos expressly expressing the owl-grip of the hours

under the ticking biting feverish minutes before the real feel deal

and through to an orchestral eternity of brutally boldly beautiful orca concertos

an intuitive chewing of the future in sensational Dolby surround sound sight smell taste touch and know

an ecstatic embrace of our sublime divine uniform full of wild and fruity warmth

washing in the spring of our wonderful tribal wave

our inter-circling spirit-species

our telepathic planet-passion

our global goddess oneness arching our backs up to the Godhead Godheart Godbelly Godbody for God’s sake – let’s choose this again and again and again