The third in a series of poems, some old, some new, exploring belonging and rootlessness.
Fibers
On those quiet mornings,
The day warms, but cold corners remain.
The sun on my shoulders, but an ache deeper inside.
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All those people I miss,
Images of faces, family,
Friends, old and new,
I would travel far to meet.
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Where is the center, what intertwines the strands?
Who weaves the tapestry so coarse-grained?
How do I bring the threads together?
Johannesburg, 2023
A second poem exploring the feelings of being always an outsider.
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Outsider
You, at solar center
Planetary spin fades us towards darkness
Spins around and around
Daylight silhouettes against infinite brightness
Away from you, twilight heightens
Tightens into darkness
The pull of light
The tug of blackness
Tears us, this way and that way
Pulls us towards
Flailing, failing, ailing, fading.
You, in effortless brightness
Head held high to match your gloriousness,
Turning away, the relief of obscurity
The comforts of darkness
Loneliness away from the pressure of light
The comforts of sadness, of madness, of night.
Arua 2022
The first of a series of poems exploring belonging, being an insider, being an outsider, loneliness. Emotions which are especially relevant for those who have, or do, live their life in many places, and never know which one to call home.
Insiders
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With laughter, language all your own,
Huddled around a meal, a fire, a phone,
Vibes bind you in un-worded bond,
Instinctively, I sense that I’m beyond,
Beyond the edge, the reach, your life.
Outsider outside, looking in.
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A glow on faces, earnest, warm,
Not just the light, but something more,
A sense of sharedness, faith or love,
Obliviously, you’re keeping out,
Unconsciously you’re closing ranks,
The key is lost, the code forgot.
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And though it’s been a good, long while,
I recognize that spreading smile,
There was a time, I hold it still,
There was an ease, a golden day.
And though the brightness burns dry eyes
I find I cannot turn away.
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Arua 2022
A poem to remind myself of what I know. Being a comfort eater, in a difficult time, every reminder is worth a try.
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Breakfast
Let every meal be a poem, with abundance of adjectives –
A wine tasting, a fine testing, with grand exaggeration,
Stretching descriptions to their outer reaches,
A universe in miniature.
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Savouring, searching for the right word
In any language you know, in combinations and solos
The oil-brightened colours, the sprinkles of pepper,
The lift of green lemon,
Mildness of avo,
Chew of halloumi,
Fibrous, slippery greenness of spinach,
Golden morning-ness of a lightly poached egg.
Sweet, sweet pop of a cherry tomato.
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Johannesburg
January 2023