Poems
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A Fistful of Seed
I took this photo of a sorghum panicle (seed head) during a visit with 30 children to a vegetable garden on a homestead in northern KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. There was no sound but the their twinkling voices and scattered birdsong. Small children followed the farmer along narrow paths of soft, dark soil. On either side, raised beds of verdant spinach, intercropped with onions, mint, imbuya (green herbs), marigold and chilli. A boy pointed to the single sorghum plant and asked ‘Doesn’t that belong in the field?’ The farmer smiled. ‘Yes!’ she answered. ‘It’s there for the birds – something sweet to keep them away from my vegetables.’ Later, we gathered…
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Excuse(s for) my haiku
Sometimes thoughts spill out in the syllabic structure of Haiku, hard-wired since childhood. I used to catch them and string them across notebooks or hang them on my phone. They swung in my mind, little satisfied smiles. What a shock to discover that Japanese sound units are closer to 10-14 syllables in English than the 17 (5-7-5) I was told! Not only was my Haiku ‘too long’, most of it was not Haiku! So here I am, stumbling through the field of broken rules in the hope of arriving at a clearing in my head...
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Where are Wordsworth’s daffodils?
Daffodil cultivation can produce fancy flowers of diverse hues – but that is not good news for honeybees.
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Observance
In memory of Nduna Mvelase, Msinga
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Broken Promise
The poem Broken Promise featured in Voices, an anthology of poems and artistic work by South African poets and artists, expressing solidarity with the Palestinian people in their struggle for freedom, justice and sovereignty.
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Kingfisher
A small brown-hooded kingfisher that often visited our South Durban garden fell one morning from the sky. What a dull and and unjust name for a bird of such resplendent plumage.
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L’été dernier
On ne savait pas qu'il serait l'été dernier. On avait le sentiment d'une fin, de quelque chose mais pas la fin de nous-mêmes. La glycine a refleuri. Le souvenir de ceux qui ne l'ont pas vu se mêle à son parfum...
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Whistleblower
Public funds that should be used to provide services and transform the economy in South Africa are stolen by tenderpreneurs colluding with those entrusted to govern. Some of that money is used to murder whistleblowers - and then witnesses in the cases against the alleged killers - so that no one is brought to book.
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Swept Away
Where are the children of the storms? The boy on the bridge with his school bag Who thought he should cross before the water rose higher. His sister needed help with her reading. His mother would worry if he came home late. Where are the children of the storms? The girl who waited for her father, Who heard on the news of a man crushed in his car. And stood in the rain expecting that car to hoot at the gate. Where are the children of the storms? The child taken twice by the raging river Saved once and swept off once more Did she lie back and watch the…
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Switched on
The other night the lights went off I got an awful scare I’m totally terrified of the dark When Mum and Dad aren’t there My Dad ran from the garden, shouting ‘Don’t you worry, son! ‘I’ll meet you in the bedroom And we’ll get the power back on.’ I crept along the hallway Till I saw my Dad’s cellphone His face looked ghostly in the light But at least I wasn’t alone. My Dad put on his brave voice So that I didn’t panic Shame he’s not an electrician (or a plumber or mechanic). Dad said: ‘OK, a switch has tripped So all we have to do Is flip each…
