A full red moon hangs in the night sky
A full red moon
hangs in the night sky
and birds fly past in silhouette
and the leopard
in my soul jumps out
to take the tract
and roars resounding in the dark night
and sneaks, sneaks past
till where you wait for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Civet
At night a civet
sneaks around in the chicken pen,
biting Bantam-fowls, big white Leghorns
and every chicken
that it finds dead.
At sunrise it is gone,
with dead chickens lying in a row
while those that it could not find
are cackling frightened
as if a snake is in their nests.
In the mornings mom is way past angry,
buys a spring trap
to catch the chicken thief red handed
and to me the teeth
that springs shut
looks strange and deadly.
The spring trap is set
but the wild cat is far too clever
for that thing and sneaks past
night after night,
until mom gets wolves poison
that she mixes with the guts
of one of the dead chickens.
The next morning
the grey civet
(just a little bigger than the housecat)
with its black stripes covering its body,
lies rigid and stretched out
and around it
the chickens are pecking in peace.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The hunter
With a bow in his hand
the hunter sneaks
above the wind,
following the tracts
of the wild antelope.
His brown skin
melts into the field
and the bushes,
and like a wild cat
he sneaks
from cover to cover.
The sun is hot
where it hangs in the half-Kalahari sky
and he drinks a tiny bit of water
out of the ostrich egg flask,
before a brown hand
with caked sand
wipes sweat out of his dark brown eyes.
Again he takes the trail
and follows it at a jog
until the oryxes are closer
and again he sneaks nearer
and stalks still closer.
When he is in striking distance
an arrow is taken from the quiver
and the small bow’s string
made out of roped intestines draws
and for a moment,
it sounds like the buzz of a bee
while the arrow
rushes away from the bow.
The arrow hits the antelope
and when the startled oryx
rushes away
the hunter follows
faithful on the spoor,
till he finds it
where in time
it lies stretched out
on the red brown Africa sand.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Witchcraft: At The Light Of Day
At the light of day I know that we are separated
and for years I am bewitched,
now that you stay with another man,
maybe lifelong something remains
and when I am alone, it’s your image that sneaks into my dreams
and for years I am bewitched
and sometimes when the night sneaks up on me
I know that nobody can stay alone forever
and when I am alone it’s your image that sneaks into my dreams
but time runs on with years passing
and I decide to expel this witchcraft
I know that nobody can stay alone forever
and I exorcise your whole soul, face and body
from how it had been once
and I decide to expel this witchcraft,
to burn everything of yours to dust and ash.
At the light of day I know that we are separated
from how it had been once
now that you stay with another man.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Full Cold Moon
This night
All light
Full still moon
Lamp lit
Silhouette
Full still moon
Many faces
Secret places
Full still moon
Supernal eye
In the sky
Full still moon
Big stone
Cold Alone
Full still moon
In reverie
A memory
Full still moon
Only one
You are
gone
Only night
to dream
upon
Full
Cold
Moon
poem by Ari' Anna Arena
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Time sneaks past so quickly
Time sneaks past so quickly
when you lie next to me
and I would like to have it different.
The dark night throws long shadows
that draws fingers over your cheeks
and the intimate smell
of you and me
is like the scent of rain
that brings new life.
You big breasts are pointed and soft
and I feel every time
that you take a breath
and soft hot air
blows against my cheek
like a confession,
that still catches
the earlier passion.
Somewhere in the late night
your whole body
lies hot against mine
and your auburn hair
tickles my face,
while your soft and warm lips
find mine
and it’s blissful
to have you against me once more.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The tokkelossie
At night when the sun sets
and the dark night folds around the earth
a short man appears,
who is darker than the night
and he waits for the moon to disappear
before he slyly sneaks into places.
His hands are claws
like those of a baboon
and with his long nails
he draws sparks
out of quarts rocks
and as far as he walks,
it sounds like buck hooves trotting
and in his heart
he’s a demon.
At times the dogs see him
and bark and growl,
but far too fast he passes by,
that anybody
can really see him.
Where he strikes
there’s never another tomorrow
and his works is black like the night
and before Orion appears,
he is long gone
and the life of a woman
with him.
poem by Gert Strydom
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There Are Times, My Darling
There are times, my darling
that you are far away
that loneliness
along with dusk sneaks in
that the calls of the plovers
cut right through the dark night
and I am wondering
what there is still remaining
between you and me?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Since childhood the night scares you
Since childhood the night scares you
as if here in Africa dark things do sneak about
and when the stars appear you start to long
for tomorrows when the sun hangs bright in the blue sky
and it feels as if something almost touchable sneaks up on you.
Since childhood the night scares you
as if even the wind hisses at times like a deadly snake,
as if something dangerous is drinking water from the dog's bowl
and when the stars appear you start to long
do want to replace your fears with my presence,
and you want to baste in the passion of our love.
Since childhood the night scares you
and it feels as if something evil wants to catch you
when you sometimes find shelter in the bath
and when the stars appear you start to long
while I dry the tears from your rosy cheek,
and hold on to you through the night.
