Prismatic Enchantment

Need not have worried, after giving up my document
every line like a familiar friend, the gods provided me
with Steam by Terry Pratchett and I am sucked into a
gentle whirlwind  bubbling me up to the clouds, Moist
von Lipwig and Adora Belle Dearheart - whirling with
me lights flashing joyously, Vetinari, Lady Margolotta,

This is celestial company, silver blue interspersed with
the imagination’s bright transparent rainbow bubbles in
prismatic enchantment, my soul is taken care of - heart
blessed, mind twirling in delight, soft warmth that keeps
one floating high above humanity, far beyond anything
that relates to grey boredom - what a marvellous time –

Book waiting to engulf me totally until I’m changed into
a new human being, perspective broadened by the new
set of humorous events Pratchett designed, the advent
of steam trains in the Disc World, new technology and
the goblins running wild and free – just like me, happy
to be alive, to be able to think about life - just like me!

Universal Love Impulse (2nd version)

Many perspectives on the one creative love energy
which we are all part of, we came to be far outside
the time-space continuum long before this world &
universe was formed within the unknown universe,
no single point of origin for those individual spirits
which have always been and which will always be

No single origin for collective of individuals but one
individual point of origin for each spirit - just before
this universe formed OR long ago in other universes
in layer upon layer layered through time and space &
substances outside time and space such as we can’t
conceive, whether we believe in an Individual Spirit

As primary God creator taught & praised in religions
or that Spirit Beings conceived and helped create this
world we live in, our sense of being watched over is
correct; yet we cannot conceive what this looks like,
we choose the expression of true love in a Single or
Many Beings, we could connect with nature’s divine

Harmonies - with science leading us to transcendent
spiritual experience of perceiving angels in the Spirit
universe, all connected with a Higher Self which is a
Divine Being, we are all surrounded by spirit guides
formed from the prime source of creation called the
Universal Love Impulse…

Anything On The Internet

A connoisseur of literature complained it is a
terrible shame, a transgression, that Internet
readers like the writing of authors not blessed
by the establishment, it’s incredible that these
upstarts, albeit now world renowned,  thought
it worthwhile to record their emotions on living
the unimportant events  of unremarkable lives

The arch-sin is they found an audience ready to
lap-up their unsanctioned, untested & unedited
work - as if no established writer ever recorded
their experience of  unimportant events; Balzac
to Proust to Collette wrote about such things, so
where did they find the courage to do it - would
they have eschewed the Internet if available?

I think not - so while highbrow aficionados look
down on these Internet sensations - the happy
crowds falling for them with elation - the public
ignores the academics who want to confine the
written world to their tunnel-vision and we read
everything that takes our fancy since we know
prescribed literature at school was terrible

And gave us a firm dislike for everything winning
academic acclaim then forced on kids as the only
prose worthy of attention, it’s so much better to be
free to decide on our own taste and entertainment
and everything in-between like alternative science
and quantum physics and anything on the Internet!

Scaring Enemies Away [REVISED]

Hurriedly left my work station ashamed to admit its
where I sit; a tornado couldn’t have wrought havoc
as effectively - & tomorrow is fumigation day! What
will the cockroach squad say, or those ponderous
security men accompanying them think when their

eyes greet one of my chairs covered with blankets,
scarves, two warm jerseys in ice-blue and a warm
hibiscus cerise, strings of beads, cardboard-tasting
packets of wholegrain rusks and awful cereal - will
I die if I eat all this after those poisonous fumes

did their bit and what of my dirty mug, my plate with
crumbs, will the dainty china blind them to the dirt;
what of the newspapers in a heap, hats, flowers &
trinkets - too many things to enumerate, at least no
spy seeking confidential government papers would

have the nerve to go through my stuff - everyone
shocked, even strong constitutions leaving the pre-
cincts scared of contracting hepatitis A and B from
my 3 day-tea-stained cup - nothing locked and still
no breach of protocol; I could be awarded a prize

for scaring the nations’ enemies away!

