Breathe me to the end of love

~ A parody inspired by Leonard Cohen’s Dance me to the end of love
            

             for Kim

Breathe me to your love with a flaming aloe
Breathe me through the longing ’till I’m folded in your arms
Lift me like a laurel leaf and be my summer swallow
Breathe me to the end of love
Breathe me to the end of love

Oh, let me see your heart when the lights go out
Let me feel you breathing like they do in the dance-halls
Breathe me slowly what I know that makes me gasp
Breathe me to the end of love
Breathe me to the end of love

Breathe me to the mountains, breathe me on and on
Breathe me very velvety and breathe me very long
We’re both of us behind our joy, we’re both of us in front
Breathe me to the end of love
Breathe me to the end of love

Breathe me to the forests who are begging to be grown
Breathe me through the lips that our kisses have outworn
Cup your hands now, though the water runs out
Breathe me to the end of love

Breathe me to your love with a flaming aloe
Breathe me through the longing ’till I’m folded in your arms
Touch me with your naked breast or touch me with your heart
Breathe me to the end of love
Breathe me to the end of love

 - Lara Kirsten

Blue rocks enchantment

I come to you, to hold me,
in your wordless dips and cracks,
your plates and protrusions,
by the incessant music of the living water,
whose salt nibbles you …

All your oh’s show:
your ridges are so holed
as to make me know the sea’s cast
her net of enchantment –
you’re hers, totally.

All you rocks! Cousins, elders and youngsters,
one big family,
on holiday forever
at the beach.

– Silke Heiss, 12th January 2023

2023

Al die poets skryf oor dié jaar
asof hulle regtig weet sy bring heil.
Die rykmanne gee raad oor dinge wat werk (of nie),
maak reg vir nog ‘n ronde dobbelwerk
om hul sakke te laat bult.
Die sangers polish kitare,
die sportmanne (en vroue) stof ‘n slag hul bekers af

Maar die Essies en Linas en Karels
sit onder koeltebome op sypaadjies en wonder
hoeveel keer hulle vanjaar sal eet
en of die Here tóg ‘n tikkie genade
oorhet.

This holiday

I ate Coco Pops from the box
With my 7-year-old son beside me,
reaching in for a handful too.
I jumped in swimming pools with strangers,
played endless rounds of cards,
read books by unknown authors
and ate a lot of food.
I danced in the rain with my daughter,
took drives down unfamiliar roads,
played tennis in the passage,
broke many plates and glasses,
and laughed and laughed with my children
till the inside of our bellies hurt.

I cried, too,
writing fiery poetry to my toxic self
filled with pinky promises of how, this year,
I will tread lightly,
gently
softly,
knowing all too well
that eating sweets for breakfast
is a lot easier to do.

 - Alvené Appollis-du Plessis