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

A poem inspired by a visit and a wander in the foothills of Mount Kenya.

Wander Land

With sun-seeking dragons on the porch,

Fire in tiny timber huts,

Tree-fern forests, hidden falls,

Friendly horses, lumber dogs

I’m following a rodent down a hole…

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With elephant footprints in red mud,

Uphill, downslope trekking pleasures,

Three mountain peaks in morning mist

A hint of royalty at leisure,

I’m seeking for the Queen of Harts…

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With peaty pools, bright sprinkled flowers,

Insect-catchers, Babel’s tongues,

Soft grazed lawns, slow flowing hours,

Birds, butterflies, a bleating goat,

I’m looking out for Alice…

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Mount Kenya, 2022

Inspired by a recent evening of wine and poetry, with thanks to the Enthusiasts!

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Rumi got us talking

Amongst the many poets, Rumi got us talking,

In his odd, provoking way, and laughing.

On the three types of women (which am I?)

With the young women arguing,

Justifying, laughing, and the older marrieds

… quiet.

And the silly choice of life path

Choosing play over power and pay.

And we think of their opinions,

Of our options, choices made.

And the Sheik laughs on his pony,

Ponies kick, he rides a stick.

And our evening lit by far-off stars and traffic,

Dew damp grass cools our warm feet.

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Kampala, 2022

A poem about words, and trying to shape them to express the images in our minds. Words, the only way we have to communicate, though sometimes so unwieldy and inadequate.

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Words

Words that fly at me, I gasp at and grasp,

They fall at the center, they fall ‘til the last,

I’m fumbling and finding

The more that I try,

The more they outpace me

The more they deny.

I scream in a fever

I call and I cry,

I battle them down, and I hold them in lines

I feed them with feelings, with commas and space,

They wriggle, they writhe and then laugh in my face.

They slip through my fingers, just leaving a smudge,

I’m trying to bargain and not to misjudge.

The passion that fed them,

That taught them to fly

I’m failing to catch it; they won’t form in ranks –

Halfway through a sentence, I’m stumbling on blanks.

I want to compare them, with sunshining days,

Make fresh brilliant statements that pause and amaze…

Instead, I still fumble, I try to be heard,

The pain and the wonder of life put in words.

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Arua 2022

Today’s poem, bubbled out of the crab holes on Kilifi beach with the incoming tide, as I took my first walk last night, after a beach-less year

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Ocean Lullaby

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First walk on sun-set beaches,

Shadows stretch on sand,

Waves grey with coming sleep

Softly roll inland.

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Warm wind my skin caresses,

Sighs in lullabies,

Inside exhaustion stretches,

I’ll sleep so deep, tonight.

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Kilifi, 2022

Life, like an impressionist painting,

Clearly, you see what is there

From a distance.

Moving closer, you are not quite so sure.

The nearer you approach

The more uncertain; themes flow and blend.

Blue is sky… or water, music…

or just a feeling,

A sense of something caught in the moment of leaving.

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You observe something simple, appealing,

Red, a flower in a field,

Or is it an elaborate dress, a sunset, a heart,

Something final, bending towards an ending?

Sinister? Blood, fear, 

A sense of sounds… you cannot hear.

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Petals, scattered across water,

A joyful, dancing crowd,

Starlit night,

Cobbled streets, gleaming with rain,

Up close, a jumble of colours,

Incomprehensible –

Leaves you free

To reinterpret what you see.

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Windhoek, 2022

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Pleasant to believe we get wiser with age,

Perhaps we do…

Refine strategies for changing life phases,

Replacing tactics that have lost their edge,

Reading again ‘The Art of War’,

And being just that step ahead.

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We’ll get here soon enough.

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Kampala, 2022

So many shades of every colour,

Red; from blood to roses,

Blue reflects skies and oceans, even moods, music.

But green… green

Surely, she is Queen.

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The garden on Malcolm X, Kampala, 2020

Imagine…

If you slipped on dew-damp grass,

Through the sunrise morning,

Birds chirping high in amazement,

Slipping and sliding down the steep slope,

Faster and faster, grabbing at grass,

Feel the sting of safari ants,

Down, down, pass the multi-stemmed ficus tree,

Faster and faster, until….

Splash! Breaking the reflected picture of the crater,

Splintering blue and green,

Scattering the tiny skin-nibbling fish,

You subside into their midst,

Continue your decent into the darker, greener,

Down, down, meter after meter,

Bubbles rising, your decent slowing,

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And, imagine…

If you fell soundless from the warm, sun-soaked sky,

Wise-faced colobus watches, shakes his head in surprise,

The red colobus whistles as you tumble past,

Past the multiple layers of green,

Faster, faster, until…

Splash! You shatter the mirror-like surface,

Drops, each reflecting the landscape, fly upwards

Arching into the green,

And you, slower now,

Slide down, down into the cool,

Darkening as you sink,

Glancing up into the ripples of sky,

Then stare down into the growing gloom,

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And, imagine,

If late at night, you slip over the edge of the bonfire place,

Wrapped in a blanket, reaching for a glass,

Balancing on the ledge,

Slip away from the flames,

From the yellow-lighted faces,

Screaming with horror and delight, into the darkness,

Grass blades slicing your skin,

Stones breaking your toes,

Your hair standing on end as you fall,

Stumbling through the undergrowth and thorny branches,

On and on, down, down,

You splash through the silent, black surface,

Water fills your ears, noise subsides in a splashing moment,

The soft popping of bubbles as you slide,

Soundless, into the deep.

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Fort Portal, June 2022

A poem on musings about place. The death of a dear Aunt, this week, gives rise to extra thoughts on life and meaning. What is it, what shapes it?

I in Place

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I think of place; places of my living,

Countries, houses, homes of friends,

Backdrop to my life.

Vessels shaping flow, gathering rising steam;

The walls, the floors, the beams.

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Searching for the ‘I’ in each frame;

I, I am the one who watches,

Not tied by location,

Not identified by reaction.

I watch unjudging; feelings, action, growth.

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No place ties me, nor event shakes me;

Standing behind, coolly watching.

I flow with the go,

Unharmed, untied,

River that meanders through my life.

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Kampala 2022