Stick 68 - Umbilical Cord

the unborn offspring of a mammal before birth

twilight fetus
hollow sound
bubble pond
mother's bond 

unhatched fetus
unscathed life
unaborted love
mother's freedom loss

natures call
echo wall
shared agony
mother's prayer

umbilical anchor
umbilical storm
umbilical rip
mother's baby fetus born

Stick 67 - Graffitti Pain

How much sorrow can one person borrow

Ink everywhere as I vomit pain
Insight nowhere as I clean up the stain

Invisible graffitti in a very course life grain
Inflamed colours mask terror that reign

Incognito is how I fend and blend in
Involvement nowhere in the empty bin

Insanity the only sometimes clarity
Inaudable screams from the yearning disparity

Incurable torment in the shadows of my mind
Inaccessible the view when my eyes have gone completely blind

Stick 66 - Hour Glass Sand



 

The hour in the sand glass...

 

I ran cold ice-white sand through my calm reflective fingers

and I knew what it meant

 

I scooped small sand-handfulls, but realised that sand cannot compress

and I knew what this meant

 

I lay back and closed my eyes and dripped the sand from head to toe

and I knew what this may mean

 

I rubbed the sand accross my belly button, filling the hole to the top

and I knew exactly what this meant

 

I stood up and shaked the sand off and felt it scrape and hurt my salty skin

and wanted to avoid what this meant

 

I picked up the empty sandglass and realised the hour had passed

and I knew the meaning meant...

 

... that I should add soft sand 

... to the palm of my grasping hand 

... till every belly-button moment 

... fills me with the wisdom and foresight of what it all meant

Stick 65 - Bluer than Blue

My Blue Ink Tattoo...

I floated in the pool of bluer than blue
The blue was equal to a trust so unquestionably true

The trust lay naked on a bed of gold
The gold embodied an unconditional love to behold

The love was framed by a halo of togetherness
The togetherness came from an abolute selflessness

The selflessness floated on a safety blanket from the sun
The sun swallowed the shadows before they dare begun

The dare was there as two soul mates set sail
The sail was torn in the test from the mammoth storm

I float again in a pool of deep-deep bluer than blue
The blue is now the indelible ink of the failed dare tattoo

Stick 64 - Crickle Stick Living

Crickle sticks are so very rare...

This stick bridged the gap
between the world of forward and back

This stick curled around the sore
and created a newfound shaded strong-stone floor

This stick circled the sunshine
and drank thirstily from the warm wishing well in the middle

This stick straightened out and with no anchor as yet
stretched its fingers to the beginning of the next

This stick mourns the dark from the back then
and touches gently the "what's over rock"
as it waits patiently for the next forever

Stick 63 - The Time of the Old

The Time of the Old...

Today's stick reminded me of the beautiful stories captured in the wrinkles of an older human being. I dedicate this stick and piece of writing to my beautiful grandson, Luca Fourie. When he was only four years old he told me with soulful eyes about "the time of the old". As I am starting to edge closer to the time of the old, I write this...

In the time of the old
one can live bold
one can be stronger
and stand one's ground much longer

In the time of the old
many threads of life come together
many memories blend in with past and future forever
and life's troubles become lighter than a bird's feather

In the time of the old
some say that we all become equal
some say that we tell our life stories with imaginitive sequals
and we give more and we take less and we appreciate life at its full best  

In the time of the old
any smile and loving hug will suffice
any welcoming warm-cup visit and chat will add spice
and as we listen and as we blend in
we long to share ancient wisdom with those in the time of the young

Stick 62 - Blisfully Unaware

The Handful of Unaware...

A handful of fireflies
filled the humid summer night,
their bright light outshone the moon
ouside the window of that special room

A handful of moths
stalked the dark yellow quiet porch light
their delighted eyelash wings flirting
as they stopped to rest on the windowsill of that special room

A handful of centipedes
marched their way accross the wooden windowsill
their determined journey
led them to enter through the window of that special room

A handful of white small ants
playfully gathered around the sugarbowl
while they chatted blisfully unaware
of the mutilated female body on the bloody bedroom floor
of that special special darkened room