Request

if you are not here
let me be by the windmill
by the picnic places
 let me walk to those places
 sit on your study chair
 wipe my crying
 watch the same book case
with the rooms, swept of your space
let me know that you will rest here.

The Broken Doll

My little porcelain doll
has slipped out of my hands
fallen to the ground
delicate
shattered
is this how she feels?
now
having lost her child
broken memory pieces on the floor
slicing her feet into ribbons
shattering the natural protective path
she carried  her child's world in her hands
 all the mothers walk
she has a heartbeat to keep in a blossom, never  flowered
she turns to a route unheard.

Near

How 

do I say this?

I wish you you were

somewhere near

here, to listen

to listen

She is walking on the graveyard of you

your existence

she knows
she was near

She never let go

above the moulds that set so fast
not here
near
near stands a grave unheard,
here
please
appeased,
try not to let her go
not here

Perhaps

I learnt to live with this guest
this trauma of slamming doors
a pain buried so far beneath the skin
that no surgeon could remove
the loss of the one closest
my small blonder shadow
shaken out of me time after time
perhaps now,
I choose the harder places
I make plans to find demanding paths
that make me shake the same way
forced by habit

The daughters

Will you ever know?
how deeply shocked into my nervous system
you are
the fiery blue sets of eyes
matching your tempers
my ocean and desert girls
looking for the undisturbed horizon
swimming against the ritual
stuck in our self inflicted bubble, separate
in the routine, the people of the city

thanksgiving?

You repeat
again
more
but where is thanks
where is our blood
our sweat
that  umbilical cord sowed into the land
where are the thousands of our people
where were their houses, burnt
where are they now
the constant fighting
the women and children
dying
they horses
the men
where is their voice
tell me
where is their blood fought bravery
tell me
where is their day?

Islands

There is a world
older than this dark lonely continent
where we sat together on a ferry
watching the islands, quiet and still
slowing passing each
conversations saved in rocky outcrops
and olive groves
back then
I had long hair
birds scattered as we circled beaches
on the back of your rusting motorbike
I finally understood what it felt like
love, different in that mysterious happy hemisphere.

Remember when

Remember when
Rooibos tea with milk was grownup
hours didn't matter in a Wendy house
newly cut green grass
didn't make me itch
Creme Soda was a Special Occasion Drink
when goose-bump joy was as easy as a joke
or puppy lying next to me
breathing in and out together


Remember when the tennis court was a playground
full of dreams woven by bike rides, round and round
remember when you knew
that crying would always stop
and the world would be balanced again
after a hug and a hot bath

I remember now
that there has always been your hand holding mine
across the dust
and a standing rock behind all the closed doors
beyond imitation
and that you can still
stop my crying
just by being my father.

Cottage Under the Stars

This is my recipe
reworked from times under skies
when all you needed
was a heartbeat in the red soil
a rain storm ripping leaves
two laughs on an evening lawn
birds calling, as many as you can count
baked together in a cottage,
kneaded at  end of day
pressed together with happy hands.

water bowl

If I could hold you
in my bowl shaped hands
like water
would you stay?
or eventually
trickle away?

loud whisper

hardly masked
more than single trinket asked
the pacing
the saying
light stretched to stay
to wonder
echoed from the routine mist dust
did you forget?

Sink Hole

Dust covered in the hills
 the rusted debris
forgotten by the sunset
fallen, to let
without a leaf blowing in the wind
without the plane signal light, over
no wading through the breadcrumbs,
the mud of past water
no water here

The Spell that Stuck

Single minded big ideas
from the little ones
tongue tied serious
using magic to make a statues
in a stone house

photographs are not bad
to remember
but a statue is better
binding us together
cast in stone
forever.

Walk

Again
the alarm lock rings
like a broken record player
again
rings with the call
to walk
away
when will the survival stop?
the vacant people staring
the empty space when I hold my hand
no one to hold

I wasn't here from start
a plant suffocating on the wrong soil
bursts of sad sun, heavy air
they are here first
I droop, yellow heart, weak

The walk
pulling up the confused roots
there is only one route
walk away with the next shrill ring.

Once upon a time

There was a man
who grew a little older
he lived in a house on a hill
without too much
a can of soup
a room with a view


and a distant diamond sky for the nights

Braveheart

Beating heart
beneath the soil
buried in a bag of bones

Memory of Dust and Snow, (Breyten Breytenbach)

 Equal desertion,
equal desolation
here I am
here I am
the darkness of the bright light
the desert storm
the snow storm
it makes the same dreams
should I shiver with cold and
forget
that I shake with sweat
every time


In the end
they are the same dream
the same
hoping,I could have changed
and become
something
 in between
where the light is calm
in the trees
medium tide.

pieces

telescope
proof
something
missing
mistaken
stepped over
help
like a pea caught in the blockage
swallowed whole
blocking the light

Childhood Files 2

This can't be mine
the endless row of television bear shows
the two plastic pianos, feeling like an ice storm,
far away from this, further
it's mine
bursting loud tunes, twinkle little star
digging like a miners in the garden
black stone flowers
it feels like these two
were here first


Everything before was a pregnant breath
waiting for the real life
the goodnight moon
 doubles, twinkle little star
more unlikely than a garden on a straw hat
the garden grew into a whole island of green
big enough to live on
likely it shouldn't have happened,
but unlike anything
unlike anything before

Haunted House

Avoid eye contact
don't go let them scare you
don't let them get into your mind
a haunted herd, a dark package
you won't turn back,



Take my advice
don't look too long at those walls
don't follow the Hundred Acre Wood maps
they are traps,

Be careful
when the broken hearted Tin Man talks to you
you will be crawling
turn around
don't make a sound
turn around
or no more
you won't
 be found

Mutations

In the dark
when the moon never rose
they never noticed
they never saw
this little person didn't shiver
didn't laugh
didn't look up at the shower of stars


In the day
 this child, caught out
with the wrong eye match
the displaced colouring


walking away

In the end
there was a place
 where something connected
they never noticed that kind of life
that kind of life
a cave where the sun stalked orange
when mountains of snow stayed forever
where the strange child
made them strangers.

