Sunday, 14 December 2008


Here is another contribution from guest splatter sass:

i'm staring at the ceiling again
mind reeling
thoughts rushing ceaselessly
fleeing half-formed
and fleeting

my mind reaches to grasp
though there's but air
mere wisps of smoke

disappearing into whorls of nothing

Wednesday, 10 December 2008

just an observation

Here is a contribution from another guest splatter, this time it is sass from my whorl. She is quite a prolific poet and often publishes her writing on her blog. Go check it out!

ife goes on...

the trash truck does it's rounds,
tow trucks wait
on the edge of the highway -
lions at a watering hole.
motorists carve curious trails,
carom precariously,
swim drunken laps through a sea of
careless cars.
today's headlines line the lampposts
like so many doomsday prophets.
there's so much truth,
so many lies.

i retreat behind the bars
of my eyes...

and life goes on...

Friday, 14 November 2008

The violence of the colonised soul

Much has been written about the psychological and spiritual violence suffered by the colonised native. I agree wholeheartedly with this but I would like to add all citizens of colonised countries to this list, not only the natives of a country.

This is not to detract from the suffering of the indigenous peoples. That they have had foreign cultures thrust upon them and have suffered as a result is unquestionable. They had no choice but to adopt the new culture and weld and meld it with their own as best they could. They became hybrids in order to survive.

My ancestors came to South Africa at various times. They were white, they chose to come to a new country, but to ignore as much as possible the local ways and culture. They chose to follow only their own ways, and to force those ways upon the locals.

There is nothing I can do about this. I am sorry it happened. But us descendants of the colonisers we are hybrids too. We find ourselves citizens of a country that does not much want us any more. We are told we are Europeans. We go to Europe and they tell us there is no way we are European. We were born on African soil and taught to love that soil with all our hearts, but we are not allowed to be called African.

I believe that all citizens of a colonised country suffer from hybridity, psychological violence, dividedness, a confused sense of self, a crisis of identity.

Will an Indian South African ever be "South African", even if they are 6th generation South African? Or will they always be "Indian South African"? Will a coloured person, the most glaring example of hybridity, ever be allowed to forge an identity that is neither white nor black, but South African? Does a "South African" identity exist at all? Black people have had western ways and ideals thrust upon them, and must choose to adopt them and be called a "coconut", or reject them and battle to fit into a Westernised job market, or weld them into a new hybrid form.

We are all hybrids, and we can fight this or we can embrace it. It makes us who we are, it challenges us. We will always suffer this confusion, this sensation of not quite belonging to anything, but it need not damage us. We should allow it to drive us forward, and while it may never unite us into a common South African identity, we can remember that we all suffer from this fate of existential confusion, whatever our roots.

Monday, 3 November 2008

American sentence

There must be a better way

Communism is Capitalism disguised: we want all your stuff.

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

Es'kia Mphahlele has died.

I have just read that Es'kia Mphahlele has died. I wrote this post in appreciation of his writing, and his life, just a month ago. I am kind of in shock. 

He was a great man, a great South African, someone whom I feel was under appreciated as a South African icon.

He achieved unbelievable things in extremely difficult circumstances, and should be a role model to all of us.

I have never read any of his novels, but will take the time to as soon as possible.

If you get the chance, you should read his autobiography, it will teach you much about South Africa, and life in those times.

Rest in peace, Prof. Mphahlele.

Friday, 24 October 2008

Bewaaaare the jumping buck

This haiku was inspired by this Thoughtleader article.

Beware: Jumping Buck.
It will give you bad luck, and
cause crate-loads of kak.

Tuesday, 21 October 2008

Little llama

Another animal haiku from crazy guest splatter Foo:

He gazes at me
his eyes so deep and soulful
oh little llama

Monday, 20 October 2008

people on the streets

This is an extract from a short story I wrote, so it is not really poetry at all. It is a paragraph about people on the streets in Cape Town. Most of the people described are based on truth. 

There was the proud lady who asked only for water,
 the wizened man with the startling beard,
 the child who carried a letter telling of her troubles,
 the young schizophrenic who swayed on one leg for hours and then burst into a heated tirade, 
the man with the recorder, 
the one with the club foot,
 the wire flower seller, 
the card seller, 
the bead seller, 
 the sweeper,
 the leaf-raker, 
the candlestick maker, 
the one who helped you park your car,
 the one who guarded your parked car, 
the ones who cleaned your car windows while you stopped at the robots.

Friday, 17 October 2008


Another haiku from the guest splatter Foo.

The sound of swishing
train comes to a flying halt
ooh that scary leaf

Thursday, 16 October 2008

Feeling blue.

Here is a poem from guest splatter, Foo.

