Haunting the quark
(I) If you can’t scientifically explain it Dawkins says it has no value – some hope Inside the mechanical framework of a guess (as far as any fact can truly grope) Doubts roam –
From crossing the line
(1) a great man There was a great man So great he couldn’t be criticised in the light Who died And for a whole week people turned up their collars over their ears And
The man the gun and the dog
yesterday the man was pleased The sun sat in the tree and all Upon the land held to the harmony His coming then expected his gun in his arm his dog at his heels
Temporising with the eternal
i don’t know what you’re up to Yet but for me You wouldn’t exist (not on this page anyway – Not using the word exist) So – you’re a fake (eternity) One i wouldn’t
The adventures (from frederick and the enchantress – dance drama)
(i) introduction his home in ruins his parents gone frederick seeks to reclaim his throne to the golden mountain he sets his path the enchantress listening schemes with wrath four desperate trials which she
Uganda cry
i have lost touch over the years With the hot africa inside me Illness and all – i spread to root In the red earth siphoned the sun Loved the black inflections of my
Humming-bird pie
the paiute indians had the bird sussed A humming bird (loaded with seeds) set out To see beyond the sun – it aimed to be frugal Rationing itself to only one seed a day
Sacked
fog owns the town In its palm Lawyers nibble each other’s fingers The churches take their cut At the fat lunch The men of business Carve themselves prayers and praises The fog comes to
Agapanthus – african lily
[from agape (love); anthus (flower)] You may not be willing to notice me I have an awkward sense of myself My name can be hard on the tongue I do not grow easily in
I'm going to give up loving you
i’m going to give up loving you I’m going to hate you instead Living’s so difficult difficult baby Hating’s like staying in bed You expect too much when i’m loving you I haven’t got
The sex-peace
the first thing about a man my son Is that he’s not a woman – and don’t Let any woman tell you what a man is Or any kind of man with his own
Crematorium-return
(to where the ashes of both my parents are strewn) I) Ok the pair of you lie still What’s disturbing me need pass No fretful hand over your peace This world’s vicissitudes are stale
The people
tangwena says this is our land soiled by the blood of black centuries Smith says the white tongue goes bang bang black must learn words of a new march Tangwena says every tree here
As the snow fell
the children played games Getting from here To where the truth was Without touching a flake Needless to say The only ones who got there Were liars But while the honest ones Shrank back
Two south coast poems (a) this morning i came within sound of the sea
for a man whose eyes till now were a bed of rock Whose hands were drier than deserts The sea’s voice drove fear up through the valley The tributaries meandering inside me longing for