The Trouble With...

The trouble with her
short hair
when the balance of mummies have long hair

Sometimes she cries
sometimes she needs to be alone
but she tells us that anything is okay
putting stars in our eyes
she dances
because she
works and cooks and never bends
we know she is always just mummy

The trouble with him
away
he doesn't ever take us to school
he goes to work on the computer for a long time'
he doesn't stay

Sometimes he is tired
sometimes he doesn't listen
but he is always the end of the day
he lets us help fix things
he dries our hair
he never stops trying
he shares his eggs with us
we know he is always just daddy

The trouble with her
small
she doesn't put the lids back on our pens
she makes too many mistakes
she screams so loudly at the shops
she takes

 Sometimes she smacks
sometimes she doesn't hug back
but she is always the best friend
she plays with me all day long
she and I watch the same movies
she holds my hand
sometimes
she calls me when I am not there
she follows every move
I know she is always just Natty

The trouble with her
bossy
she takes over everything, little queen
she chooses clothes and movies
she tells me no no
she talks too loudly in my ear
she's always here

Sometimes she stands in front again
sometimes she doesn't hug back
but she never stops talking about me
she gets nervous,
Then she lets me have first choice
she wants to helps so much
she gives me the pink cup
she tried to show me, show me, little princess
she follows every move
I know she is always just Ashlee

Why, What When

Like a trail of thoughts behind me
the two of you
persist again
why can't we fly?
when can we have the pink sweeties?
what makes the sea grey today?
why do clouds move
okay, what makes dogs talk in way we don't?
listen...when will we be twenty?

Why is she brown?
tell us, what is love?
how do you escape getting caught
between the what if I don't know
and how.

Stocking Basket

It's just a feeling
but it may not be stockings there
there may be the beginning of a bedtime story
the thread spins out more that fixed shred and rip
the needle's eye is the heart of a tale told
by a stocking darning nation.

The Little Princess

She lives in a little house
with one plant to water
and one hug to give
she laughs like a glass bell
she has one heart
one safety net
and a hundred stories to tell.

Day of the Dead

How many moments are recorded,
 weighted,
documented
decided
where are the places where we die?
sicken plagued by drought, war torn, uncounted
by a funeral per weekend,
noted as one of a hundred
by a universal bandstand
by a gentle wind and a final baby crying, starved
small, again, tribute one by one



Some places have a long mourning
some have a long buried byway
walked roads of burial
where will it end
a child
a father
a screaming mother?
will it ever
ever
be noticeably enough?

Book of Fears

Hush
Don't say
Whisper in my ear
Are you scared of being small?
Spiders?
Are you afraid of getting lost in your own room?
Are you afraid for me?
Are
You
Scared of yourself?
For yourself?

Pirate Princesses

Watch the water below our feet
jump onto the ship
wear a cross bone crown on your head
we have never been past the yellow house really
but we have the power to swim far below
to catch a whale in our hands
and find gold with flash of a fancy wand

Ghost Town

They couldn't survive
or make a happy life
a skeleton crowd of houses remains
vacant, with spirits in sand
school in the sun
baker's house nailed
third house right of school, shell shocked
mine manager's house, apart, tall, vacant
this town is lightly forgotten.

Outlawed

Compass points digress, confounded
he is far to skilled in the profession to be caught
well taught
open fields turnaround the same
he knows every rift
a gift
a negotiable price
will never be enough.

Christmas Calling

Once there were two girls
who waited for Christmas
they called out every day
they made cotton wool snowballs
used mind over matter to bring in clouds
cold rain, evergreen trees
in a desert corner next to the ocean
where it was hard to imagine
jingle bells in the dusty sky.

Chorus

Even if you tore out the pages
Would you know that I  am singing?
Still singing with you
Still stuck on the repeat
Still imagining that you sit beside me

Still, quietly a tear
Still life in recorded corner
The tape is paused
I am still singing.

Two

Two sisters on the carpet
Spread a world of farms and houses
Across the room
Frost windows turn to fly buzzing barriers
The world stands still

Two sisters select rocks to put to bed
In wooden boxes
Mesmerized
First two, me and you
Now, two, my kids, it's true.

Leftovers

Stranded spaghetti
in this family
pieces of meat in sectioned off plastic
what else?

thinking back
a jacket and a turned over chair
a rusk tin, expired
expired products these days
pink baby clothes
little hands little handed
music catered for a party, they never came
leftover here with me

Hide&Seek

Ready
I'm ready
to find you
around corners
behind closed doors
inside forgotten moth balled cupboards
nothing

Beneath a hill, covered in soil
floating fronds in a stream hide a scream
nothing

There, I have found
Marie biscuit bread biscuit crumbs
Smarties, one red, one pink
dropped in urgency
you are there
here I am
found from behind
time.