He sits in lonely torment.
the sun no longer reigns in the sky
an outcast, a stranger
they reject the unfamiliar
for he...
is the only gay smurf in the village

Wednesday, 15 October 2008

monkey see

Today's splat is another haiku by guest splatter Foo.

Monkey grab monkey
see no feel no banana
sometimes it's disguised

Tuesday, 14 October 2008

mischievous moose

A moose on the loose
ran into my garden and
terrified the goose.

Monday, 13 October 2008


Another guest splatter, yay! Today's guest splatter is called Foo and she has written a haiku:

Lemming one drop down
lemming two land on lemming
lemming three go squish

Saturday, 11 October 2008

Grey day.

Grey is the morning.
I have no fire left in me
to light the grey day.


Friday, 10 October 2008


A bird is warm and free
to sing or eat a worm
and fly, fly.

I have a stone 
deep in my bowels,
smooth like an egg
but cold.
It will not dislodge
it bears me down
and slowly, slowly,
I petrify.
Fissures forge fine imprints
of  feathered history,
and I grow hard, leached dry,
a fossil on a museum shelf-
beyond reach.

When I die I wish my soul to 

Tuesday, 7 October 2008


This is the way the whirlwind turns;
Without a thought for where you stood
and watched the birds on the wall
or fought with your lover
just five seconds before.
It can take you away 
as if you were nothing more than dust
and dump you where
you do not know yourself at all.

Friday, 3 October 2008

The passing penguin

Today's splat is written by a guest splatter, G. He wrote it while in Antarctica for 15 months at the South African base.

The Passing Penguin

Swishing, and swashing and swimming about

Swish swash and hop just out

Flipping and flopping and looking about

Flip flop and have no doubt


On to tummy, better get out!

Monday, 29 September 2008

American sentence

I had never heard of the American sentence until I read Poefrika, which directed me here. I am not sure if I understand the concept fully, but the 17 syllable aspect is easy enough to achieve:

It is so quiet now that loneliness sees through all my disguises.

Thursday, 25 September 2008

Seasons of home:


 The mountain glows gold
with the smoky promise of
      a blossoming fire.

Seasons of home:


      The sun melts fallen
ice-cream into clouds of blurred
     abandoned rainbows.

Wednesday, 24 September 2008

Seasons of home:


  Time to clear the grime
and put to sleep an era’s
    faded pantomime.

Seasons of home:


     Mid-phrase a bullet
snaps him from the bitter air
  to the dead, cold ground.

Tuesday, 23 September 2008

Thank you Eskom

Your razor eyes peeled back
my carrot skin disguise
Exposing things long tucked away
By mouldy familiarity.
And I, cold and raw, x-rayed you
And I too saw.

We tiptoed a fine-spun thread,
teetering on edges of ugliness,
Eyeing depths that offer no return
that plunge to parallel dimensions
without intersection.

I stiffened, poised to leap
into the icy winds of love’s defection,
into the slipstream of the left-unsaid,
but then the lights winked out
and we
well we did something else instead.

Monday, 22 September 2008

Sent to Coventry

Coventry, oh Coventry
Your name does strange things to me
with its round-vowelled lilting beauty
It brings to mind scones and tea
and Morris dancing and all that is Englishy
(and a naked woman on a horse but this poem is not meant to be kinky)
Your name is silky, Coventry.

Coventry, you lie to me
When I visit you all that I see
are concrete blocks and faded humanity
Your bus station is full of knives, needles and debauchery
and the people are always bothering me,
what IS that metal bridge monstrosity?
Your name should be Slough or Wrexham, Coventry

Saturday, 20 September 2008

TV removal men

I know that "men in the night" sound
and I know the fear, the heart in the mouth,
the hand on the phone, whispering my mantra
Take what you want, the TV is crap though,
you already took the good one, that one is someone's spare,
The picture is blurred and jumps around,
Just don't hurt us, we are not bad people.

Now I am over the sea,
and I think of my loved ones
and I whisper again,
please please do not hurt them
they are good people.

And ps, thank you for curing me of TV.


My head feels worn
with too much thought
or too little, and torn
between fear of success
and failure safely borne.

Nothingness is easier than you think-
but slipping through the cracks,
hiding from mediocrity,
is only to sink.

Little people

If you feel you are too small
for this world, like a hobbit
amongst giants towering tall
Think of faithful Sam
And Bilbo who stole a cup
from a sleeping dragon,
But not so much Frodo -
he was pretty fucked up.


I am not of this earth
I am not of this space
I am designed for another time
and place

I encapsulate longing
for a sense of belonging
for a way to fit, a way to find

Thoughtbite 2

The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.

The rain in England falls daily on the rain

from yesterday.


Thoughtbite 1

My, the world is a bit of a screwed up place

We're all running around trying to save face

putting a shine to the tarnished human race