Its Retrograde Magic

Wholegrain wheat tastes like cardboard although the
product claims to have sugar content, it doesn’t help
to make the day pass, no, I got an allergy headache,
an indication I’m so bored even pain is preferable to
nothing: happiness is like an ironed cloth

A satin sheet without a crease while pain resembles
a very creased cotton piece after being wrung - or
metallic material showing different colours when
held in the sun; pain gives more dimensions to life
whereas mindless joy is a flat, shiny bright surface

Without interesting depths and horizontal extension,
happiness is a single vertical line running on in the
sun without anything to catch our attention - maybe
because it’s an illusion of being one-dimensional in
a multidimensional holographic world

The illusionary quality of fun is like the icing on a
very bad cake - yet sometimes a dream is so very
delightful, it takes me beyond this life into a higher
dimension where vision is different and music stirs
my soul until my heart is fit to burst as it fills - with

Feelings no human life can retain – but not now –
now I’m caught in this moment of headache which
was summoned by the allergy working its retrograde
magic, creating the difficulties which stir the passion
for creation - to express all the thoughts in my head

Romantic Emotional Content [REVISED]

Nearly the end of my long, languid swim in the quiet
waters of my tamed document - after being stung by
torrents of sharp  words like thorns in a devilish mesh
of technical terms, after near-drowning in the spinning
currents fearing loss of life and limb - I have tamed it

Mastered every line, analysed every aggressive turn;
though it seemed there wouldn’t be an end I’m finally
checking my own work, tottering at times - edifice not
too steady at all, but knots sorted out, I’m languishing
in soft waves lapping the shore of my consciousness

The document my friend, a favourite welcoming me
every day; as life grew beautiful the bell tolled for the
beginning of the end, due date ahead, boss demand
translation before the end of March - I’m aghast, was 
prepared for timeless eternity held in the warm clasp

Of my new friend while safely kept in the stream of 
its familiar terms, but no, once again it will be taken
from me to be vilified - my judgment questioned and
my sentences changed - me tossed back into a wild
sea to sink or swim, a new enemy text to be tamed

What could the new challenge possibly be, maybe a
turbulent storm at sea - or a desert so dry I shall die
thirsting for sweet, romantic,  emotional content?

Time Lapse Reality [REVISED]

Tried on my new cerise zip-up top but it didn’t suit any
of my moods since this resembles a flowering hibiscus
or hydrangea in full bloom, a description which doesn’t
reflect my feelings of absolute boredom with sitting still

With the lines effortlessly Googlerized and relayed to my
source document, waiting for unbearable backache as an
excuse to escape into the world, though I’ve no money left,
no more buying trinkets, odds and ends, roses and various

Coloured cloths  for reinventing my work station according
to my feelings; following a liquid diet in an endless tea party
interspersed with cups of soup, reminding me of grandma’s
periwinkle eyes and her offering me soup when I felt down

The morning nearly gone so I have to get on with the task
at hand, does one say sufficient numbers of staff or staff
sufficient in number – this type of silly question halts the
time and drives me nuts, wish to finish checking the text

Yet my mind is consumed by Ice Queen questions and
mysteries, riddles compiled by a sibling and dreaming
about a new tomorrow when I shall be free to realise
every dream without this time-lapse reality…

A Timeless Dimension

Love Disney’s movie ‘Frozen’ - my only
gripe is Hans Christian Anderson’s story
didn’t supply any details of a mysterious
Snow Queen - and yet she’s given a

Personal history in Frozen that doesn’t
match my idea of an anthropomorphic
personification without family or even
human origins - which is what she is,

A lonely celebrity unconfined in detailed
lineage, creating storms in Norway, living
in an ice-castle where Discworld’s Death
visits, Lady Time and Wen also, leaving

Their own transparent glass castle for a
while, all in a timeless dimension, 
far away from the normal world 
in which we live...

Cold, Conscientious Existence [REVISED]

I’m frozen - appear purple and blue under the
office glare of fluorescent lights - wearing my
ice-blue jersey, draped with pink & white bead
strings resembling a lost snowflake not an Ice
Queen, no long thick hair, no gauzy dress, only
a pink skirt fashioned from a blanket draped on
my pants to defeat freezing air-con streams

Creating dubious Peruvian splendour, Fedora
on my head - trying to overcome my attention
deficit by filling isolated cold texts with fantasy
induced feelings: Agent Snowflake sentenced
to spend ice-cold eternity viewing documents
unable to stir emotions, inspire, awaken red-
hot motivation - looking like a Machu Picchu

Escapee and feeling like flotsam, a forgotten
piece washed up on a lonely island’s shores
with hard-working colleagues discussing the
legislation, just making the place more grey,
forbidding, listening to yodelling over my
ear-phones to bring some joy to this
ice-cold, conscientious existence…

[26 March 2014]

Most Cherished Ideals [REVISED]

