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Peace of the wilderness

Surrounded by the bush; inhaling the air so fresh
Hearing the birds chirping so happily
Sitting next to a loved one, staring at the fire’s flames
Appreciating the beautiful night skies; with the full moon casting
reflections on the stream rustling over the pebbles

Far away hearing a Woodland Kingfisher saying
Chip-chirrrrr chip-chirr chip-chirrrr chip- chirrrrr
I imagine him saying: come here, come here, come here
A shiver down my spine on hearing the lions roaring

The unforgettable sense of sanity, peace and quietness
And deep down in my heart knowing that
This is the great spirit of the african wilderness

How many must still die?

Not many are here, anymore.
Their blood is almost dry,
And everything is drenched in an unberable stench,
Left to be forgotten.

History makes us groan
As these events
Are removed violently
From their pages.

The flakes of blood
Formed upon each animalic face
Are a silent testimony
To the unreliability of compassion -

The bodies I have left in my wake
Pile up, steadily, surely;
As long as I have breath,
I am the animals bane.

Each creature is torn apart,
And a bit of their life
Is ripped
Such as pages in history.

The dying embers
Slowly lose all light,
And I am left,
Shivering, over and again.

For each corpse,
Warm before death,
And then cold,
Once again.

If you ever meet me,
Realize that I have been evil
To survive me.
You will have to become more immoral than me.

For this pilferer accepts his fate,
I too will not stand,
Not even if I am tied to a tree,
And pulled back onto my feet.

It is not your responsibility,
It is not your burden.
I’m just some other guy
Who has damaged five

And when they are done,
others will have to take their place
For money is there to be made
In this most devious game.

OH dear....I can't remember if I've posted this one before
Bare with me folks...this may happen more and more lately...my already memory like a sieve has gotten bigger holes

The hot African sun



The sun
Beat down on the ground, as I sat in the dust of an old forgotten road.
The heat from that day brought a smell o’er my way,
Of sweet grass and hot sun baked clay.
And it tickled my senses, aroused my suspense’s,
And it drifted me far and away.

I saw in the shimmer
The Sun’s heat delivered
The tall grasses started to sway.
That tree in the distance
Alone in existence, it wasn’t so far and away.

I heard in the distance
A call of resistance
Like cries through a cellophane bag
And I knew in an instant life wasn’t consistent
Sun’s set starting to fade.


I arose in a sweat, and was full of regret
For I tempted my fate on this day.
As I turned full around
Long white teeth I had found…

And it tickled my senses, aroused my suspense’s,
And it drifted me far and away.

Wow - what can I say - some great stuff here.

Gaping wound filled with flies
Many more fill up the skies
Horn hacked out – exposing bone
Now a youngster stands alone

Not knowing why his mother died
He nudges gently at her side
Wondering why he feels so weak
He wobbles on his new born feet

He does not know what he is worth
This last Rhino that walks on earth
Human greed has killed his kind
One new born babe left behind

He lays his head on killing field
Little heart to death will yield
Slowly sight will fade away
As weakness claims him day by day

I've posted this before, but may be appropriate to do so at this time:

I've been so annoyed at the despicable way that successful poaching has been increasing in this glorious country of ours, that I had to put my thoughts down in words! The repetitive nature of my poem both mimics the sound of automatic gunfire and importunately reminds us of the horror of poaching. However, my plea to the poacher to release the sunken humanness that may still lurk deep in his heart provides a possible ray of hope:


OH, POACHER

Oh Poacher, Poacher, dredge your heart;
Wring your blood like those you bleed:
Confess now, fiend, your dying art.

What once was whole, now but a part -
Stinking cells as scavenger feed:
Oh Poacher, Poacher, dredge your heart.

With rifle, snuffing snare, and dart:
Lowly men, how base your breed!
Confess now, fiend, your dying art.

A mundane death on a tick-list chart,
Laid them flat like a scythe the reed:
Oh Poacher, Poacher, dredge your heart.

