Poetry

  • When Man Discovered Fire
    It was nighttime. The darkness would hide what Denela was about to do. She brought the bucket outside and dumped its contents into a corner of the yard. There were several plastic containers from soft drinks, empty foil and plastic sachets from shampoo, vinegar and soy sauce, sardine and corned beef tins, plastic bags and ...
  • The Feast of the Inebriated
    It is colonial heritage. Apolonio followed the tradition of his ancestors. He butchered 5 native chickens. They were about a dozen more from 3 or so clutches of eggs that hatched in the end of winter. 5 is enough to make stew and there are more for other special occasion until December. There are some ...
  • Happy Happy
    That’s what they called it, happy happy, the alcoholic interludes Tainted with nicotine delights, the pseudo-fiesta fares foraged from The Gardens of Others, cooked over fires burning from sinful woods Stolen – no – taken, from the old woman who died of a weak lung Because they poisoned the country air with their happy happy. They had lights that ran ...
  • Acts of Fashion
    There would not be a few who could remember that elderly woman Squatted at the door of her house, reciting the litany of evils That was coming to the village, it was poetry, it was tradition, no one Rebukes it yet no one shuts the window view to the glowing thrills Of the progressive life, the many indestructible objects ...
  • An Introduction to the Short Poem
    I am hunted and there is time to write a poem about it, here in the refuge Of a forest thick with the calls of birds telling me there are too many of my Enemies and too few of my kind still alive; might I be saved by the deluge In the distance or the gun in my ...
  • Absent Without Pay
    Sorry, I was distracted by the windfall of hog plums and did not realise the time Spent on, wasted on, the observance of the beautiful shape of spots on my lover’s Face; so now I am full of fruit and grace, antihelmithic and adoration, both supine And upright, depending on where you are coming from; never mind, whatevs, I ...
  • The Café
    The café was where he saw her again, the place familiar to them both a place expected but unwished, for only a matter of time to be stricken of the rigor mortis of his arteries, he wondered did she not, did she see did she ever but he will never really know until the blood starts flowing once more, ...
  • The Hovel
    His house was a hovel, a permanent reservoir of the scent of cheap wine and wild berries chewed, the seeds spat on the floor with the butts and foils of cigarettes, the fire outside a permanent encampment of fish, game and some time hock from the market when there is money to buy, otherwise, there is enough in the woods ...
  • My Golden
    There is a woman currently in psychiatric ward number nineteen hun dead and famished is her heart, her prostituted heart, the cardiac ar rangement that take place between patron and prostitute, that trans vestite in her mind, the sins she should never be guilty of, endless mir age of miracles and the many years back upon which she gazed I ...
  • Hitman
    The winter breeze numbed his hunger but not the bullets That lined the pocket hidden deep on his side all metal Bearing bombs cradled in a peaceful slumber like pullets Waiting for the egg to fall the cock to call the cum cumall The opportunity to hatch !bam! in the head of the quarry And to flee with empty pockets ...
  • Memento Mori
    The coconut trunk I left for dead has hollowed itself to The rhythm of white ants, leaving a shell of pale earth Mimicking the mud on swine as the sun beckons who Loves me after the rain with a bowl of mais to the heath We guzzle our morning meal then play rooting searching Turning over the vegetation until we ...
  • The Poet Anonymous
    There is magic in the pressurised air of the Udderground Aground of wordly machinations where the magic happens In way of Error: Poem Not Found in way of Poet Not Found In the Udderground Game of Tit-for-Tat and human kindness Hence the prisoner’s dilemma plays out once more for thee Whence the poetry factory never sleeps its frenzy its madness Its ...
  • Drama in the Boondocks
    I am no woman of the boondocks and yet now here I Am bewildered owner of five hectares of agricultural Land with a view of the sea and thank heavens high Ground away from both inundation and the proverbial Giant of the mountain top where now my vision blurs At the sight of Charlie halfway up the coconut tree Amidst the ...
  • Orientalia
    Here is a slender noose that runs down from neck to brassiere Made of silk and cashmere and upon it is a lightweight bodice Lace in fine cotton yarn, now if you pull that noose you still Need to unravel the length of lace round beneath my breasts And the loop that goes over the back of my neck ...
  • Victoriana
    At the end of polite dinner conversation there is sometimes this Appetitive where brutish behaviour manifests typically in coitus And related rituals, yes, the cool diplomatic regard with which Men and women of high pedigree consider one another puts Delight in brutal fucking and burlesqueries, surely it heightens The pleasure when there is restraint and so you must take Your time, ...
  • Sorry I Don’t Masturbate on Webcam for Boyfriend
    Wistful, I was awake when the alarm went, and, I, watched The two dots, blink, switched off after the first beep, then took The time to appreciate the glow of dawn, first light, snatched A towel and washed, primed myself a bit for that dreamy look That morning ritual with the webcam at my bedside; smile, he Says hello and ...
  • Le Prix du Wank
    We were early inhabitants of Usenet, the Internet of chatty things And because we were colonised and subdued by America we spoke Their English with proficiency, we learned their vernaculars in films And soaps, and we sometimes believed that we were white, we broke Into chatty laughter and displayed uncanny intelligence intensifying Our feminine allure almost masculine, we silenced the ...
  • Breakable
    I used to think that the very first ray of light was a great Mystery, an untold story that I had to seek and unravel For the day, but these days I awake and drag my weight Out of bed, the light had long passed, nothing to marvel But merely the faint hope that I would not be reminded ...
  • The Ultimate Art
    Under capitalist democracy there exists the deep anxiety Of the artist who is never able to escape the role afforded Him by the plutocrats that has divided his beloved country Into two classes, wolves and sheep, a hierarchy regarded With much merit, a fate most inescapable in the industrialised World where the artist’s identity is defined by what he does And ...
  • Civilisation and Two Forms
    The culmination of the various means of forced labour Against the capitalist diktat of a great western civilisation May take on two related forms as I have witnessed for Two decades passed with each a struggle into cessation Of all psychological and physical activism against the state They pray the system submits to a collective suicide yet Until then there are ...
  • Seduction Fail
    Please, if I sit before you and bare my legs perhaps I am interested in something, and you must look, open Those insipid eyes and see, it is sunset a short lapse Of time and you will miss the reflection of redemption On my thighs, when the shadows grow long it won’t Be the same, yes, my cunt prefers the ...
  • A Conversation with T. Merton
    And as expected, the devil knew and came to practise Non-violent resistance donning the badge of the pariah Yet the shining privilege of one who has sold out glint Not of the pariayar but of the Pharisee’s high moral ideal Where non-violence is craftily employed as moral force A subtle provocation devised to expose the evil of Other And the justification ...
  • Alive
    The breeze came with the footsteps of the enemy Upon dry vegetation of the south-east, his head And shoes burned under the morning sun, and he Heard their guns cock before their fingers held Between the steel and sweat in a very bad dream He saw his friends beneath a hail of imaginary Bullets, he saw the top of all their ...
  • Ga-
    She wasn’t his type, a rather large homely woman, pulpy On the cheeks and breasts and yet he decided to give Himself the benefit of a fuck he rightly deserved certainly After being the most considerate bastard yet they leave They always leave and he couldn’t understand why what The fuck do they want do they need if he had ...
  • Practise
    There never seemed any closure to the broken strings In his life, he knots the pieces together but his heart hurts In the night when the dream comes, the vision that brings The sham that keeps him alive, he stood naked, the welts On his chest throbbing like a gaping wound and he walked A narrow corridor its walls decorated ...