About Me

The only name I have got
Seven years
Three rooms in my house
Very few freckles
Three clocks
Four cold water taps
Four hot water taps
Size of my hand is on the page
Favorite book The Worst Witch

Adapt or die
Connect the dots
Come and find me.

Who

Who noticed when you left
left me bereft
when you you turned away and cried
tried to hide

Who noticed when you died
left me inside
left me behind
in the winter light
blind.

Country Cooking

Afternoon falls
look over the garden, leaves, lavender
the mountain watching me watching the leaves
light up the gas stove
tie the St Francis Bay apron
begin the process of stirring
stirring
cooking in the countryside.

Most Wanted List

Female
Aged thirteen
Buried below the sand

Female
Aged fifteen
Drowned, searching for a pearl in the mud

Female
Aged sixteen
Tripped down a never ending flight of stairs
Failing to slow down

Female
Aged eighteen
Skidded a car sideways
In the rain,

Female
Aged twenty
Drank herself into a coma
Trying to belong

Female
Aged thirty
Disappeared in front of the world
Desperate to be loved.

Mountain Morning

Wise, in a word
Watching over hundreds of us, through history
Mountain in the morning
Windmill, almost forgotten
Slowly,  begins to turn
I asked, help me
 Light wind came
Slowly, begins to turn.

Shivering Rice

Rice can be nice
friendly, fluffly
but sometimes
rice can get cold
you were four years old
when you told me the story

Remind me to tell you this
one day
when the world becomes depressingly normal.

An Unlikely Shopping Mall

Up there
up high, you say
there is a big shopping mall
in the sky

You can choose where to go
resting on a cloud
Pink milkshakes and pirates
anything you like

Hurricane Mountain

Turning away

rushing away from the storms that never leave

heaving dark like a blanket

all day

all night

dizzying

The mountain is a soup of bad spells

and swarming storming swirls

I want to see a stream with bubbles and a trout

I want to be bright 

warm

without skirmishing, 

settled, full fed, content.

Puzzled

don't be afraid
the pieces are waiting
 justice is coming
the maps are downloading
the facts are uniting
the first name is changing
the faces are blurring
the box is opening
the undead are waking
the screaming is ending
evidence is fitting
tombs resurrecting
proof is uplifting
don't be afraid
the pieces are working
justice is coming

In Between

I am alive
I am in between the floorboards
I am something extra
I am in  between the floorboards
I am scratching  underneath
I am staring at candle
willing it to fall
to burn the wooden cage alive
because
I am alive

Time Wrinkles

Something slipped in between the sheets
that could not be ironed out
not even a falling teardrop
could bring it back
not even a backward glance
could keep it from slipping
away

The Sad Little Monster and the Jelly Bean Queen

An island filled with sunshine and sweets
little girlgolden
laugh
 nothing to fright
 right

She was contagious
to believe
to save
the monster who ate sea weed, all alone

Can I have
your smile?
I have salt water and a house in the storming seas
please


Can you take my sadness
my dark address
helped, robbed of the jelly beans
the rainbow crossed over to the gold
shined out,
salt watered down
the primary warning colours

The Voyage of the Teapot

The purple plastic teapot
has set sail across the bath
rigged out as a ship
waiting to see a great new land
tossed, swayed in the bubble bath
steered, helped along
by two friendly giants
who are these two?
they are you, my little ones

Second Chance

Floating away
sixteen years old
we are not the ones
that bad things will happen to
we have a universe
that no one can touch
we play the piano
we hold hands
we compare boyfriends

We hold out mother's hand
we build a ship in a bottle
let it sail into the future

We are the lucky ones
nothing bad will ever happen to us
I am sixteen
you are thirteen
nothing bad will ever happen to us.

Physical Memory Bank

There once was a special cabin
in the middle of the forest
Where a family hid
away from the world

Daily,
the encryption tends to disappear
But in a deep memory bank
the interference is less adapted
it can be accessed
it can be relied upon


The genetic mark of the cabin in the woods.

Jousting for the Moon

It's my moon
No it's mine
I can understand the need
It is a beautiful full moon


Maybe
On another planet
Or an in between
Personal world

You can both have a moon to keep
Even when you sleep

Because every child
Should be able to claim the pearl in the evening sky.

A Little Dream

I may seem uncomplicated to you
I am only four, I like to blow bubbles in the bath
But at night
My dreams are reels and realms
Of the spectacular

I see mice racing cars down the passage
I see orchestra's in my attic
I fight lions beneath my bed
And most of the time
I win

I read newspapers with trolls and goblins
I go fishing with a mermaid in the bathroom
The stairs become a mountain of diamond hiding caves

But in the morning
I eat my breakfast
I don't tell anyone
I let them think
I dream of counting sheep.

Fairy Tale Files

pull out
the top secret evidence
the villain is a tough act
disclosed
unknown


pull out
the magnifying glass
Sherlock
the facts speak out
find it
the room will reveal itself
where was the princess really
hiding
who is an ugly sister?
cross examine
 rethink

reopen the box
was Snow White really choking?
how lost
were Hansel and Gretel
really?
the frog?
may not be as trapped as he says


re exhibit
take the stand

rework the ponds
the forests
the castles
do it.

promise,
make the stand
stand real
stand up to them

take the magic
make it realized
put the stand out
it speaks

in the best interests
of the idealised ones
stop them
from stepping off the cliff

Do it.

