Thursday, April 16, 2009

Photo by Cor Lems @

Out of Africa

Some names seem writ in water
Their presence barely felt
Little puffs of wind that swiftly die upon the veldt

Whether thousands dead in Darfur
Millions starving cross the main
Those succumbing to the virus
Poor so plagued by reckless reigns

The news from out of Africa
In steady, mournful tones,
Form long and lonely drumbeats
For the souls there marching home.

While these, the great forgotten,
Seem to vanish in the mist,
Some say a Lion's stalking still
For times just such as this.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Brought to You by the Letter "S"

I'm eeking out a sibilant subsistence
A transient I am
Between scepter and sepulchre
The spectre-like hissing
Swirls mid the blissing
That beckons.
The one sounding sweet
With scents of freshly washed feet,
The other, sour, but what power!
Succinctly said...
I'm stuck twixt the quick and the dead.
I much prefer rock
And righteousness
And redemption.
I wish, Oh! how I wish,
I'd learned to roll my "R"s.