Archive for September, 2012

Rage fuse

Posted: September 11, 2012 in Poetry, urban poems

It’s Tuesday already and the Poets Pub is open at dversepoets . Guess we all lose it sometimes … this is one time that I did!

I pulled at the thread
in my hard-wired head.
Just a loose end but
a tug and a pluck sent it
all round the bend.

I’d broken a circuit and out
of my mind came
the rage and the fire.
Anger gushed out,
a withering spout and
then I laid waste to

and the news.

the rain
and the pain
and those
incompetent fools.

Then it was spent and I had to apply
the heat of the whisky to solder
the thread back into my head.

Our wettest August for 100 years

Posted: September 9, 2012 in nature poems, Poetry

At dversepoets Mary Kling is enncouraging us to look to Autumn … and after the summer we’ve had I’monly too glad to do that!

Summer curls up at the edges.
Trees shrug it away.
Wearied leaves begin to brown and crunch,
worn down by rain-lashed months.
Crops have been beaten senseless.
Barley and wheat fields wasted,
their sentineled ranks mauled and flattened.
Whole woods, mud-booted, wet-bent,
cling to ridges, huddle in valleys,
waiting in vain for warmer days.
They never threatened to arrive.
Mocking sun makes a late lusty effort,
burning backs of retreating tourists
and kids skulking back to school.
But it’s too late for serious warmth.
Mist-shrouded, diamond-dewed mornings
herald a coolness.
Sun buries itself earlier in the day.
Freshness cloaks the air
and wilting trees mourn
a summer that never came.

Bravely gunning down Marikana miners

Posted: September 4, 2012 in urban poems

At dversepoets on Saturday Stu McPherson challenged us to become rebellious poets. My offering is late, but I bring it to Tuesday’s PubPoets session. I was deeply impacted by the event of the poem and the brutality of it demanded (for me) a simple stripped-back poem to capture this particular rebellion.

When you have an automatic rifle you are brave.
When you have body armour you are brave.
When you have a helmet you are brave.
When you stand in line with the others you are brave.
When you all take aim you are brave.
When the black South African miner stands before you with a wooden club you are brave.

Your bravery sweeps him away.