sprinklings of joy in remote places…
sprinklings of joy in remote places…
“I knew who I was this morning, but I’ve changed a few times since then.”
I found my bliss in Bulawayo,
surrounded by a gaggle of ducks,
some noisy bantams and a dog named Judy…
Somehow, I knew from an early age that I was different,
a dreamer, an artist, a seer of visions.
(not recommended in a household of intellectuals)…
I was a child of nature’s wonderment
and spent many happy hours outdoors.
I clearly remember the first time I planted seeds
in my own corner of the garden,
the utter joy at seeing them sprout
from the hard-dry earth.
Everything seemed like a miracle back then,
alive with possibility…
The night skies were spectacular in Bulawayo
and I would lie on the crisp yellow grass
in the evenings watching the stars.
I had a sense that I was not alone in the vastness of everything
and a loving presence was always with me…
I was not popular in school, just a shy, dull and not very bright little girl
or that’s what I told myself…
I recall picking daisies and wild grasses in the garden
and putting them in a jar to decorate my room.
I loved climbing the giant tree outside our kitchen,
riding my bike to school in the rain
and listening to the latest pop records
while my brother played DJ in the next room.
I fell in love with all my brothers’ friends
but sadly it was unrequited…
Living in this magical Universe, I was untouched by the harsh realities of the world.
Though I deeply desired to be famous,
I shrunk away from too much attention,
actually feeling like a lost child, misplaced, and really quite odd!
I took up ballet when I was a little older,
I loved to dance, but I gave it up because
the other girls were prettier and slimmer than I was,
and I felt thoroughly out of place…
I loved tea parties with lashings of cake, Sunday lunches,
and lying next to the pool day-dreaming.
We were only allowed to drink coca-cola on weekends.
I still love the sweet, fizzy taste on a hot afternoon,
it elicits memories of a time when life was less complicated…
We had a kind, gentle man who cleaned our house,
he made the beds and did all the domestic chores.
His quiet, humble presence made me love him like a Father.
When I got home from school
he would make marmite and egg sandwiches
and we would listen to the radio together.
Though it was forbidden, I remember sneaking
into his room just to take a peek.
It was cold and bare with dark walls and a spring bed.
There was a prima stove on a tiny table in the corner.
I couldn’t comprehend why we lived in relative comfort
while he lived in an impoverished setting
drinking his tea from a jam jar…
(it makes me cry just thinking about it)
I was just a child unaware of the atrocities of that time,
and yet he was one of the most beautiful, grateful, humble human beings I have ever met…
We had to leave Bulawayo abruptly when I was about fifteen,
but my heart is still buried there, in the dusty earth…
her open heart announced an invitation…
I’m writing a Memoir to my son….this is an excerpt…
It was a Friday,
just one week after my son’s passing,
and we were unable to find
the Master of the High Court,
the purveyor of closure.
Ghastly paperwork was needed.
the nightmare we were living..
I found myself standing outside a trendy Coffee Shop,
somewhere in the City,
in the blazing hot sun,
afraid of a future without my youngest son,
trying to fathom out where I was
and how I got there.
Right in front of me,
sitting at the alfresco Coffee Bar
were about a dozen young guys,
drinking coffee and laughing,
living life the way it is supposed to be lived…
and this was me, a broken-hearted Mother,
whose son had just died,
spinning out of control,
hardly able to keep it together,
sobbing in the street,
tears gushing forth unashamedly,
my grief too severe to care who was watching!
In that moment
all I wanted was to shout out,
“I just lost my son, and there you are, carrying on like nothing happened,
shouldn’t the World have stopped moving,
fallen off its axis,
or at the very least been a little gentler with me today?”
What would they have thought,
would they have taken a moment
Or was this just another day in the City,
a desperate woman
ranting in the hot sun,
being hooted at by passing traffic!
A City where suffering lurks on every corner,
sometimes wrapped up in a bottle of booze.
The Staff at the Coffee Shop asked my eldest son what was wrong,
and he told them about his brother.
I saw their eyes fill with intense pity
and it washed over me like a channeled kind of healing.
It was a knowing,
that somehow they understood.
There were no words,
just a silent gesture
a wave to sit down
and drink my coffee,
all would be okay…
Write a poem in which something big and something small come together.
“The universe is not outside of you. Look inside yourself; everything that you want, you already are.”― Rumi
Once there was a little girl, living in a bijou world,
when all of a sudden
strange events occurred,
something weird in the household stirred.
she was not alone,
a rendezvous with
From the loneliness of her small place,
this doll’s house
that time erased.
A secret guide from celestial lights,
unveiled to her,
In micro gardens of trivial dreams,
from miniature thoughts, where silence screams,
she looked up at the faraway stars,
and the vastness
dissolved her scars,
of being alone in a friendless world,
this teeny Earthling
saw the expanse unfurl!
Aware of the immensity of time,
the cosmos shifted
light became bigger than forever,
atomic tunes hummed together.
The tiniest speck,
on the wide expanse,
an epic universe in her hands,
substantial realms opened her mind,
explaining mysteries of the great design.
The promise was
that if she believed,
realms would open where she received,
the joy of never being alone,
the whole universe was her home.
a boundless universe was inside.
This miniature girl with flimsy dreams,
existing together with the great unseen….
Image courtesy of PixaBay
The child is grown
The dream is gone
I have become comfortably numb
― Pink Floyd
when i was a child you said some words,
now i know,
it seems absurd,
but on that day,
i changed forever
perhaps i should’ve just said
but i let it grow into my bones,
those words stung
when i was alone,
you never knew the harm you did,
i was just a defenceless kid!
but i grew to believe those words,
a thing you shouldn’t
say to girls,
and now i am grown,
what can i say,
in remembrance of that hurtful day.
I’ll shout it out….
“I’m not a bitch!”
even scream it
at fever pitch!
i remember the trees crumpled in shame,
when you called me,
forgiveness has always been my quest,
but never say,