We write the stories of our lives
by living life in word and deed -
defining who we are by every
act, every word we say reveals
our deepest thoughts

Creating stories of our lives we
rewrite mankind’s archives, &
so enlarge the Universal Mind,
adding more events enriching
Supra-Consciousness which

Contains every sensory experience
and individual thought, not losing a
single beat of our accomplishments
or grave failure to live our dreams
which are heirlooms to be lived

By any other life-form who can catch
our dreams held in the Eternal Mind
since all we envisioned survive the
lives which gave birth to them, it’s
a solace when looking back

To our life story to see why it was
impossible to fulfil some of our
most cherished ideals…

New Spirituality [REVISED]

The whole truth can’t be found complete as bits
are scattered everywhere, individual sources are
incomplete; look into everything: nature, books,
all living things, for unique aspects of the truth
are  reflected within each

Everything contains the whole hologram under
laser-beams shining from many minds - though
existing as small bits in their singularity, include
all to recreate  the truth for nothing is complete
as it is; forget doctrine, sacred texts

Forget ancient scripture, it’s pedantry, for today
individual insights enrich life’s tapestry while not
sanctifying any single bit as ultimate reality nor
force it on us as holy texts; today scientists say
every part of the universe is alive

Literally EVERYTHING - heavenly bodies - the
cosmos, all of nature, you and me creating our
personal reality - see every text ever written as
an essential part of the New Spirituality which
excludes nothing in existence…

[New Inclusive Spirituality differs fundamentally
from the exclusive, dogmatic texts of yesterday]

Why Bother [REVISED]

Suddenly: latest government buzzwords terrorising
officials trying to work quietly are ‘Health’ & ‘Safety’
except for one painting toenails while discoursing in
exotic languages requiring many exclamations and
sudden explosive African word-noises shredding
already frayed nerves of little civil servants

Next aggressive attack on powerless low-degree
employees - anti-fraud campaign shielding daily
scam-committing fat cats, aiming at any hungry
man taking a piece of bread illegally & changes
in cathartic cascades of password persecutions,
“Password” no longer acceptable as a sign-in

Must be something more esoteric, more sinister;
but a password devised for me so foreign to my
psyche I write it in my diary, paste it on pieces of
pink paper everywhere - an intrusive spy need not
torture me to get confidential content - old Interpol
messages, the paper copies shredded already

Let me demonstrate the password debacle; I had
Supergalifractious, but IT techs made it 5upperc@li
nothing left of my own magic word, only by keeping
it written large for all to see can I access my own
documents negating the purpose of high secrecy
so the question is - why bother in the first place?


[ORIGINAL:]

Suddenly: health and safety latest buzzwords to
terrorise poor government officials trying to work
quietly – except for those painting toenails while
discoursing in exotic languages requiring many
exclamations and sudden explosives shredding
the already frayed nerves of little civil servants

Next aggressive attack on powerless low-degree
employees: anti-fraud campaign to shield fat cats
committing fraud daily yet persecute any hungry
person taking piece of bread illegally, campaigns
in cathartic cascades of Password Persecutions –
“Password” no longer acceptable as password

It must be something more esoteric, more sinister
but the password devised for me so foreign to my
psyche, I write it in my diary, paste it on pieces of
pink paper everywhere - an intrusive spy need not
torture me to get confidential content - old Interpol
messages, paper copies been shredded already

I want to tell everyone about the password debacle:
I wanted Supergalifractious, IT specialist made it in-
to 5upperc@ – nothing left of my magic word, only
keeping it written can I access my own documents
which negates the purpose of the experiment -
so why bother in the first place?

Open Door

After the murder, after the death, only ghosts left
lurking inside, waiting for explorers to try & read
the riddle written in blood on the doors and floors,
also the ceiling in certain rooms where a deranged
stranger still holds sway, a cold-blooded murderer

Relishing in detectives trying to unravel the riddle
that sent many a policeman to his death – these
events are invisible from outside, come hither –
all curious sightseers, try your luck against the
killer with his maniacal laugh, he killed the man

Who stood between him and his love, he did not
know she had already died pining for her lover’s
return – he came too late, his remorse at having
forsaken her before, drove him mad and led him
to kill everyone he found inside, so come away

Friend, ‘ere his laughter also turns your hair grey 

[With special thanks to my friend Ronel OReilly
whose excellent photo inspired this poem]

Consequence Of Innocence [REVISED]

Story of the opera ‘The Power of Fate’ - an insistence on
personal honour surely is a curse as the opera illustrates
by means of ill-omened lovers and wild intrigues

Did Verdi choose these themes to make one realise the
foolishness of false values and the bitter consequence
of youthful innocence in simply accepting them?