Since childhood the night scares you
and when the stars appear you start to long.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Night Watchman
The leopard's eyes scanned left and right,
As sunshine faded fast,
For soon would come the moon and night,
When one more day had past
And eyes must now be on alert
With instincts borne to bear,
In case there was a need to spurt,
Escaping fast elsewhere...
The leopard's eyes were cooling down
As twilight gathered close,
As clear blue skies turn somewhat brown
And brilliant sunshine goes...
The air has felt a sudden chill
That creatures know full well...
The moon ascends on yonder hill
And casts its silver spell...
The leopard's eyes observe the scene,
The scene he's seen before,
The coming of the in-between,
The timing ever sure...
Night watchman, waiting, instincts taut,
Aware of everything,
Avoiding dangers as he ought,
That's how he's stayed the king...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Night Watchman II'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
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Chariots Of Fire
The small dung beetles lot is a chariot of fire
For some it is a life of a slinking liar,
To get a wife he has to be tall
Fact is some are dam too small.
To get among the hen pecking lot
The big fellow has an easy choice on the spot,
After a hard day’s work rolling up the dung
He’s off home to his wife for dinner and fun.
The little chap dines alone like a single sire
Now for fun he saddles up his chariot of fire,
He rides off to the big guys love nest without any din
Sneaks past him, up to the loft for his wages of sin.
The beetle chick loves him for his gallantry and guts
Gives him love and dung biscuits in his hand she puts,
On his chariot of fire He sneaks off into the night
Silent satisfied disappears out of sight.
NB. FACT
Scientists found this behaviour of the smaller
Beetles and when dissecting them found the
Smaller beetle had bigger testes.
poem by Ken e Hall
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A Child Remembers His Mother's Death...
She passed one full moon night...
Don't ask me the day...when it was...
Long from now...
A vague remembrance...of charcoal burning...burning slow anxious pain...
It was one full moon night...
When I had not slept...it was the first night before which, sleep had taken me in her warm feathers...
Where she fled from that night...
My eyes o’er the sleepless stars...
Sought her return...
The night when fear was known to me...
The greatest fears of all...
Fear of losing...
It was one full moon night...
Don't ask me the day
I had grown in a night...
My amuse...
She passed and I just looked...
And looked
Passed to where...
Know I not...
Full moon night ‘t was...
Like today...
Its consistent routines...
Slipped she to irregular tracks..
Past pale radiance
Pale radiance to shine o’er faint nostalgia...
(Woke from innocent carelessness...
To what...I amused... it was uncomfortable...awkward...just too bad to be real.)
poem by Lama Abbas
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Never is she shut #never is she shut
You are my Sun.
You are now set.
You brought me dawn
Everyday at ten.
You sent me dusk
Everyday at five.
Weekend two days,
You left me in dark.
You shone on me for brief,
But heavily, brightly
And deeply with warmth.
That referred warmth
Spread all the night.
I felt the shine of my Sun,
Off the dusk, at full night.
My night is brightly lit.
Now my sun is set.
Where is my dawn?
Where is my dusk?
Where is the sunny day?
Where is my beauty?
Who will there be to lit
My night-full day?
And dreaded night?
You be a Moon, now on.
Waxing and waning,
Be always on horizon
So that there comes
Once a while a full-moon,
To imbue me with life.
My day-less night
Is lit with Moonlight.
You be my stars, farther.
You twinkle and twinkle
At me high from horizon!
With your news, beckon!
With your heart, command!
I am in the bath of starlight.
My night-full day is lit.
My sun, though, is set,
No dark is there at night.
She is there as Moon.
She is there as Stars.
Though she is set as Sun.
I’m now a nocturnal.
She can never be set
Out of my heart and soul.
11.06.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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How white and level the plain
How white and level the plain
That stretches to the sea-ridge
The sea-ridge beyond which
The sea roars in and out
And laps against the giant rocks
This night.
I startle - the moon’s light
Which I thought feeble --
Clearly the plain before me lights
And the dark bosom of the sea
Entering and going silver shines
When the moon-rays with the dark waves commix
This night.
No sound save for my steps and the sea’s waves
And here and there a few cool gusts of wind.
No-body save for me - the rest so silent is:
The temples high above in black silhouette
Rise like pointed turrets to the sky
In silent draped and in dress funereal
I walk, I think, I look at the seas,
Tears come to my eyes and fall and fall
This night.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Silhouette of my soul
The dark mountain behind me looks so different
For every time I look it’s changed
My soul has the same identity
For when I think I have finally got it under control
The silhouette changes
The mountain starts it day dark with a siloute that defines it
My soul is always in dark
The mountain gets more defined as sun comes up
My soul is always dark
The mountain end up dark again
The silhouette changes
My soul starts it day
Always hung-over from last days confusing silhouettes
so I begin clawing my way out of the deep hole
Even in sleep my soul is confusing
I dream about things that always seem in the dark
Then one of my silhouettes comes up and shines all the darkness away
Bring a smile to day that started with a mountain of undefined silhouettes
I can hold this in place as long as I need it, because I do…always
So when the darkness approaches to make the mountain undefined
It silhouette lost again my silhouette of counterfeit dies a death everyday
In comes the dark
Drunk again with so many silhouettes of my soul that want to be
I fall down under my mountain of darkness in a silhouette
My soul surrounded by light, but the face of my soul in the dark
Hidden the truth of what all these moments mean
So I pass out drunk on confusion for the next day will be the same
The silhouette of my soul
Death of Dusk
The sun resigns,
bleeds out the vestiges –
remnants of the day.