Tumbledown Town

There is a place
in your  body
because you took the fall
where everything
is almost falling down

In your heart
the grass is brown
the earth is green
the houses are round
and the towers are square

It is a strange place
pulled from a upside down core
quiet, deserted streets
sleeping, until the day
when the heart can set the shapes
the colours, right.

The Kind Hearted House

It was a happy place
in a matchbox
the clocks reminded the kettles
there was never a burning pan
or a trapped spider

there was never a battle
or a broken child
or a call for help
or a smashing glass
or a smashing head
or an unkind word
there were no power struggles
or a goodbye

Scarecrow's Party

Listen,
there was once a lonely scarecrow
who planted an acorn
the tree grew
 filled with magic
birthday treats grew from the branches
magicians danced
gnomes and moles and ladybirds pranced
between hundreds of burning candles

Listen,
my heartbeat is in those lights
can you hear?
it is calling you through the candles
right up to the stars map
calling you
come back, come back.

Lemon People Two

Where once I looked up at the tree fulll to capacity
with the yellow balls
changelings, they become the family
I once knew
my mirror image
same intense blue eyed stare
same guarded glare
looking at me
through the branches of the tree

But this time
the lemon people are laughing
flying, holding each other
free

A Miniature Life

Our dollhouse in a cupboard
a story of a perfect placed
constructed, position fairy tale life

Do you want to stay?
where the pieces match
the tiny china cup and saucer
the carrots next to the peas
stuck permanently to the plate

Maybe you know
that your fingers won't burn
when you hold this little family
playing life
in their house.

Fire

Strike
and struck
the proof of our pain
has been caught
coddled
corrupted
corroded
castrated in the subtlest form
claimed

Claimed, by those who seemed capable
crossed across too many times
the match is probably too comfortable
you and I are going to climb
until the fallacy
crashes, burnt by ether
confounded
possibility un  confused
we will not
cry

Let's Pretend

Let's make a wish
that the Barbie house
becomes our house
let's imagine
that their clothes in the cupboard
are ones we fit into

Let's pretend
that the tennis court is Noddy's town
happy, full of primary colours
let's allow
for the bike to be a red car
in the happy town

Let's make believe
that the Christmas lights are for every Monday
the decorations
are real, for an eternity, let's try
and also
that the waves in the ocean
are warm,
we can float for an afternoon without goosebumps

Let's construct
that all the terror, and hitchhiking horror
never happened, and it was proportioned all right

Let's believe
no grief, belief chorused in the speed, sectioned

a new hymn of life
sung risen.

Liberation

Some days
I don't remember the way you ran

Sometimes
I can't remember how much you cried

I hardly ever recall
the quantifiable amounts
measured out and labelled
by the staff in white coats


the clock continuing the hours
of the toxic voice inside you
again
and again

Perhaps you dreamed of a garden
as you ran and ran away
from the four walls of raw wrists
the isolated marked not fit for life
 they designated
again
and again.

Farm Picnic

Explorers marching
one, two, three
destination undisclosed
little arms moving even more than little legs
march two three four
suspicious, they are
an adult may be peering through a window
tracking the serious travelers
to find the perfect
picnic
place.

Change

they have blossomed here
like two roots in the right rich soil
the tea in a long overdue cup
an accomplishment.

Evening

A disappearance of sun behind the mountain
a small space of light
between the drawn curtains
and instantly
the story is no longer mine

It is the icy wind's comfort story
the birds of the poplar forest
the buildings of red clay

It is a protective story
being born into a place
part of the soil
a story lost
a story of being.

Electric Elves

Far away
on a planet called Nevermind
Two elves use unique, individual ways
working night and day
making electricity
cleverly reconstructed wires
delightful humming
the city lights flash again
and breakfast toast and tea
can resume.

Sink or Swim

Spreading arms through the water

Breast strokes against the chromosomes

Surviving , keeping afloat

Looking up at outer spaces

One day

We will stay in the stars

Never to sink again.

Double Take

A ghost
you have become
a vacant space in the bookcase
and the tea table
circling the outside
looking for the front door

Take my hand
subliminal
tried
tested
take it

I may not know when
maybe in the dark hour before dawn
the whisper of a light
A small short clench of imagination
but a ghost hand will hold mine
and on one will even see
our power.

Heart Telephone

The child sits kicking legs
scared of being diagnosed
a cold instrument placed
on her chest
he says
I'm going to telephone your heart
to see if she is alright.

May I call your heart?
May I place a line and hear the
beat, beep, leave a message
checking in if it's beating
still.

Eerste Gebed

One night, long ago

When she was too young

To even have a voice

She asked to be watched

As she slept
 Possibly held

In safe arms

Guarded by a warrior

Knight, even a pirate?

But no one came

She prayed

To  angels  in the sky

Keep her safe

Watch her, the sleeping child

Great, responsible task

Called softly

For the right

Night  watchman.

Don't Ask Why

Somewhere very high
there are answers
in the sky
They will not be pulled
but maybe one day
they will simplify
into the right puzzle configuration
and you and I will look up
seeing the picture
right
for the first time.

When The Sea Lost Its Salt

On a grey morning
an unknown reason
the sea stormed
and lost its salt
the water from east to west
was drinkable, usable


And suddenly nothing made sense
everything collapsed in that change
the essence of her tears
had turned too sweet.

