Reluctant culprit

(for all women who fight to live in dignity)


I turned around and
years had
been swallowed

and nobody told me
life would hasten
to judge me again

reluctant culprit,
twice convicted,
being a woman,
and now growing old

years ago
wanted for play
and wanted for work
curves could convince
and eyes would coerce
around the lewd,
of course)

I waved
a red flag
to go beyond
no audience there
to crush these walls

of a prison set
right after birth
the law could bend
albeit never break

not wanted for play,
not wanted for work
no respect to get
or wisdom to give
(a target for botox,
that set aside)

I waved
a white flag
at an empty hall

no audience there for
a withering hag;
no status or justice
for this gender spurned

rules can still bend,
and yet never break.

Appeal to Ignoramus


Clouds to heaven
sky to earth
can you see end
being at birth?

Cotton ball mountains
across the sphere
rain giant figures
march on the pier

Wind to hurl
air to storm
can you paint life
just being torn?

Sorrow curled waters
head onto sea
stone barrier monsters
crumble the plea

Ashes to bones
dust to skull
you cannot read death
being a lull

Winter’s burden

img_0635Snow weighing heavy on the world

hiding the dirt, the ugly, and the grey
calming down the hustle of a life less lived
covering the wounds of a soil battered
by solid autumn’s rains

I was growing tired of the torn and hurt

of the winds howling in my head

icy flakes have fallen onto my mind

causing it to quiet and ponder

where has the sun traveled to?

what is humanity hiding from?

Are we not meant to journey

through seasons of all diversity?

It seems as if snow has come to remind me
that one day we all be forgotten
buried somewhere deep within

and naught will be left but spring’s new offering.

Where is Zambia?


Christmas is looming around the next corner;
cards and parcels sent and received.

At the post office (I wipe off my shoes)
I send off a present to friends in the heat –

they’re home in Zambia, all to the South.
The girl at the counter inspects the address.

She keys in with verve, then halts in her moves:
“Zambia, where is it?”; she’s muddled in guess.

“African South”, I tell her surprised
(Generation smartphone, no one @ home?)

“South Africa, oh!” she exclaims in relief.
I frown and correct her, slightly impatient:

“Southern”, I stress and cannot believe.
She appears to be trapped, asked a trick question.

I feel her brain ticking, about to implode.
I give her the look (howcanyounotknow?).

Her fingers are frozen, stand-by in mode.
I wait for a minute or two or another.

Then, all of a sudden it strikes my awareness:
She won’t find “Zambia” in this one computer

In the language of Goethe, it spells with an ‘S’.
“Try then with ‘S’”(Generation X advices today).

She types again – her face now lights up.
My parcel is stamped and sent on its way.

Daylight haven

IMG_0023There is a murmur in the wall
it burdens my soul with an eerie call
ponderous thoughts are cast my way
for on my brain they all will prey

They whisper darkness, chill and sorrow
and break the faith for a soft tomorrow
they keep me off my grounded self
and chase me far to treacherous shelf

The night is spreading a leaden sheet
upon my mind so not to heed
the pleasant ballad ascending from
a lucent horizon when morrows come.

 Is this murmur an absurd chimaera
a passing, fleeting, cumbersome era?
I have to curse the nighttime raven
and thank Aurora for daylight haven!

The myth of humanity

The mountains bask on violent mist
to breath untainted, polished air
The waters long for  pebbles on shore
in quest of peace with a land dressed in anger

Blood dripping from hands of fatuitous people
They suck the life from earth and children

Where is the place where knowledge prevails
and chases all ignorance, greed, and pain?

We are not innocent
We are not gentle
We are not wise

And we all look out for ourselves
and slam our doors shut for others to die
Humanity is a myth

The roses root in a weary soil
to breath unspoiled, silent darkness
The trees long for birds up above
in search of stillness in a wind clad in fury

Despair welling up in countless eyes
They soak the heavens with soundless blame

Where is the place where silence triumphs
and mutes all clamor, cries, and riot?

We could be innocent
We could be gentle
We could be wise

And we all could look out for each other
and keep our doors open for others to live
Humanity is a myth (?)

Angels and Demons

women attending disaster preparedness training3At times I lose track
Of my demons and angels alike
(Not even lights onshore blinking
Luring me through a breathless blindness
When all is swallowed
And the heart becomes a stranger
To its body)

Not die yet.

Come demons, come
holar me back
chase me forward
make me run from you
onto shore again.

But the angels – ah – the angels!
If they’d come back;
I’d be flying.

Ode to family and friends

The clouds are breathing
The skies are beating
Sun hurrying from night to day
Life sweeping from day to night

I cannot prevent the glow from fading
I can only reach for clearer horizons
I cannot prevent the threat from striking
I can only guard my sacred home

When warm hearts melt frozen planes
And passionate eyes find misplaced souls
A timid flower starts to bloom
And captures clouds, skies, and sun
Altering all to a rainbow haven
Where love finds a blessed shelter

When lifelines weave wandering fates
And delicate hands stroke upset bodies
A trivial universe starts to swell
And swallows hearts, souls, and bodies
Merging all to a bright creation
Where harmony finds a constant calm