Breakers

“I so like that colour, there;
no there,” you say, and we both
seek the word to catch
that colour, that breaks through
in a wave of memory:
“Aquamarine!”

We call it together, and laugh
as the breakers of the tides
crash higher, higher
and we watch for a flash
of curling aquamarine

that shows hunched, as briefly
within the rounding, breaking water
as this moment,

fleeting and lovely with laughter.

 - Brian Walter

Boomkerk

    Eikeboom in die tuin van die Moederkerk, Stellenbosch

ek sit hier by my Boomkerk
die lig wat deur die nuutoopgevoude blare breek
is die geruite vensters wat alle goddelikheid vertaal
die knewel van 'n boomstam is
God se bobeen wat sonder swik of swig
sy goddelike staan staan
die juigende takke is die kerkbankies waarop
die voëls lofliedere tot die hemele sing
die wortels is die geloof wat in
onsigbaarheid die goddelikheid vasanker

o Boomgod, jou asem blaas die wêreld aan die lewe
jou groen mantel pomp kleur in ons anemiese siele
jou takke-prag ken geen argitektoniese perke
jy is milddadig in jou genade
en verrykend in
jou standvastige omarming

o Boomgod, wees my genadig
in die tye van my ongenade

 - Lara Kirsten

Old bird-table

When the hornbills come
– all floppy great birds of them –
we see ourselves

in their rag-tag ways:

cautious on the wire
fixing all with drooping eye,
he peers down his nose;

she comes then, edging
close, her want of fruit or bread
dances with her fear.

They feed at table,
then repair to the tree top,
sunnily chatter,

hemming and hawing,
each bird through a nose-long beak.
We watch ourselves there,

and we eye each other, too.

 - Brian Walter

On her eggs laughter    

I push you
in your wheelchair
to the open kitchen door
to catch some sun.

The dove burbles
(deep and sweet the sound
you complain is boring)
unruffling my own feathers
after the difficulties
of the morning – the cries
of pain, the wet sheets,
the stains of sadness,
which won't wash out.

"She sounds as if
she's sitting on eggs,"
I remark, "certainly those
are the sounds I'd make,
if I had eggs to sit on."

You burst
into the loudest, boldest laughter
I've yet heard from you
since you were 'struck'
(the word you've used
to describe your bad luck).

"Good that you don't,"
you observe – with that stubborn refusal
to imagine any self
in any situation other than
their own.

But the contented gurgle
of the dove, combining with
my whimsy of words
did have you erupt –

there's joy
in your heart
that will yet out

– despite all fuck-ups.

– Silke Heiss