Special Rocks and Shells

A winter day we walk
on the beach
watching the hazy blue water
you pick up a pebble and a shell
you yell
and full to capacity with delight
you put them in your pocket
and later
at home
they join a soap crystal
to become three princesses.
sitting on a book about fairies

please

please allow the pleading
of my insignificant veined case
please
allow for a Strawberry Shortcake
allow for a re imagined prairie
the little house and wind
the re imagined
the invented
please
allow for the mistakes
the acting from the wrong wing
allow for the turning
for the call with no recall
please
allow
for no allowance

Epic fails

Do you remember
the way forward?

I remember the slipping
the running
screaming
frightened places
we felt
we knelt


Hold on
believe
see

Don't leave the cabin as a flight risk out
Don't take out the world we saw together
Believe,
bring your hands back from the slipping and remember
Believe
There was a time before this
Believe
There was a couch and sister
Believe
That is was flawed in a drawer
But
Believe, this is what careless care causes
you were
in the right time
in a never looked pool of water
the only reference
tired, possibly maybe a spun out web thread
I will walk and wonder forever
if you knew


I was
in
chanted
the day I got to hold you
do you know?
How you entranced me?
I'll wish
please
that you know
I was
always
honoured to meet you

Swallowing the Sun

The mountain has an enormous

Arrogant task

Taking the day away

Until there is a new shy sky

Ink darkness spreads

Dreams and schemes

Can resume.

what happened to a heart

it needed a place
to be a child
to be inconsisent
to be heard
to be held
to be shown
to be forgone
to be forgiven
to be found in an overgrown ground
to be frowned on
to be flown, from any time or place
home

Africa

Maybe it is both
that the death and beauty
are too tired
confused
dedicated too much
a hollow place
in between race
confused
by shoulder
the first, the secrets
whispered both ways
the space is visible
Between the Monuement and the Hill
Repeated

Reticent tide

The moment
building momentum
the waves break
and crash
like my beating heart

Exposure

Stripped, a stab from the side
overlooked
a blow from the corner
misheard
a hand of sand thrown into a throat
swallowed
a crash on the skull
wanted
a gasp in the solar plexus
banished
a dog tired knife in the heart
betrayed
a hand to protect, brutally sliced off
completed.

New World

There is a shimmer
Bright strong light
the beggar has moved away
from the table
waiting
for crumbs to come
treading on the coldest ice
blossoms of the betrayal are blooming
beautiful in the backward
awkward
eyes downcast,
past
glance

end

The cross check examined
one last time
the shared air supply
the buddy, lifegiving bubbles
signals underwater
lost, floating
far away
drowning
I am obliged
to resurface
to find new air

The Emmerentia Jungle

Stone steps
searching for a place to own
a mess of trees is home
tin plates and toy soldiers
an ogre in the undergrowth,
perhaps
protected private land
untended
hidden from the tennis courts and swimming pools
moments, ants in broken wall world

Le Bonaparte

The smallest tables
white neat table clothes
starched
superior
tarte au pommes maison
(homemade apple pie)
sparkling
different of a world
smartened, slightly dirt appraised
clasped from far

Frozen Frosted Washing

The wind has been violent
the afternoon so frosty
that it has blown
an unexpected surprise
in the morning
open mouthed, we stand uniformed in the fallout
on the way to school assembly
 unprecedented Johannesburg winter
the washing has taken on bubble shapes
socks and underpants
frozen solid, bubbled out

marching matching dominoes

Snow White meets the Frog Prince
stacked against the odds
the rules changed
mismatched
Will we be criticized
for new connections between them?

The Art of the Parting

I cannot stop the hurting
even with the understanding
you are the voice that helped me chase the stars
sometimes I still look up and forget
in absence
I see the glitter of a Christmas decoration
and then again
your deportation

Womble wanders

Underground
they re invent what we have thrown away
every day
the carelessly discarded
become carefully cared for

Hundreds, Tens, Units

These days there is no carpet
strewn with Aromat and the holidays
a set of counting blocks
we make a city of small people
the tens are roads
units are the inhabitants,
hundreds transformed to become the skyscrapers
those days
when you were mine
and there were no guards

Happened

It is over
grass in the wind
gazing from a window
waiting for your call
gentle reminders of winter light
harsher reminders of empty rooms
left long ago
close the Story Teller book
it is over.

Magic Trick

A rabbit in a top hat
takes me floating above the houses
the roofs and swimming pools diminish
tomorrow across the horizon
only sky matters

shoemaker

An old man dreams of another world
sitting in a dark room
an outdated profession
where elves offer nightly assistance
aiding
failing eyesight

Rainbow Parrot

Shaking the feathers
spectrum of colours
the mirror of a rainbow atom structure
in your skin

Flight

A windflower fairy
sprinkles the farm forest with light
between the leaves like a roof
see her shake her wings
once
and take flight

Puppet Show

A limp little donkey
forgotten on top of a cupboard
in the gathering dust
until a day when the new toys
were too stiff to be the puppets
and his time was finally right
able to dance from the strings
to get a standing ovation

Rocking Horse

Dappled, grey and white
Sad not to have found a home
between the automatic race cars
the toy soldiers and the soft teddy bears
waiting for a child
to find rocking joy

Child Room

A story begins in a nursery

a dim presence in the dark

not just a trick of light

refractions from a skylight

a shuttered window, or a row of mirrors

it was another recognition

an overlap of history and intuition

of perception and presence

a mother beyond her hearing

only in the next room

did not hear her cries

The Mermaid Who Couldn't Swim

you were so scared for Melina

who had sea drops and scales

and no hopes on the horizon

with a fin tail and salty tears

you asked why a mermaid

should be taught how to swim

and why the little boy

from the fishing village

drew pictures in the sand

and helped her find

a kingdom under the sea.

