~Africa~

Preface ​

I went to look at human origins in the gold light of Africa's days: to the desert, the highveld, the brushveld and caves. It didn't change my winter, it changed my life. For though they say that everything in Africa can kill and will if it can, what they don't tell you is that everything in Africa can pierce your soul and steal your heart; and, does.

For it was not hours in a zoo, but weeks in a tent hearing jackals wailing at night as different tribes negotiated under a full moon's glow; or walking where erosion revealed bones and tools that have been buried a thousand centuries; or watching fires spread over kilometers changing tawny grasses to black earth; or looking at the skulls of the Taung child or Mrs. Ples; or gazing at 50,000 year old ochre paintings of men-eland, hunters-dancers, shaman-men transforming back-and-forth; or feeling the imposing silence of the Kalahari's night sky; it was all of these and so much, much more that came into my life. How could they not change the conformation of what Heaven, Earth and Hell now mean to me.

The poems that follow are some of these feelings of Africa.

 

Clear Skies

12 June 2006
Gladysvale, South Africa

Broad sky so cloudless for so many weeks,
Now white puffs fill night's face and hide full moon,—
How sudden this change that striates so soft,
Like girl-laughter filling man-heart with Spring,
With hopes of rain to turn all burnt to green;

Moon wandering o'er lands I'll never see,
A gypsy mistress to distress poor heart,
Grown quiet of all hopes of deep romance,—
Though now and then Selene dances on floors,
(Alit in her reflected glory bright)

On marbles heavenly that shift their sheen,
As stars in sparkles brighten up square tiles,—
And, I then recognize beauty's mirage,
And, gaze above at reverie's delight.​

 

Heaven, Earth and Hell

2 July 2006
Capetown, South Africa

a voyage short is life's trajectory,
night star that streaks across black heaven's vault,
leaving heart with hope of wishes to be,

as heaven touches soul with emptiness,
void that swallows steps and hides sand's traces,
through time's interminable expanses;

and, who are we to doubt the purpose told?
and, who are we to tell the meanings of?
each mystery of waking brings new light,

reflecting malaquite green grasses' sheen,
as yellow fills our heart with reveries,
and memories of fires inside a cave,

where painted images we made with blood,
to celebrate our union with death,
that true companion that travels well,—
through earth and heaven; and, past life's blurred veil.​

 

Full Moon,—Africa

13 June 2006
Gladysvale, South Africa

That loneliness which is my heritage,
To it I sometimes flee to find my self,—
Even as jackals sing their call to death,
Beneath an orange moon so bright in pain,

I wonder why I wander from the group,
To find this happiness of solitude,
Sweet chord upon heart dulcimer of soul,
Now plucked so often that it echoes forth,

A melody with harmony beyond,
All words and laughter and comforting phrase,—
A song of life that will accompany,
My soul now grown to such a recluse state,—
Past all these short impediments of life.​

 

Pinotage

13 June 2006
Gladysvale, South Africa

It is a day to drink sweet red of vine,
While contemplating hills of burnt gold brown,
There's so much heart would care divine from forms,

But thoughts meandering fall prey to cold,
And to that vastness that in struggle calls,—
There's not a single cell of life this day,
That did not fight for its place to assure,

And so much life that had to die before,
Life could begin anew its birth in green,—
No cycle lies before me unfulfilled,
Each circle its beginning does complete;
So soon, not even shadows I will leave.​

 

Rampage

16 June 2006
Gladysvale, South Africa

It's been a week since fires roamed o'er these hills,
That now stand out in black against sky blue,
Dotted in gold with boulders that can't burn,
Or termite mounds formed of earth concrete hard;

I thought the animals would all soon die,
But, they all stand and mark their ground with paws,
Knowing near future will soon bloom in green,—

Then quick, without rains, I see sprout up blades,
Where once only a clump of burnt grass lay,—
From dew and sunshine thrown up a bright hope;

That straightens every day into full length,
Like all those dreams that seared became new ways;
Like all those lives that death moved on this day.​

 

Mesmerized

16 June 2006
Gladysvale, South Africa

The night's tall fire draws us to its fixed point,
A circle forms except where wind's shift blows,
Grey acrid smoke that makes any eye tear;

Then tales are told of this and that on end,
While scotch and rum are passed around the glow,
To loose stiff tongue that would speak of soul's ways;

With stories of adventures now all past,
That told in dark grow present in our heart,
While distant,—echoes of a jackal pack;

Remind us to stay close to this small sun,
For in the darkness lurks our enemy,
With eyes that need no moon to light their way;

As embers falter,—we go off to sleep,
With this last warmth to dream of memories,
So distant that they blur the Milky Way,—
So strange,—no meaning can their symbols find.​

 

On Leaving Gladysvale

18 June 2006
Gladysvale, South Africa

It's an old place no longer used by man,
Except for an occasional outing,—
Pink freckled stones still form strong upright walls,
And, timbers old yet hold up a peaked roof;

It was half house, half fortress, amidst trees:
A farmhouse in a valley full of grass,
Where some small family thought to begin,
A life of toil in Africa's wildness;

The jackals still mourn their demise at night,
Especially with silver moon's shadows,
Casting their eerie moods in sharp corners,
So different from rolling gold landscape,—
These seven rectangles piled with black stones.​

 

