SANParks.org Forums

Peace
=====
Storms strike swiftly, hard and cruel
wildly casting patterns and routine in disarray
Your soul is thrown in deep despair
as you struggle to ease yourself out of the fray
Outside influences batter on and on
clouds relentlessly build up and gather in
noises, shouts, cries of agony
tear you to pieces from within
and round and round you go
crying out for mercy
while the winds just blow and blow

The storm has long gone passed
when the effects still hold you captive
and your cry for mercy
now becomes a prayer to be set free

Then one morning as you wake
you hear the song of birds
as if for the first time

looking outside makes you catch your breath
for all around is emerald green
the sky is blue
the river shouts for joy
colourful flowers line the path
a bushbuck stares at you from undergrowth
as if for the first time

eagles soar high above
a breeze stirs leaves with gentle whispers
cirrus wisps of cloud drift by
a harmony of life and colour
sound and sight
taste and flavours
enfolds you
as if for the first time

Never was there peace like this
descending on your soul
never was peace so profound
if through the storm you did not go

Never was there peace like this
as if this is the first time

A place so wild and free
When a drop of water is enough…when a cool breeze does the job of a aircon and a shower under the trees doesn’t bother you ,you know that you are meant for the Kalahari…Every morning the road would be a puzzle with all the animal tracks, if you have the skills you can put the puzzle together, and even if there aren’t any lions to welcome you the birds of prey can be quite amazing-black crested snake eagles high up against the blue sky, with the suns first rays kissing its wings…a pale chanting goshawk sitting in a nearby tree waiting for a little fat rat to come and warm its self in the sun…
When the sun starts to take height a blistering day awaits…from early in the morning until about 10 o’clock the namaqua and burchels sandgrous pay the watering holes a visit, but from 12 o’clock less animals will be spotted in the open, the shade under the camel thorn trees are crowded, and only a few animals walk around…the warm air stir up dust devils, and the birds of prey scan the ground from the skies above…the round sun looks bloated in the heat waves as it starts to go down behind the red dunes…
Sunset….the heat breaks and the wind calms down, the desert is frozen…. the sun winking away over the west dune, and the stirring call of a jackal breaks the silence…

I watched a meet from afar
heard of wild dogs on the tar
A game the angels actually won
but it wasn't all that was done

A cause celebre
to stop killing macabre
before a creature dumb
totally sucumbs

To men without conscience or heart
and with the Rhino we have to part

....................................................

The Pointed End

Heavy head held low, hidden in the grass;
Horn parting the thickly growing stems ahead
As his long flat lips curl out and grasp the next mouthful;
A cloud passes dragging a dark shadow behind it.

For a moment, he stops feeding and listens.
Shadows can be bad; this time there is no scent
And he curls his muscled lips forward to feed again.
Another heavy cloud moves over him; shadows deep.

He raises his head, stands heavy on straddled legs
And sprays thick squirts of urine stating silent
Boundaries, horn pointing proudly to the shredded sky.
Inky shadows; and the thunder rumbles towards him.

Head lowered he feeds again, his skin massaged
By rods of stinging rain. Muddy runnels trickle from
His tick-infested skin and he stands still and cool;
Dark thunder; he drops as buzz-saws savage trembling air.

It is with sorrow in my heart when I watch our children,
they think life will stay the same, everything is a game.
Look at the rhino I tell my daughter
but she has no care, thinking she owns tomorrow.

I see the poachers, I watch the slaughter
and I know with sorrow there is no tomorrow.
When she is older and start to question how do you and I explain,
our heritage are stolen, life are taken, tomorrow are left broken.


I've watched you play, caring for your calf, caring for the mother.
A family united, standing together, not knowing that it wont last forever.

They dont come like thieves in the night, they come in broad daylight
to take from you something of no value.
Mother and calf watch in horror, filled with fear and sorrow.
You pay the price for human greed and ignorance, medical lies and worthless needs.
You feel pain, it is real, but you cannot scream, you cannot cry, you cannot ask why.


If the killing was swiftly, the torture would not exist
but they only wound you and cut your face till the horn rips.
You feel the pain the torture and you cry with no tears or words.
Left in the bush to bleed to death, days go by, vultures circle but life only slowly slips.


Mother and calf lay close by, every inch of worthless horn
cut from their faces leaving everything torn.
Waiting for death to stop the pain, screaming silently but all in vain.
They will only stop when there is no more, the bushveld left with no rhino spore..

Healing Pain

Pushed aside like I'm rubbish
I supposedly don't make your high standards
you so subtly tried to show your fake love to us
with money and selfish stories of yourself
but you never knew us for who we are
we were just not good enough

now that you are gone
we are trying to get up out the mud
cleaning ourselves and getting rid of the abscess

forgiving you, didn't take away what you did
and yes it still hurts
but it allows me to freely live
to be myself
to be who I am, Who I was created to be
not who you wanted me to be

it'll take time to heal to hurt

Meeting Someone Famous

Meeting someone famous can be a nerve-wrecking thing
Especially if it is someone known for killing…….
So one day without an appointment with said Mr. Famous
I came to meet the one known as Africa’s most dangerous

Chilled out and walking in the beautiful African bush
When my sixth sense sensed that something is amiss
eyes peeled and looking even behind like a chameleon, frozen and throbbing pulse
Where and what is this thing which my senses tell me is around

