lets bury our dirty little secrets
in gods backyard
under yaka mountain
in the heat of the desert
lets challenge the devil
lets dig a hole
You Are Bantu
They give you this generic name
The same for all the tribes
Thinking it easier to tame you
And ironically it’s true
You are ‘the people’ of this land
Unwittingly
They even call you so.
Hands
Hands pushing pen
Hands performing
Hands of a poet
Hands of laughter
Hands of conviction
Hands shaking
(shaking hands)
Hands in the ocean
Hands gripping trees
Hand full of cameras
Hands holding babies
Hands giving care
Hands exploring
Hands in the wilderness
Hands in the dirt
Hands picking flowers
Hands clapping
(clapping hands)
Hands stealing
Hands on the steering wheel
Hands on the throttle
Hands cuffed
Hands full of promise
Hands off
johnny ono
no one drives a band
like johnny can
no one
drives a band
a rock n roll stake
a sharp butcher ballad
country two shoe blues
rock of gibraltar
right through your heart
like johnny does
demanding it
slamming it
driving it
flat out
blazing
finger tips
like johnny does
no one does it
i mean no one
no one
belts it out
like johnny does
no one does it
electric
like johnny can
Kiwi
Skin of
Average
Africa brown
And rough
And furry
Grown lonely
And tough from
Too many suns
Too little water
And he’s
Green Inside
And plump
And eager
And so very
Sweet
They say
Fatherhood
Many men dream of their sons
Following in their own footsteps
Some certain rite of passage
My stepfather was a geologist
A man of the world and adventurer
And an alcoholic through mid-life
A macho man of love and bigotry
Idolized by his flock of daughters
My father was a failure I’m told
By the people who keep score
A mama’s boy with talented feet
Whose very name inspires anger
A boring competitive man that
Never drank a drop until mid-life
I suppose this truth leaves me
Sitting somewhere in between
Holding the bag of reconciliation
Left to sort out the contradictions
My sisters will never understand
I loved them both they loved me
I give my son the best of each to
Him I offer what is the best of me
I think this amounts to something
Strumming Her
Like a virgin ukulele
One hand caressing
Petting her
Fretting over
Her smooth cool neck
The other hand
Stroking
Plucking her strings
My fingers searching
For the moment
She moans
And quivers
Cries out loud
Baritone bass
Her hollow heart
Pounding
In rhythm
Vibrating deep
Against my chest
Beware of the Floors
I marvel still
At how swiftly African spiders
Whip fear into the most fearless
Of daily chores
And how they stick to doorways
As thick as flies biding their time.
And unlike Las Vegas
Where Black Widows were deadly
And hard to see,
These monsters were big
And brown
And hairy,
Admittedly scary
From across the room.
As ugly as sin
But harmless.
In the beginning,
Our American logic
Convinced us
That to kill them was the trick,
So we picked them off
one by one
by one
And were stunned
That it made no difference.
So we learned
to accept their presence,
to arrange our fear
wary eyed
like pictures
around them on the walls.
We learned
to walk gingerly
across slate floors,
to step into bed prepared
aware
that they were bound to fall.
Blackout
We live in Africa now.
The Americans just arrived,
Bored with our novels and Yahtzee,
Candlelight sprawled on the floor,
We’re lonesome and lazy,
Weary of dark clouds crowding our door.
We wait for the downpour to end
And pretend for a moment it’s fun.
We wait patiently for the adventure
That has already begun.
goddess of the firewater
oh good goddess of the fire—
water we bow low before you
we are humbled now
in your presence
all of us
every one of us we
come to pay special tribute
homage to you
Ode to Cobras
Twice benign
(being curious of mind)
I resign
To find
Death by a thousand designs
Rather than face another trace of cobras
Red bedding
I sleep
in an antique bed
I sleep
between crisp
crimson red sheets
I sleep
in a spill of red blankets
red bedroom linens
as red as blood
rose petal
red
as red
as red
red wine
I curl up a
dead red possum
Rowboats at Arniston
Rowboats swaying with the surf
Jerk and tug at their moorings
Like dogs taunted by the leash
As if they would be gone
From this pretty little village
Hushed by charming white cottages,
One straight barren road
And an empty white two storey hotel
Dozing on the deserted ripe beach
Between cliffs and brushed desert.
They want to be free
Of this intoxicating and lonely flower.
They want to search for people at sea.
sylvias mother
listens outside sylvias door
what is that girl doing why
wont she come out
for dinner why
wont she talk to anyone she
doesnt understand
how does one stop a
runaway train anyway why
is it...some fires burn
out and others just smolder
on and on and on
im about to open this bag
stand back this is a heavy one
sealed tight long long ago
crammed into my closet
crammed into my
psyche my
long lost lover my
long lost daughter my
long time coming my
reckoning
my life
of wonder
of brilliance
of adventure
of fascination
a never-ending
volley of shadow
and light and love
ceaseless wonders
unimaginable beauty
that I shall never regret