Sleeping Twins

clasped lids, the dream boxes

open with soft angel wings

glass cabinets

infinite possibilities

flutter on the shoulder

whispering dreams

gentle wings quiver

through pairs of ears like pink shells

into orbits of fantasy where

lightning speed imaginations whirring

wheels of ice creams, swings, sugar

all things bright and white

the tiny wings are swirling, guiding sleep

now they turn back

floating, slipping onto the past

the box snaps shut

as magic childhood dust gathers over

sleeping heads.

Tribute

I am the shadow at your feet

with fear and photos

somersaults and screams

and torn up dreams

dragging you, as you look down

you see only the dark reflection of yourself

I am just an invisible space

between history and memory.

Africa is tired, a deserted house

insomnia plagues endless nights

and liberation wars

strewn with brittle bundles of bones

but, for us, it is a country of silkworms

Sunday nights, guitar lessons

tennis clubs, sticker albums

small, not beautiful

bleak and beloved.

lovely light bright light shines on

fists and frowns inside beds

pillows swallow peaceful breaths

casting dreams, of demons

trolls, ballerinas prancing

the perfectly positioned sheets

and polished school shoes

for tomorrow

then there are nightmares

throwing voices of anger

scaring the darkness

surviving, bleeding between us

in the silence

tired terror screams from memory

painful angels

fluffy and furry

fall on splintering

sharp cornered nightly raids.

Greece (2)

It was five o’clock

suspended time of day in heat and dark

five o’clock

a bedroom full of peace

 pictures

stern ancestors

on the walls

five o’clock

a mother’s pride, with my tears on the pillow

it was quiet

and right

an inner resonance

combined breathing

you comforted

I cried

At five o’clock.

Farm

I had been strong

 in the throng of weddings

 the friendship circles

book clubs

great careers at attorney’s firms

 the too much sometimes

pulse of Johannesburg

 became too much

I got too nervous

to leave the flat

 lay shaking at night

too much of everything

hearing helicopters

thinking they were coming

To arrest me

 Illegal

 realms of paranoia

 too much

I didn’t know what it was

 mom came on a plane

 I shook until she opened the door

at the flat

we got into the rented car

took some clothes

 a few books

 even they, it seemed, had abandoned me

 bought Woolies food

 drove in the winter afternoon

to the farm

for me to get better

if that can be a phrase used

 describe someone

who had fallen into the abyss

when the centre line cracked open

I fell

 the dogs were there

on the farm

the smell of wood smoke

Saartjie made a fire every night

 I slowly starting to sleep at night

 walked to up near the mountain

behind the house

every afternoon

the five dogs, and me

 never understood faith

until I lost it

until I stood looking at the great Magalies mountain

which I had seen since I was born

 held the blood of ancestors

 Boer War battles

 I said to the mountain

I surrender

 put my trust in you

In the universe

 bring it on

 not frightened

anymore.

on my knees

Common Room Breakfast

A waiter in while jacket takes order

toast, eggs, coffee (too much)

for the two of us

alone as children among the advocates

taken on a tour after the suited bespectacled

serious men have gone back to work

with newspapers and briefcases

clearing throats, peppermints on their desks

stricken starched white collared

containing ‘headsofargument’

and sometimes, the black cloaks

for the courtrooms.

and stressfullife

Tennis Court

Lost leaping
From a moss crawling wall
And you, so small
landing on the dilapidation of asphalt
The bulbous knees are almost broken
On a summer night in Westcliff
Jasmine and gables
Completely incongruent
With the cry for hope
And rescue

Triangle

It may seem strong
Pinnacle rising to a point
But it cannot move
Like a wheel
Or stand like a square
The pyramids are deceptive

It can be just sharp shifted points
All three pointed and edged
And the betrayal of the most unlikely
Possible crumbling from the corner
Unjust, inconclusive
The fortress of bricks
May be better to reach
A star lined sky

Which Witch Tower

A path leading to a turret
Overlooking the ocean
Before the spiral staircase,
Private, Keep out
Alone, no one can see our spells
Only the eyes of imagined, quiet friends
We practice at a cauldron in a silent room
With work to do
Keeping the strict adult world out
The pages turn and disappear
As the room becomes the world

Moon Butterflies

If you should ask me
In that smart little voice
Never ending with questions
I would say yes
If you paid enough attention to the details
There are butterflies
Circling the moon

Practical Magic

You and I
a synthetic combination,
between the pen and the drill
unlikely, but two strong blonde girls
with butterflies wings and electrical cables
fluttering between the toolbox and the mirror.

The Busy Dragon

perched on a cliff face of another world
lighting fires, burning houses
scaring flocks of sheep
the softest possible nest egg
for the smallest baby dragon

Magic Mountain

There is a spell
Stuck to you
like fragrance glue
there is a constant rainbow
and smoldering sun
eyes wide
in the golden afternoon
bewitched

Schlesien

Where the sky is stretched to capacity
Possible to be kings of a universe
The stars move closer
A morning brings a planet, circling, nearer
Alien, poisonous in the endless wind
Turning back to a the safety of a small room
Wooden beds, and Buttermilk Rusks
Staying as kings of our games and books, contained.

