Five short poems

Sharing dessert with you:
forbidden
sweetness …

   ***

Wind and palm tree greet –
shadows ripple, writhe against
the far garden wall.

   ***

In the dream the journeying of hands, the canopy of her hair.

   ***

She shifts gears
down pleasure’s highway.

   ***

Driving miss daisy
in the back seat,
her engine purring.

- Eduard Burle

Safely through

The purpose of your poems
is not merely to observe,
certainly it isn’t to disturb –
no: the words work to connect
your heart
with certain, chosen things out there

– the tree's bark, its falling leaves;
a jogging man, with children, cycling;
gardeners in conversation, striding by;
fishermen with gear,
for a night on the jetty;
diligent women, led, mornings and evenings, by their dogs;
the balding bushbuck, with his stately horns
and soft, wise eyes;
or, simply, streaming rain.

Each item from the cornucopia
pearls forth its shimmers –
each word is a choice vessel,
shipping
the prizes
of wonder, kindly belonging –

as the day dawns,
your moving hand guides your mind
safely and serenely through
even her worst storms.

– Silke Heiss, 29th May 2022

Bird

– for MB

There’s a bird of fire in the sick man –
the man who climbs the hill of his illness.

Someday, the fiery bird inside the man,
like the sun retracing its arc above him, will die.

The bird inside the man stirs. It says:
pull that book from the shelf; or:

play this album today – and this one, too; or:
go outside

and walk with your thoughts
under the trees; or:

call a friend and drink from the well
of shared stories; or:

risk love, without worrying about where
it may or may not lead.

Sometimes, when the bird flits into his mind
and speaks, he listens;
sometimes, despite everything, when he follows
the bird’s advice,
he finds he is translated into flame.

 - Eduard Burle

dit is nie toevallig

Madame Poësie,
dit is nie toevallig dat
jou Poesie sonder die umlaut
die ingang van die wêreld en
al sy wondere is nie!

O Poësie,
Jy is my Poesie sonder die deelteken
die kolkgat van ekstase
die fluweelsikloon van verrukking
die peristaltiese kern van Kreatiewe Begeerte

die kwikstertjie

die kwikstertjie kom deur die koffiewinkel gepyl
hy weet presies hoe om
om die stoele, rakke en menskoppe te navigeer

soos wat die kafee leër word
vlieg hy weer na binne en trippel
met 'n ratse self-vertroue oor die vloer
pik al agter die krummels aan

sy lewenshouding soveel aantrekliker
as meeste mense bukkend oor
hulle fone en koffiekoppies

 - Lara Kirsten  

Sniffing out trails poem series

    1
No cure

Ragged from a wakeful night,
chaos of dreams and drafts
of things you've yet to write,
stiff-necked and -limbed
from studio work, you take
your mind and body panting,
up the hill, down the hill,
past the jetty, into the marshland,
carrying your sandals,
frozen-footed, to accompany
the blank, brass sunrise,
predictably striping the water.

You could pretend, but
truth is, there's beauty outside
only when you're clear inside

- you're missing your beloved,
his so-everything-not-you being –

face it: for that degree of loneliness
there is no cure.

    2
Better

Setting it down –
writing your gripes,
does make the situation,
somehow, better.

    3
Crutch

It's not wine,
nor even work,
it is, simply,
my pen. I even have two.

    4
Sound

One of the reasons
I don't type my poems
and writing
is

I'd miss that breathy,
scratchy sound of
the pen's fountful nose

sniffing out trails
on the paper.

– Silke Heiss, 31st May 2022

Three Tankwa Karoo Poems

i am a drop

water at my back

blue sky up above

i am a drop

contained in

the walls of my mind

crack me

i want to seep into

you

   ***

float

my [scattered] thoughts

float on

the [togetherness of]

water

   ***

my ears stare

my ears stare

into

the distance

trying to grab hold

of

the furthest




silence

   ***

Tankwa Arts Residency, April 2022

 - Lara Kirsten