Violetta gives up love after a life as courtesan to save the
honour of Alfredo’s family & to revenge the family honour
Don Carlo attacks his sister’s lover but stabs her to death

Verdi’s operas teaches everyone must learn the meaning of
true honour and stop the sad cycles of revenge that drove
Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet to their death in his play

Verdi’s music is heavenly, melodramatic when Violetta dies –
but FATE has no power at all, it’s simply a personal choice
Verdi & Shakespeare show fate is only a human construct

To be overcome by clear thinking, accepting responsibility;
“I am the master of my fate” Nelson Mandela declared as
he facilitated reconciliation between greater enemies than

Montagues and Capulets - the different races held apart by
500 years of suppression in Africa; the message of these
artists changed my world also with special thanks to Nelson

Mandela who did not exact foolish revenge to obtain justice 
for his oppressed brethren - instead dreaming a new world 
into being - I am sure these artists are proud of him!


[La forza del destino (The Power of Fate, translated as
The Force of Destiny) is an Italian opera by Guiseppe Verdi]

Protected Beautifully [REVISED]

General unrest in the chicken coop, a
clucking, clicking and fluffing reaches
unbearable noise levels; I repeatedly
play Verdi’s ‘La Vergine Degli Angeli’ ,
thus I can keep going on in a restless
susurration now disturbing the peace

Exquisite lyrics and harmonies bring
home the music’s charming beauty -
read the opera’s history, the so-called
curse intensifies the mystery of these
mesmerising songs playing in my ears,
miserable grey of cold day forgotten

Enjoying wonder of amazing music,
I am protected beautifully…


[“La forza del destino” (The Power of Fate, translated as
The Force of Destiny)  is an Italian opera by guiseppe Verdi

Song 'La Vergine degli Angeli' from La Forza del Destino

SONG: LA VERGINE DEGLI ANGELI / THE VIRGIN OF THE ANGELS

La vergine degli angeli    /   The Virgin of the Angels
Mi copra del suo manto     /    Covers me with her mantle,
E me protegga vigile       /    And protects me vigilantly

Di dio l'angelo santo      /    Sacred angel of God.
La vergine degli angeli    /     The Virgin of the Angels

E me protegga me protegga  /    And/She protects me, protects me,
L'angiol di dio            /    The angel of god
E me protegga              /    And/She protects me
L'angiol di dio            /    The angel of god
Me protegga                /    protects me.

E me protegga              /    And protects me.]

Lack Of Privacy [REVISED]

Noise decibels reaching critical levels usually makes
me realise, but too late; a colleague has moved into
line with me, taking down a bookcase screen, filling
space necessary to separate us. I should have been
more vigilant, a sacrifice destined to drive me mad -

This is why the noise kept increasing, desperate for
my ambience of background noise I’d increased the
volume of the André Rieu DVD, all the time my ears
twinkling, yet whenever one of us in the line speaks
up the noise penetrates my music screen - oh why

Did destiny decide to punish me; is it synchronicity
of destiny using my colleague to damn me in being
so happy about the value of everlasting forms and
concepts that wait about to be animated by living
forms and illustrated by what we think of

Inanimate matter - yet has a life all of its own? Was
my rejoicing in this my undoing, attracting attention
of the gods who decided my punishment would be
lack of privacy?

Dream And Dance Through [REVISED]

I love you as much as only Cordelia could
honestly love King Lear - as much as salt;
your panache and discussion on esoteric
concepts add oomph to life and poetry

As Eliza Dolittle sang to Professor Higgins
“We would all muddle through without you”
it’s true, I’d muddle along without you, yet
when you’re here I also Swing through

Sing, Float, Waltz & Dream through; don’t
fret, I knew you weren’t angry at siblings -
you still replied while you were irate and
tired, don’t let problems cloud your brow

That my poetry-Bro means so much to
all on his poetry list and his lil sis, we’ll
help you to muddle through until you can
Sing, Dream and Dance through too!

