New Poems

God's white clouds
quilting the sky
traveling on hints of wind
making it cool.

In Central Park the cherries begin to bloom
On a sun-drenched day when birds have left their notes
For us, intruders inside their sanctuary moats,
Unseen but heard in the shadows where the branches loom.
 
I walk a narrow path that’s filled with wood chips,
Fine grass and leaves enveloping the way,
Creeping past and among the gates on which they play
In the wind like the smiles on a thousand lips.
 
Deep within the trees there is a shelter
Where all the park unfolds its jagged edges
And there I rest in the mid-day swelter

Touch me roughly with a feather made of silk.
Dip it in chocolate made creamy with milk.
Paint me brown with twirls that are prettty and neat.
While I lay calmly still, kinda sticky but sweet!

This morning the sky imparted its will
On spring, on summer, when all around
Is rain and mist, and darkness still,
Distilled for a moment in the river’s sound.
 
These years I’ve buried my head in books
Have come and gone with the green dawn air;
Last night I walked by the brimming brooks
And left a song as I passed on there.  

We're selling Father's moustache,
I hope he doesn't mind.
We're hoping for a hefty price,
     Say, $13.99

It's not that we need the money,
Although it couldn't hurt.
It's just that he looks so funny,
     Like he fell facedown in the dirt.

And all our friends are laughing,
They point at him and stare,
And pass us giggling down the street
     Like we're not even there.

So late tonight at midnight
We'll have our fondest dream;
My brother with the shaver,
    And me with shaving cream.

en ek ruk aan my maag se binneste
elke denk aan jou 'n aaklige bot

      One, Two, Three, four, five. I decided I am writing a poem, but it started out as a paragraph. One, Two, Three, Four, Five. Five spaces to indent a paragraph. Why do I dwell on an indention? Because I’m bored. Indentions are to be subconscious, to be typed and forgotten. Poor indentions. This is a poem.

"Where Sweetness Lies"