Suddenly out of “nowhere” dashed this very long black reptile
Something; what exactly I do not know; hopefully not me
Invaded his personal space and triggered his irritation level
I was just too grateful to not be in the way of the bite

…. Otherwise I would not be here writing you the story of the Black Mamba

Castles in the sky

I wish you would smack me in the face
or tell me to wake up and smell the coffee laced
I built a castle in the sky
with foundations on clouds so high

Yes, it was a dream
but it in my dream it was as real
as sunkissed beaches smelling of sunscreen
a thought, how it could be, how I feel

Now the castle came tumbling down
My face had to hid more than a frown
when the news broke to me
that the dream is no longer to be

I wish you would smack me in the face

Love is a strange strange thing


Love is a strange strange thing
I can feel a lot about you
and it be the wrongest deed
and when it be so right
not feel a thing except that
my heart tell me: This is right

Some days I can be in the clouds
and the next want to run away
and yet chose to stay on earth
here with you. Be with you

love is a strange strange thing <3

BEAUTIFUL NIGHT
================
Magnificent display
of God's created sky
stars scattered in silver sparkles
from dark horizon to the end of everywhere
and anywhere

A windstill night
Not even the whisper of a breeze
to lift the autumn leaves
clinging to branches slowly drying out
as they fall asleep
for a season

The river is running low
its summer song is quiet now
only the hippos splash and shout and tease
impalas on the banks run wild
as they prepare for battle
and the deep throated hoot of a pair of owls
can clear be heard

In the distance the echoes of a lion's roar
fade away too fast to capture in a memory
and the night falls
into total, deafening silence

As always, always,
the warm glow of completeness
wraps itself within one's soul
A sense of strength
discipline
peace
wholesomeness
goodness
quality
comfort
nestles deep within

Forever so thankful
for nature
where values are restored

And the splendour of a beautiful night
lasts long
for it is not only in what the eye perceives

It never fails to feed the soul...

Here is an example of a poem I composed in a flurry of mirth after visiting an eatery in Fourways. Certainly not anything deep from the recesses of the soul, but indeed a quick idea that needed formulation so that I can have a giggle of nostalgia every time I read it:


FREEBEE

An eatery to wade in food,
A base where gluttons thrive;
A street café for chic and clique,
A buzzing, bustling hive:

For bees were supping too their fill,
From mayonnaise and honey;
And clustered on the jam-pot lids,
And sipped ambrosia runny;

This airforce of the dumbledores
Did whirl and hum and drone:
Till, hastily, we gulped the last,
For, tarrying peril-prone;

My daughter twinkled with some mirth:
“You have the heebie-jeebies?
No matter – with each doughnut bought,
They'll contribute two freebees!”

To all these wonderful poets...


THE POET
========
I have yet to meet the author of a poem who does not know the depths and heights of being.
If ever melancholy and torment would touch gaiety and exultation, the confluence will be found in the soul of the poet. Plunged into despair, finding the couragous way out and flying to the clouds in elevation, the writer will instinctively reach for pen and paper to pour sentiment out into words.
Passionate, honest and ripping emotions find their path through the mind and fingers, effusing themselves in whirls and twirls as the letters form, gathering together an amazing display of words and sentences, bringing mysteries to life and spilling character into existence.
Looking into the eyes of the poet, even when the light is sparkling from inside, hidden there will be found the tinge of understanding, the gentle aftergrowth of experience, nostalgia, pain, shattered heart, broken dreams, disillusionment. And happiness - without exception there will also be memories of happiness, dreamy contentment, sweet jesting.
Eternally seeking solitude while fulfilling their role in allégresse society, true poets are exquisite and complex personalities.
They are beautiful.

I cannot remember if I have posted this here before. but anyway here goes. I wrote it a couple of years ago after i got out of a deep dark hole (if you know what I mean.) Now when my life want to go that way again (one of the things i do....) is to read this and take it to heart.


The Cross Shaped Morning Star

I’m stuck down in a black spiral
A very confusing spiral
It’s a maze and it’s going downwards
I’m confused about everything in life
Don’t know what to do

I’m in a dark tunnel of glue
Was that my imagination or did i really
See some light far away….
I try to swim towards it
It dims and brights

I cry out loud for some more light
At first I felt hopeless
as it felt like nothing happened
Then one really bright
Cross-shaped Morning star appeared.

I felt the glue loosing its grip

Precious blood flowed from the Star
I was brought back to Life
My Redeemer put a rose in my hair
And a sparkle in my eye
- a reflection of His Image.

SUNSET

The sun has set for you
In so many colours
You were still so young
And full of life

I look at your children
And wonder if you can see them
How they’ve become grownups
There is so much you’ve missed

The days go past so quick
And I sometimes loose track
Because it still feels like yesterday
That you were still here

But when I see your children
On the brink of adulthood
I wonder how many plans you had
And if any came true

If you had one moment
To change today
What would you change
What would you say??

italj 7/7/2012

CHILD OF TODAY

When you were small
I could easily hold you
in my arms
When you cried
I did not know what you wanted

Now that you've grown up
I don't get to hold you
in my arms
Now when you speak
You make it very clear what you want

italj 12 July 2012