Exsanguination edges into twilight:
red-brown hangs;
upwards darkens:
blue-brown,
blue-black,
death-black,
disquiet – furtive,
like ghoul-ridden fog.
A sombre moon assumes its role,
gushing silver-white lymph upon the muted scape –
a prequel of supernatural undertones
to chill the scene,
ice the spine,
kill the brain –
we have unnerved the very firmament.
But now a shadow closing down the globe:
dinosaurian cloud shrouds the moon glaze,
claims the late hour –
declared in a dying crow caw.
I, the hidden owl
– nemesis of claustrophobic minds –
awake! for mammal flesh –
fresh, jerking out its warmth in dance of death.
Rock-still I perch in sculptured oneness
with my crooked night-tree,
emanating nocturnal allure.
Together we scowl
together we play the dark
upon the land and sky
and mind
while you lie as dead in your box.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark
dark dark dark dark night
dark dark dark dark night dark dark dark dark night
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The abstract star
At one time everything slips into the past
Let me take it for granted
that I am flying in the sky
over my head below my feet
beginning from the fingers of
my outspread hands the endless sky
The sky of the night of the dark moon
the enchanting endless sky
of the night of the dark moon
“Do not start your journey on the night of the dark moon”
The known warning of my mother’s simple faith
yet I was born in such a dark night
she hides thing truth from me
The star gazing at which I am flying
in enchanting sky of this night
is dead is it’s sky in the same present
yet it is living for me
it is the living abstract star of the projected truth
At one time everything slips into the past
Am I going or flying
gazing at the star
just assume by
my own reasoning
What a pleasure in making assumption
many a journey begins with such assuming
what is the end of all these journeys
the abstract star of my assumed sky
***
[Translated from Assamese by Prof. ProdIp Khataniar]
poem by Kushal Dutta
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Wanting to know if I am all right?
I dream about a helicopter
that is whining chattering
while I am shooting clattering
with the machinegun in the door
and in the dark night
I see tracers drawing lines
to down below
and see the enemy run
in the silver light
cast by the moon
and in the distance
a bolt of lightning falls
just past a place
were a torch hangs in the air
like a small sun
and it’s as if a rocket propelled grenade
zooms in from below,
brushes past
exploding behind us somewhere
and when I awake
I am still twitching next to you
and you touch me comforting
and want to know if I am all right?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Witchcraft
At sunrise I know that we have parted
and that you now have someone else
and it feels perverse
that you now love someone else more than me
and for years I am enchanted
maybe through my whole life something is left
of you beating in side of me
and still something of that love is lasting,
although I have lost you
and sometimes when darkness sneaks up on me,
when I am alone and your image sneaks into my dreams
I want to ask you to leave and to bewitch someone else
and no person can forever stay single
as time goes on, with passing years
and vainly I hope
to have you again
but have decided to expel this sorcery
your whole soul, your face and body,
to open my heart to someone else
and to write her name on my soul
but every time that I have someone, you rise from the ashes
as if this bewitchment gets new life
blowing the flames up again
and to me it stays sorcery.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Dark Covering
The moon is getting a dark covering of the dark clouds. See, the moon suddenly vanished. How should I reach to my moon now? She has turned to be so far away and the night is completely dark. This night has been captured with suffering. Darkness of soul, darkness of night has left a haunting mark to my present. You feel I am a cheat? No, I did not cheat you. True, I forever was and till the end will be. Only you I had in my mind and heart. Lost I have myself, she was never mine. Love does hurt like hell.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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Natural Joe
There's a boy out 'luma way named Joe Eugene.
He's one mellow ass son of a bitch-a.
He loves his wheat grass and cold bean curd.
He's one healthy ass sone of a bitch-a.
But late at night he sneaks on down to the liquor store
for a bottle of sheep dip.
Natural Joe,
got an easy flow.
Whereever he goes
they say "here comes Joe."
Joe, he's a happy Man and he won't do you wrong.
He's one respectable son of a bitch-a.
Now Joe ain't no patriarch,
but he's smooth with the girls.
He ain't no cahuvinistic sone of a bitch-a.
But late at night he sneaks on down to the porno store
for a little bit of ...
Nature Joe,
he's hanging low.
Whereever he goes
they say "here comes Joe."
There's a boy out 'luma way named Joe Eugene.
He's one mellow ass son of a bitch-a.
He don't like firearms; he don't own knives.
He's one pacifistic sone of a bitch-a.
But late at night he eases on down to the video store
for a little bit of ...
Natural Joe,
got an easy flow.
Whereever he goes
they say "here comes Joe."
Natural Joe,
looking slow and low.
Look there he goes.
Go Natural Joe.
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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