Longing for St Francis

It was a song title
for my small guitar playing hands in December
a seasonal fire of the mind ignites
that longing, years later
far beyond reckoning, adult reasoning
logic abandons, late in the night
certain stoic images remain solidified
tide gathering towards our rock pool house, later afternoon
the morning light shattering the sea in diamonds
Tropitone oil for dark skin leaking onto towels,
 imprinted permanently with the holiday scent

Christmas cake sitting in the heat, signature of that house
Humansdorp Home Industry shop, dusty ferns, the quiet cashier
the delight of choosing homemade shortbread with that small line of pink icing
we buys bagfuls, the parents buy rusks
picnics up the Kromme river, jumping off the boat,
and delights of vetkoek with cheese and jam,
all these moments, fragranced, stayed


The view of that bay,
 the boats lit at night like upside down stars on the water
but one best beloved scent alludes me
it abandoned me when we left that place
I wake up sweating, confused, crying
whispering to myself
I have forgotten the smell of fynbos.

the execution of art

as myth
as order
as space
as power
as shadow
as shape
as chance
as workshop
as mind
as island
as survival
as oblivion
as imagination
as identity
as the home of the wreckless

light crying

Not the expected deluge
I try for tears, they do not come
just like a young rain smell
something stirs to remind,
a shadow of thought, an image slips behind the door
light combines with sadness, unseen, subtle
creating a quiet grief
humid, hot, foliaged in overgrown green grass
 the forgotten fields of childhood.

Home

A mental sanctuary
a repository of memory
an archive of  identity
an emotional value beyond the well positioned
well loved art pieces, the cushions

Battle

When the gates of illusion fall
they do not shake me,
the pillars of conformity collapsed, uniform
I stand firm in the settling dust
armies of the norm, the status quo, the system
are marching towards my stronghold, overpowering
I do not shake, I watching the merging against my liberty, unmoved
the wind rises in my favour
dream ships called from the east mobilise
I am not alone, the power is equaled,
opposition of this collective greed
finally defeated as the rising of moon dictates a new dawn