No synergy, nor love impart -
Reign in now your rampant steed:
Confess now, fiend, your dying art.

Forget not fond your hallowed start -
Sowed your breath as life its seed;
Oh Poacher, Poacher, dredge your heart:
Confess now, fiend, your dying art!

just a (silly) poem about guinea fowl.


The Guinea Fowl’s cheerful chatter

The guinea fowl have this cheer
In their everyday chitter and chatter
That I cannot help but wonder
What they are saying to each other

All lovely kinds of things like
How tasty was that grassy-bite
The weather is so fine
No complaints about rain or shine

Did you see this morning’s
beautiful painting in the sunrise
And those new blooming wildflowers
In between the lovely tasty greenery

Singing a song of praise and thanks
Not an ounce of stress in their lives
they happily chat away to themselves
and keep us humans in the wonder

The klipspringer bounced like a pogo stick
Up the rocks to save it’s neck
Standing up so still and high
No muscle twitching, no blinking eye

The lion below had scared her away
But they had thoughts of another prey
In the rocks, hidden within
Another cat had made its den

A leopard was lying deep inside
Hiding from the marauding pride
The lion were seeking to kill their foe
They had no interest in the little doe

The leopard eventually managed to flee
Up the nearby knob thorn tree
There she lay, panting in fear
Knowing the lion were still so near

Was it just the large spotted cat
The lion stalked, like a cornered rat
Or was it her cubs, hidden inside
Calling out to the searching pride

The answers to this we’ll never know
For gates would be closing, we had to go
We believe in the rules of the park
And had to get going before it got dark.

Now that the writing competition is over, I'll post one of my entries here:

SUNSET SEASCAPES AT STORMS RIVER

Liken to some fabled lands
Of ancient seas and rocky strands:
Whirling winds and chasing clouds,
And dipping gulls in ceaseless crowds;
Thund'ring waves invade the shore -
To each we bow our humbled awe:
Drenching clean the bouldered beach.

Seek subtle harmony in each
Intertwining blackened pipe
Of stranded seaweed – plump and ripe,
Over which gymnastic fleas,
In multitudes, upspring with ease.

Shells of pastel pinks and cream,
Of lavender and olive-green;
Saw-edged beetles on the run
With low-tide and the setting sun;
Flights of swallows bid goodbye
As turquoise sea and pink-tinged sky
Juxtaposed to swelling pools
Of rouge-hued pebbles, mollusc jewels.

Kisses sweet from Neptune's store
That melt upon the mirrored shore;
Fynbos gems their leaves recurl,
Between the rocks the eddies twirl,
Creeping insects sea-shore shy,
Then flutters by a butterfly.

Aeons thus in harmony,
And aeons thus will always be?

Deep in the dunes of sandy red
An old lion lifts his head
Once the leader of his pride
He seeks a place where he can hide

Skeletal body, head hangs low
No energy left, no place to go
Proud unto the very end
Into the background he tries to blend

Once the hunter now the prey
Death stalks him night and day
No more a powerful fighting machine
Strength and leadership a fading dream

In the shade of a wilting tree
Clouded eyes that can hardly see
He waits alone with heaving sides
The angel of death above him rides

Hunger and thirst fills every day
Youth and strength has melted away
Muscles replaced by sagging skin
His heart beats slowly deep within

Dark clouds fill the endless sky
Moonbeams wait for the king to die
Will he survive this endless night
Or will his heart give up the fight

Coffee brewed throughout the night
Flickering flames the only light
Blackened glass in metal base
Lights the way to wash his face

Rusty basin and jug to match
Protected by a roof of thatch
Fly stained mirror on the door
Woven mat on dung packed floor

An early morning gently breeze
Drifts its way through sleepy trees
A man steps out to face the day
Not knowing what will come his way

He lifts his face to the rising Sun
And gives thanks that night is done
Knobkerrie held in gnarled fist
He stands alone in the morning mist