Change

A clear vase of yellow flowers
reflected in the mirror
a change in the weather
lightens the beating heart

Tugela Road Winter

Stockings pulled off after school
Winter of the Highveld,
Brittle grass
We swing from the jungle gym bars
Metal smells stay on our hands
And she waters the dismal lawn

Emergency

Somewhere there is a corner of history
Which is unheard
Silent, dusty, dark
Few may have gathered there
In desperate whispers of the emergency room
The routine we came to know
Where we they?
With their familial phrases
Their newly polished terms of endearment
Did they see you
Did they hold your hand?
Did they try
And fail?


The loss is mine, alone
Here in the long forgotten
Terrifying
Corner of history.

Trump Card

When it was just enough

To be us

The wiring inside worked

Anything was possible

It made sense to see

Our reflection in the mirror

And then she came quietly

A master player

The ace of spades

Stolen in the night

And my hardwiring collapsed

Broken, burnt, a unique theft

There is no place left for us

A mess of lost thought remains

Linger

The smell of the doll clothes suitcase
stays on the imagination
a marker of a magical time
a stream, a dream
a forest in winter
and Rice Crispies

Searchlight

She is searching

Looking through storage

The marine striped shirt, a fabric of before

The photograph box

A pancake mixing bowl

Records of birth and death

The scarves

Looking for a smile, a face that seems recognized

The pain has dusted everything

Struggling

To find the little girl

Arrival

The yellow gate
of the lawless driving energy
the blood of my birthplace
the first stonewall where I played
and stayed
the place built by my father and mother
inexplicable, I cannot go back
it has been created, the woodsmoke and cattle
I belong, the mould will not be broken
closing the yellow gate, pray
I am going to try to stay

Recovery (2)

This time
a long wait
a spefic date
longing to meet her
the numbing needle in my back
professional hands
small talk
and a daughter
a moment, a cry
my temperature is dropping
heart racing
rummaging inside
seeing her, of course, that face is her
and I am wheeled away into recovery
shaking teeth chattering
blankets and a heater for her, they say
she's too cold
trying to get out to see her

Recovery

For me there were no pills or white beds
but you took me, in depression
at the height of discretion
to the farm in winter
the fire every night
the days of belonging
and remembering
walking
lavender amounts
the calm breath and strength of the short days
stars, us small under cold nights
under the never changing
watchful eye
of my mountain

The Toy Ring

A doll, a mouse

Holding hands with fairy and Strawberry Shortcake

Gloating

Protected by a binding light

Behind the poplar forest

Farm house near enough to see

A circle of trust, dependent on time

Golden chambers

And  childhood no time to waste alliance.

Pan American

The Pan American Motel

Is where we started

The rush of traffic and first McDonald’s cheesebruger

Later

Alone, a slowly collapsing heap

In the corner of hotel rooms

Overtired from life

Knowing that if you crossed Queens Boulevard

There would be a promise, and a new life.

Transatlantic

In a discarded hand bag, the lip balm from Target

And one smell, here at the bleak coast town

Ghost town

Shoots an electrical current through my bloodstream

I am in Amherst in high summer

The sticky long days and trees, so many trees

Green shaded by a different light

The house with that unique smell , American clean carpet

The shredded wheat, the big pharmacies full of strange surprises

Malls with perfumes upon perfumes

And you

A life, in charge

Goodbye is always on the horizon

When the bus arrives in the humid afternoon

Chest hugging my pride

Waving from the window.

Childhood Files

Hardwired across a bay

Into a farm room with bunk beds

Joined by a ladder

Filed so deep into the skin

That no knife or person can slice them away

Stand up, raise yourself

And come back.

Poppadoms

A family we created

Out of time and place

A culture in a playroom

With our rules and rights

Where a poppadom

Was a National Signature Dish

Crispy, strange

No longer relevant.

Choice

Wandering in the night

When the children are sleeping

Easy breathing

Wondering

In the night

What happened in that moment

Between sunset and morning

The dream had to fold

The pillow stories sister told

The choice was someone else

Standing in the dark

The breath of the my children

Are what cannot let me drown .

Mielies

Broken in half
One yellow studded cob
Shared, crunched
Sisters' mellow delight on the stoep
History repeated

Displaced

Waking up laughing
at your joke
scratching the mosquito bite
on your arm
the taste of peanut butter
from your sanwiches
the glimmer of a lagoon
you walked across
separately as us

Travel Agent

Planning a trip
for us and our pets
exchanging beads and boiled sweets
for a ticket
to a place of turnaround chaos
where seahorses walk
where Care Bears and Cabbage Patch dolls hug back
where no child ever feels carsick or confused
once we arrive, we are happy refugees there
impermanently.

Photograph

Perhaps it looks like
Just two sisters
Take a magnifying glass
The one wants all her sums done
Perfectly, or not at all
The other is controlling
Demanding attention
Not alike
But they have similar escapes
Hot chocolate, Barbie games
There was an invisible, unbreakable chain
When it broke no one could tell
But it felt like the moon shot out of orbit
Away from the earth
Drifting, forgotten in space.

The Paper Palace

We made a place to stay safe
protected, where we could draw on the walls
change the rooms every day
little did I know
that the walls were penetrable
that she could strike a match
and light a fire
under our empire

Girlhood

Standing at the side
Wearing summer dresses even in winter
With blankets as your long hair
Hopping, dancing, desperate to belong
Pure belief in the Easter Bunny
Too shy to go to the bathroom
I look at you
And my heart peels open like an onion
The love beat open, raw and exposed.