Highway to Joburg

18 July 2006
Johannesburg, South Africa

Going back from Gladysvale cave to camp,
The last drive riding on top of 'Hamish,'
(Only a Scot would give his rovers names)
We stopped by a stream to look at a bird;

Malachite Kingfisher sparkling in blue,—
Bright cerulean spot among somber hues,—
Now I hold my Wrigley's Wintermint box,
As it reflects Africa's morning sun;

On a highway crammed with automobiles,
Past buildings rigid fixed on round brown hills,
Radio rhythms not of Nature's song,

All imbued with man's singular strong smell;
I cannot recognize my heart in this,—
More treasure that brief glimpse of Heaven's love.​

 

Burnt Hopes

18 June 2006
Johannesburg, South Africa

Though Thou would recognize Thy need for me,
And Though Thou fear living Thy life alone,
In a world grown impersonal and cold

Yet, Thou would tease me like a taffy bar,
Stretching my dreams until they can't be held,
Sustaining two adjoining ends as one;

So my poor heart must rend itself in two,
Not knowing whether Thy love to pursue,
For a chimera it seems often times,
When otherwise it would be Eden's vale;

The taste of Thy lips upon mine as one,
Red wine of heady vapors and perfumes,
Could fill the moonlit glow of Thy soft skin,

With nuances to make heart's rhythm sway,
To breezes of soul's destiny to be,—
With hopes to light heart's grasses hot on fire.​

 

Baboon Hills

19 June 2006
Johannesburg, South Africa

O,—I suppose a bit of jealousy,
Is just the human part in all of us,
A patch of envy that green blooms in souls,
Yet is well hid until we wander close;

Since no necessity our paths did meet,
Far distance made those landscapes seem blurred smooth,
Then chance closed that far gap and we saw close,
The jarred and tumbled nature of those woods;

That once had seemed inviting Eden-like,—
Now we know no repose can be found there,
Among those cliffs of rocky precipice,
Where fierce wild baboons eke out their hard life;

For it was a deception played on mind,
A sure delusion of a tranquil life,
A dream unrealistic in its scope,
To think that we had left our bark and growl,
When we learned to evoke our voice in song.​

 

Star Watch

19 June 2006
Johannesburg, South Africa

How slow life's clock unfurls its minutes wound,
When past midnight late evening's quiet falls,
Yet eyes that should seek sleep look for more light,
As if to disabuse bright day recast;

Before dreams warp into distortion life,
Or those pretensions of our memories,
That in tomorrow's morning let us know,
We had a past and now a future come;

Yet onto preservation we can't hold,
And moments that we want to keep as coin,
So quickly fade into a misty pale,—
A sand diffuse we cannot barter with;

Thus we would hold onto that gold we mined,
By standing a long vigil without sleep,
A quest we must soon cede in abandon,
As darkness closes our eyelids shut fast.​

 

Four African Quatrains

19 June 2006
Johannesburg, South Africa

—1—

It's just a residue of Thy sweet smile,
A small something that's been with me a while,
Though Thou are often from my sight,
This token walks with me all of life's mile.

—2—

When yellow sun strikes Thy lissome black hair,
There's something magical happens in air,
A sparkle and a shimmer in motion,—
That pierce red blood and into bits heart tear.

—3—

This night there were no jackals in the wild;
The room conditioned so the air was mild;
But, I could scarcely sleep with all man's noise,—
How easily we go back to small child.

—4—

I cannot tell Thee that I care for Thee,
But, if Thou would with firm eyes look at me,
Soul's sun would rise and shine on heart's full moon;
And, we'd have light to always clearly see.​

 

Night Fall

19 June 2006
Johannesburg, South Africa

There's so much certainty in what's ahead,
Now that we know the end is drawing near,
Penumbral shadows mix with late sun's light,
As birds begin to find a roost in trees;

Their feathers puffed against the coming cool,—
Behind me lies some small toil as dusk sets,
Tomorrow another small task starts new,
If sun should chance to shine his rays on me;

But, each day the odds of that become less,
So soul just contemplates each moment's sake,
Without anticipating what will come;

Such wonderful pleasures watching day fall,
There's just time for another puff of smoke,
On an old pipe that's nearly burnt charcoal.​

 

The Calm of You Near

19 June 2006
Johannesburg, South Africa

You do undo me with your very look,
So I no more know what to do say or do,
Your gentle dignity so mystifies,
A hard heart jaded with sharp cynic's laugh;

And all the clever words that seem to say,
So much, yet cannot capture morning dew,
Condensing on new grass as stars gaze down,
While moonlight frolics through their prism lens;

In such a way my happiness does grow,
To sit beside you without much to say,
In moments that suspended float in time,
For soon your jet black eyes enchanting all;

Your soft skin grazing accidentally,
The soft purr of your voice in comments short,—
All turn to embedded moments in heart;
As time and distance take their sure slow toll.​

 

Miner's Bar

21 June 2006
Virginia, South Africa

¿Why is it mines always bring out man's worst?
We've come to survey excavation sites,
Ripped open to find gold or diamond shine,
Perhaps exposing white human bones too;

So we moderns with our i-pod plugged ways,
Can discern just a bit of our dim past, —
But, already the talk's about the bar,
How Friday evening's there get out of hand;

With men-moles huge fighting for booze and girls,
¿So what is it we need to discover?
¿Is it not evident in all we do?
Since blood stains don't last long in brown earth dirt.​