Two recent trips to Denmark gave lots of opportunities to spend time with friends and family. It made me feel really grateful for the wonderful people I have in my life, and not least amongst them, my darling sisters.

Sisters

It is good to have a sister, to be reflected, to live less alone.

But to have two – to be the three of us…

So many multiples of things to do and things to say,

Of conversations, situations, opinions, and views.

To meet. Sometimes one, sometimes the other,

Have joint calls and talk about our kids, about our mother,

And on delicious occasions, in our adult lives

To meet and talk and tease 

To travel, to eat, be at our ease,

To lean,

Comfortably.

Without words, to understand what we mean.

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Denmark, July 2024

A poem about reexamining fixed opinions after listening and talking to a different, and younger generation. Realising that wisdom doesn’t always belong to age.

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Young wisdom

I find it hard to understand,

The way your thoughts and mind work.

And sometimes, I must admit, it’s easy to dismiss,

To keep to tracks and trails I’ve tread,

To keep the pattern in my head

And not to take the challenge.

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I find it hard to follow you,

Down unknown paths and avenues

Where definitions are so vague,

and facts are turned upon their heads,

and yet your truths do touch a nerve,

and make old facts seem newly absurd. 

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Dhaka, 2024

A poem about missing the people who have shared the different phases of my life.

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My Witnesses

Might think I had something to hide,

Some secret abandonment plan,

I’ve wondered off, so far away, put so much distance between.

But sometimes when it’s late here, and I lie alone in the dark,

I think of you taking a sunset walk

Or of you, gathering around candles and songs…

It’s not that I must be there, but I think of you, think of you, think.

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It’s not that I don’t have a task here,

or plans, and meetings and walks,

It’s not that I shouldn’t be here, in a place with plenty to teach,

Sometimes when I wake very early,

I think of you deep in your sleep,

Or of you, at a concert with friends, lights flashing…

It’s not that I can’t still my feet, but I think of you, think of you, think.

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I know that we must make our choices,

You can’t be two places at once,

It’s not that there’s one place I’m missing, or one single person I lack,

Sometimes when I walk in the evening,

I think of you, with your lad on your lap,

Or of you, preparing your daughters,

It’s not that I ever could be all those places, but I think of you, think of you, think.

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There are things I’d like to help with,

Words that need to be said with a hug,

It’s not that I know so much better, or know anything much at all,

But sometimes when I’m walking and thinking,

There are words that feel natural to say,

Ideas I’d like your views on,

It’s not that I can’t make my mind up, but I think of you, think of you, think. 

Dhaka

January 2023

This week’s poem – memories and appreciation for time spent with friends in Namibia, and the walks in the semi-desert, the edge of the Kalahari, where they live.

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Semi-desert

You choose to live out here,

In semi-desert,

Where life is armed with thorns,

With poisoned barbs,

Where blond grass tufts are tough,

Are bristled,

Deep roots against a wind that tears and rips.

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Biting, stinging ants,

Scorpions’ bulbous tails,

Extravagant thorns, protecting tight curled leaves.

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Dizzying heat shimmers,

Merciless sun pounds on red, rock anvil,

Heat cracks rocks, weathered by winter frost.

Across the scene tectonic action scribbles,

Crisscrossed by ancient lava flows,

and by the rare, life-changing, storm-brought floods.

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Pale sky curves to dusty grey horizons:

Trembling heat in summer,

The whipping wind,

The cracking frost in winter,

And just in case that’s not enough, the salt.

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Incredibly, a long-legged hare, runs startled,

Duiker flashes, and is gone,

Deep holes in hidden spots, to lairs,

Where, maybe,

Soft-bellied babies grunt and grow.

But also,

Along the dusty road, behind the kopje,

When velvet light softens golden dusk,

On your stoep, a heartfelt welcome,

Solid talk, braaied meat, and ice-cold beer.

Keetmanshoop, Namibia

December 2023

A poem about grown-up love, to welcome the new year.

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Believing

As Gibran says,

The oak and cypress grow not in each other’s shadow,

We give each other space and trust to grow,

And fill each other’s cup, but drink not from one cup,

We’re each our own, but choose an ‘us’, and also an ‘each other’,

We’ve lived and learnt, been scarred, been sceptical,

But after all,

We still believe in love.

.Namibia, 2024

I’m back in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Discovering, rediscovering and reminiscing. For those who have been along for part of the journey, I hope this poem will also stir up old memories.

Talking Trees, Again

Talk to me, talk to me,

Tell what you see;

Construction in courtyards,

Beyond circles of trees.

Behind high walls, across busy ways,

Where beggars beg and street dogs stray.

I’m back to hear more; about rickshaw races,

About boys selling tea and all the old places.

I’m back, I’m back,

I think I might stay.

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I stop and look up, to see how you’ve grown,

I remember our memories, shared and unknown.

Talk to me, talk to me,

Tell what you know,

Where are they gone,

The uncrowded corners,

And the intelligent crows?

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There’s sameness and changes mixed in a chaos,

Faces I remember grown older, or gone,

The cloud of dark dust that softens the sun.

And I’m happy to find, the park trees still talk,

If you know how to listen and know how to ask.

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Dhaka

Nov 2023

A poem for the launch of the One Tribe Coffee at Motiv in Kampala, led by the Coffee Queen, and life Enthusiast Gail Mawocha. Dedicated to Gail and her team and the Book Enthusiasts of Kampala, who reinforce, at every meeting, that we are really all One Tribe.

One Coffee Tribe

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Coffee cup, steaming hot, in quiet early morning,

Dawning, yawning, brewing.

A sip, a sigh, coffee gets me by,

Far from my native tribe.

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Slow, morning minutes drip, savoring scents,

Memories, moments, coffee gets me by,

When I’m wondering if any tribe

Will ever claim me.

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A weekend morning, breathing, grinding beans,

Sense of green leaves, white flowers, sun,

Sweet, red beans, get me by,

When my tribe is only one.

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Table full of half-filled cups, laughing eyes

Lifted up, Arabica, Robusta vibe,

Reading in the coffee grinds

We are One Tribe.

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April 2023 – For Gail and One Tribe

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