Flower Pot Homes

The sky is lead
And I am looking for shelter
For my small, celluloid dolls
With their orange and strawberry hair
and matching handbags
They must hide in the flower pots
Huddles between the hydrangeas
As the big raindrops
Begin to fall

Ward 3

Stop
PIease stop
It should be our world
Leave the channels of this
Our playroom has walls
Come back
The cereal we made
It's real
The Aromat on the carpet
That  is real
Tapes playing in the bedroom
Rewind the record
Come back

Takeaway

Away
from this place
You are bursting from the meal
And the beds and the nurses
Empty help
Asking me
To take you
To where mom and Piet fought
To buying rusks in Humansdorp
To the coffee with Cremora
To the Barbies at the farm
Taking us away.

One Year Ago

The light becomes older
Towards the dusk
The cold is creeping
The swing is ready, two seats waiting
We are suspended on the farm
Not knowing how soon
The end is near.

Nights Awake

Brave coughing
Against the blue wallpaper
In the owl hour
The red syrup
Blurred coaxing,
The hours
Between reality and dream
When only chest sore babies
Are awake

Front Line

A troop
An ambush
The horses stand
Our ground
Madness,
But this is ours
The small piece of entitlement
With a fireplace
And a name

The Door

It takes a long time to find
A proper key to open
It cannot be untouched
We tended the room inside
A planet of memories we watered
And you are asking to leave
You have an easy ride
a ticket, a path
crossed, accomplished
Without even looking
Perhaps you never wonder
What it may look like
But magic has a way of surviving
Even through suffering
Close your eyes
It's there,
New caretakers
Strong as before.

Resting

Your whole face
Says it is too alive
To fall into the cave of whispers
the nudges and the murmurs
The weary head
Cannot say farewell to the sky
You doubt that you are safe
But there is a moon, and our arms
Rest your head
Dream the lands you seek,
See your sleeping horizon.

Golden Worlds

I cannot give you
the secrets of the world
Or shield you
From the arrows of school boys
But you are such a gift of essence
So proper and vulnerable
What I can do
Is turn the glass to gold
Perhaps give you the entrance
To a Ring in a stream
A wizard
Your Father Christmas
Journey, to fireworks and Frodo
My complicated little gem
And bring you home

Galaxy Gazing

Lying on sleeping bags
My mother shows us
The night blanket of universes
In the desert
Flawless and continued forever
We see the seven sisters
And other thousands of pin prick lights

The Duckpond

Icy winter morning
The air thick with woodsmoke
And frost
We wake up on the farm
More adventure waiting outside
Than in the small house
Scarves, solid breath
The duckpond calls us
With secrets and plans
Parents and friends forgotten
Even the cold is on hold
I am a free goat herder
Doing cartwheels in my mind
Until the sun sets quickly
The ducks fold their wings
We rub our hands numb
ready for baths.

Laughing

Almost always moving
Little creatures
Pulled from sleep
You make me stumble
Your laughs
One like a Christmas bell
The other from the depth of a belly
Give me the rush
Of a thousand roller coasters.

Battleships

For someone so young
There were too many fronts to cross
And you alone,
were shipped from one expert
to the next
Transported like a toxin
Heads turning away
My head shifting,
Loyalties left
Where were the places where you rested?
The fleets came
You fought, you fled
You tried
And then you launched your own ship
Into the west
Sailed away
Leaving the fires
I sometimes watch that horizon
But it's too far away to see
Walking away with a last glance
Closed
Broken, begging
Sorry.

Calling

There are too many people between us
 From the plane you see bright lights and fiction
And crossed phone lines,
Bubbles of fear, corrosion
I try to look happy
I walk by this ocean in the evening
And I call you
Because there is really only water
Streams of salt clear passages
Holding our hearts
underneath

Rainy Day

Stockings and brown shoes
School burdens
Discarded by the door
Dizzy relief in the playroom
Sitting on the floor
Spilling crumbs of sandwiches
Making avenues
Of fairytale dominoes
Hours tick tock away
Raining hypnotic comfort streams
Matching Snow Whites and Frog Princes
In beautiful certainty.

Christmas Eve

The roads are frozen
A mystical serenity in this country of yours
the trees bare against the short days
And on the holy night
We drive to the Chinese restaurant
Dark, panda lanterns
Incongruously empty on this day of feasts
We order cocktails,
This is better
Than pretty tables full of turkeys
Our lonely Christmas in the snow
Just like it always has been

You and Me

On the stone bench
at the bottom of the night garden
just you and me
and possibly
a shooting star

Passport

If I had a passport

I would go back to that world

Where there was sense

And where we played

The map was so clear

But all I can do

Is send a postcard

Air mail

With a picture of a face

And hope the birds

Carry it over the sea.

Carrot Soup

Thursday evenings
Lettie chops carrots, onions, potatoes
skins pile on the table
kitchen steam filled and real
comfort from the the icy hours
of Highveld hockey practice
balancing bowls on adolescent knees
watching soap operas
for that night
I am homegrown, homemade
happy

Carrying Home

Like perfume on my very transparent skin
I have absorbed so much of you
more than you can see
the way you planted trees
and read of magic
and reached further
than a ship could have carried me
too fast, as the rooms and the wooden floors
are now in the shadow world
only the packages
I can give my children
of calling, the weeping
the story teller
fears pass
the Cat Called Friday
transported, through the skin
again