Eyes closed tight he bows his head
And thinks of family, now long dead
A chorus of birds fills the skies
As ancient warrior opens his eyes

No longer is he living free
His lamp replaced by electricity
He knows he cannot track his prey
Sandy paths are now hard and grey

Rising from the humble earth
Fences surround his place of birth
Roaring vehicles belch out fumes
Killing grass and fragile blooms

Houses built from bricks on blood
Replace the homes of grass and mud
Water pure and sweet to the taste
Now polluted with human waste

Vultures soar with desperate eye
Watching their world slowly die
Turning back the way he came
Ancient warrior cries tears of shame

Wow**some of these expressions and prose are stunning...now i don't know if i should post mine anymore

Here goes...
******************************************************************************
How do you know...?

It starts when your feet touch the red sand...
The lion roaring in the distance...
The solitude you experience...
The dry Kalahari wind softly whistling around the corners of you tent...
And the fresh animal tracks each morning...waiting to be discovered...
Everything tells a different story...
Vultures usually death...and a small green leaf..The promise of life...
The million dollar sunset...
And a billion dollar sunrise...
From the small whistling rat to the king of the Kalahari...
If you have those thoughts, feelings or experience..

That is when you know you have fallen hard for the soft Kalahari dunes...

Leopard
The silent stalker of the night…
A graceful cat watching us from high above in a camel torn tree…
Each spot an identification symbol
And if you dare to make eye contact with this magnificent animal
Be ready to be AMAZED by its fearless gaze looking deep inside of you…
With each Kalahari sunrise it seeks the right tree to spend the day…
And with each breathtaking sunset it again wanders into the cold Kalahari night
Leaving a sign whenever it does something.
Deep gashes in the red Kalahari sand were it marked its territory and then sprayed the scent
Zig-zag patterns up against the dune were it walked up to have a better look at the world around it…
And a soft pattern between its paws were it crouched low to stalk prey, and then light footprints were it stalked its prey, and finally two hind paws going deep and hard into the red sand as it made its final decision to go for the prey, leaving small holes in the sand were its claws extended as it gave its final jump…

A Kalahari sunset

After a hot Kalahari day the warm colored sunset is enough to make lions move, owls wake up and snakes to emerge, and for us to take a drink and sit down…

When the last of the sociable weavers found their way home...The first choir of barking geckos take the stage, with backup from the Black backed jackal, with their lonely Kalahari call…

And if the lions feel a need to stretch their vocal cords they will send their spine chilling roar over the Kalahari…and that has given me goose bumps allover…

When the cheetah finds the place were no predator will come looking…and the springbok stand in herds of hundreds to keep the safety of numbers on their side, not knowing who might be missing the next morning as the signs of danger strike…

As the last rays of sun touch the clouds above ,that is when you know you have experienced a real Kalahari sunset…

Pink, gold shimmering red
The sun lifts up her fiery head
Fingers stretch across the sky
As night and darkness say goodbye

Stars grow dull as darkness flees
Morning dew decorates the trees
Silence broken by calling birds
Buffalo gather in thundering herds

Silent tears stain cheetah’s cheeks
As days soon blend into weeks
Hours form and speed away
Creating memories of each day

Majestic lion lets out a roar
Bends to lick his gigantic paw
Thoughts fill that mighty head
Of creatures that will soon be dead

Brighter, lighter is the day
Moments, seconds flitter away
Life is short for one and all
All too soon our night will fall

When your days turn into night
Lift your head towards the light
Listen to the morning dove
Surround yourself with laughter and love

Pain



The baboon sits in his old tree.

Sitting as always.

He watches the animals come to drink.

Wonders what they think...

His world's a changing, rearranging,
Is he managing...

Less animals drinking than normal,
The dress quite formal...

A long wet season, now without reason..

But the animal does bark...even if in the dark
Maybe not just a lark, maybe not Noah's...

Then the troop does appear, a tail and an ear, really quite near, the young also here...

The baboon sits in his old tree.

Sitting as always.