Archive for the ‘Poems’ Category

Easter Day 2019

Chris Hani 1993. Sri Lanka 2019.

Darkness tries to extinguish Easter light.

Guns blaze, bombs flash,
using light to bring death
                     on Resurrection Day

Hate spits its fire into the Easter dawn;
Hellfire, to burn down pillars of hope;
To bring nation-building crashing down,
To smother hope in the smoke of destruction.

hope cannot  die
hope will not die 
light cannot be extinguished
light will not be extinguished

Hate, hellfire, destruction, death – all are broken!

This is the victory of Easter
This is the power of Easter

Hold the line.

Out of the mouths….

Psalm 8 speaks to humankind: Out of the mouths: a rebuke

What world are you creating for me today?
What world are you creating for my tomorrow?

Look at the stars

  • The greedy man says
    • I have seen them on my vacations.
  • The needy man says
    • I have no energy to see them.
  • The world leader says
    • I do not need them.
  • (What do you say?)

They tell us how very speck-like and isolated you, me and the earth are;
They tell us to be humble.
I see them
Look! Look!

Listen to the earth

  • The greedy man says
    • The earth is my plaything.
  • The needy man says
    • I can only hear my own needs.
  • The world leader says
    • Next year, after the election.
  • (What do you say?)

The earth and all that is in it is groaning; moaning pitifully under your torture
I hear it
Listen! Listen!

All on the earth; all under the stars –

Look, and Listen

See, and Hear

And together – do what it is in your ordained power to do

  • for me
  • for the earth, and all that is in it
  • for today
  • for tomorrow
  • for my tomorrow.

The flight of Icarus

The Flight of Icarus

I watched you, my son

Making your wings

Fine and feathery

Large. Then larger

(you must) Watch me fly, dad!

The rhythm of your flight – fast, strong

Then faster, faster

Up, up

High, high, higher

Come back!

Was that my heart or my voice that cried to you?

I watched you………soaring, soar……

The sun…. too close!

Too high

Up there, I watched you go, up there

Oh, my son,

My son – shining……or burning?

Flames, singeing, melting

The wings shrivel, shrink

Flapping wildly, then feebly. Fear.



And when you fell

I watched

My son

Daedalus (6th July 2007)

Written when a young colleague went through a major crisis 


Don’t keep telling me to leave my comfort zone!

I like my comfort zone. I love it. I long for it.

I like still waters.

I like green pastures.

I like an easy yoke.

They have been promised to me, haven’t they?

So why should I leave my comfort zone?

Why must I be driven out by your cliché?

But now you make me think:

Do comfort zones exist?

Life IS uncomfortable.

Comfort? There is no comfort!

No white boat rocking gently on the blue Caribbean.

The hurricane will get you.

In my comfort zone the time will come when

  still waters will churn
green pastures will turn
trees will lose their shade

as Jesus shepherds me into a new comfort zone.

From my comfort zone I will see

churning waters
turning grass
denuded trees

and Jesus will shepherd me into those dis-comfort zones

to bring his comfort zone
created in me.

The valley of the shadow of death is a comfort zone.
The crumbling, stony cliff track is the right path, my comfort zone.
          I see his rod and his staff. I am comforted, comfortable, comforting.

Did you perhaps mean to tell me to move out of my lazy zone?
my dead zone?

Thank you for driving me out of my comfort zone, into the words of this pseudo-psalm.

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

Another child dies while playing, the bullet intended for the young man

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

The young man dropped out of school, his chances blighted before he entered Grade 1

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

He ‘tikked’ all the boxes of loss and hopelessness

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

His mother drank to stay sane

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

His absent father was present with his fist

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

Leaders squabble and scrap while the poor cry out

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

Cars clog; trains fail

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

The foreigner trembles

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

Inequality eats at our soul

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain

Greed and selfishness steal and plunder

In Cape Town, it has forgotten how to rain


In Cape Town, have we forgotten how to cry?


In Cape Town, it has remembered how to rain

Can we remember how to cry? – a cut-off low of restitutive, restorative tears to fill dams of generosity, sharing and love

As to a child with cystic fibrosis



A goodnight kiss and my heart is torn again –

The taste of tears.



The well of life trapped within you.

My eyes have run dry now.



Oh, that runs forth in rivers from you –

Shimmering in my eyes.



Blood of my blood.

A joy tainted.



Seven days out of seven you labour,

The mark of Cain visible on your brow.



Fly, swoop, soar in it: fight for it,

My breath of life.



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