Tired.

You write. The table moves rhythmically.

Sip hot chocolate. Pages scattered.

A candle burns, shadows flicker across

Your face. Concentrate.

Inky blue fingers, bic lighters. Lucky Strikes.

You are studious. Hands in sleeves.

Rosy lips, hidden behind your shawl.

Velvet jacket. Passionate.

Your hand writing is bold, round

Friendly but forceful - excited or in a hurry?

You tear pages apart. Swear, and write on.

The only blank page is your face.

You write with your eyes.

Expression impossible to detect.

What do you think?

I want to know you. How will this end?

I will learn how to read you.

Know you. Second guess you.

Where will you be? I hope.

Fingers crossed.

To be scared, terrified of repetition.

Rehabilitation.

Finally I am tired. You have worn me out.

Mind Body and Soul.

Wonderful exhaustion.

But your presence keeps me awake.

Short sighs - of love ( I hope )

Just audible over your pen scratching doggedly.

Sleeves on paper edges. Leaves rustling. Sandpaper.

Kiss me again Ridiculous Girl. You pause,

Stroke my hair - an eternity of navy blues,

Greys and strawberry cheeks.

Paint in my hair. Sugar at the bottom of my cup.

I miss you, though you sit in front of me.

Bushfire Season

My feet sweat, my shoulders burn

But I am indifferent.

Nature plays around me.

Close your eyes. The last thing you see

is a white butterfly dance past the tree-line

into oblivion blue.

Bush leaves crackle above you in branches

and below you, let loose through brittle grass.

A light wind conducts a symphony in which

Each shrub plays a part.

Each dry branch, kindling ready to explode,

Itching to snap its dangerously perfect note.

Thorns whistle sharply - reeds hiss and hum.

Every breeze is a clown, taking up instruments

And jostling melodies to play all at once.

The grass rushes to its queue, dry as a bone.

Leaves follow behind in vague harmonies.

I wait on the edge of an eventful storm.

The sky is blue.

A storm of events - something big,

Behind the horizon, behind the mirage.

A rhino.

A microlite .

Electric fences, purring.

A wan nation celebrates, then groans behind the hills.

Natures orchestra sings to no one in particular

To T. (Part I.)

A lyrical scarf to warm your throat,

And stay up with you on cold winter nights.

- Keeps you going, keeps you sweet,

Alive and merry.

Relieves you, revives you, releases a smile.

Complimenting the stars, the moon.

And tobacco on your lips.

Or Sunrise, early showers, soapy skin

- Waiting in the morning to greet you gently.

Takes you to bed, where it keeps your body warm.

Snug –

While lavender soothes the little of your being it cannot.

Reflecting emotion. Moods.

Mild, sweet, milky.

Bitter, dark, hot.

Black or white.

Satisfying the palette.

Settling your stomach,

Quenching a dry mouth.

Hospitable. Welcoming. Kind.

An Icebreaker.

An offering.

Pulling down barriers.

Instructing courage, calming fear –

Spiders in life’s web,

Guard dogs in foreign countries,

And smoky kitchens are overcome.

- Strength, heart and peace of mind rebuilt.

Stirs thought as a spoon stirs sugar –

Feeding a fire, a flame – billows to a weary mind,

Wind to lifeless sails. Perpetual motion.

Washing motivation into your soul

Somewhere between breakfast and lunch.

The afternoon’s unsuspecting catalyst.

Preserving optimism.

A fifth hope. Tshepo.

Encouraging self-erudition. Articulation.

Translating and unwinding complex language.

For two and a half minutes, the world is a simple place.

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