[17 March 2014]

Everyone Is An Embodiment

Monday morning, a new week in which to extrapolate my
ideas, calibrate my routine until it’s fine-tuned to deliver
dividends, to explain how unwavering ideas continue
without the need for human presence:

Every subatomic particle has an awareness which is
postulated by philosophers as the prerequisite for
existence, when perception with its actions and
reactions is happening, a primitive form

Of consciousness registers events & thus everything
is accounted for - like a movie camera recording all
things for posterity to create an Akashic library - a
theory which forms the basis of Terry Pratchett’s

Fantasy that the 99% of invisible dark matter and energy
must be auditing the universe by checking recordings of 
the holographic fantasy called reality, to be reviewed by
higher consciousness to determine what was learned

To use the lessons to create another universe with new
vibration system where creation is simultaneous with
thought,  requiring no manual action, thus life forms
are masterfully in charge of their every thought

BUT nobody pays attention, talking about weekend flooding,
urgent 90 page translations, only Ntsoaki’s smiling face
paid heed to the implication of the eternity of ideas &
feelings like love, briefly embodied by temporary

Life forms and people who create a unique, original meaning
for every notion they come across, interpreting the cosmos
in exciting ways, recreating it all because everyone is an
embodiment of the complete hologram!

[To be shortened shortly, still need to reflect on all this]

[Monday 17 March 2014]

Inexpressibly Happy [REVISED]

So caught up in my sombre thoughts I forgot ideas
are eternal, harmony remains the same, the Golden
Section never changes - new expressions of every
well-known idea are original creations representing
personal works of subjective art

Ideas remain unchanged as do circle and triangle,
this came back to me when I listened to Vilja Lied
from Die Lustige Witwe performed by an unknown
soprano, so different from my favourite rendition,
The Pearl Fishers from Bizet moving my heart

I waltzed to Strauss, found delight again, became
The Snow Queen in her ice-blue palace; all ideas
and fantasy I love readily animated in any unique
existential moment, just like love continues though
lovers continually change – and this realisation

Made me inexpressibly happy…

[16 March 2014]

Ice Queen Ran Off

The Ice Queen ran off, blue accoutrements
left at work, clad in pink like a mischievous
sprite she bought mama a soft throw and to
top it off, pink basket and dishcloth, working
on a pink colour scheme for mama’s room in
the Home - to be handed over tomorrow

Together with the lacy blouse in white she
found for mama yesterday - when she also
bought a lilac knitted top which turns her
into a frozen version of herself; swimming
in her fantasy flow makes the world more
interesting and there is no good reason to
 
Stop doing so, especially since the dream
of a free country kept Mandela’s spirit so
strong while he was held on l’île Robbin
for so many years: Dreams are valuable
and keep hope alive…

[14 March 2014]

My Ice Queen Years (REVISED)

In my zenith-blue oversized jersey I decide that it
shall be my favourite colour of all time, combined
with the new lavender cloth below my keyboard -
far more calming than magenta and cerise mixed
into forever promoting restlessness

With the blue shade around my computer screen
I am a noble & magnificent ice-cold snow queen
frozen in time in a freezing castle doing research
without worry about life passing her by; so in an
endless, eternal moment steadfastly working on

Technical translation, word by word, line by line;
a pale shade yellow cloth on my left symbolises
a sunbeam come to keep me company, the soft
pink rose on my right innocence and hope - blue,
light-green, lavender azure becomes the melody

Of Debussy’s L'après Midi D'un Faune, my noisy
subjects invisible and unheard behind the music
& cupboard screen - as long as I can stay ahead
of the noise levels, my long ice queen years will
become a memory of a most beautiful dream

Lived in a technical translation trance …

[14 March 2014]

I’d ‘Ave Begged For More (REV.)

Blue poncho, lunging with magenta umbrella
sword for an impromptu rendition of “Singing
In The Rain” - which my audience completely
failed to appreciate; I rediscovered waltzing &
deliriously happy got into the swing of things

Dancing with new joy in my step as I have very
seldom done these last three years & stepping
high  in the anonymous fog - less than 1 000m
visibility, covering the Union Buildings,  forcing
me to walk into the grounds to finally make out

Madiba standing there - hands aloft to bless us
all, singing as I go “It could’ve rained all night &
I’d still ‘ave begged for more” - certain Madiba’s
image inclined towards me in a fine gesture of
warm acceptance of me as one of the lost flock

Brought home safely

Chase The Grey Coldness [REVISED]

My umbrella’s magenta not ordinary pink and
magenta is the placemat under my keyboard;
pink rose in my zenith-blue mug and a purple
star on my magic wand - upright zenith-blue
tray with same colour dishcloths front of me,
my top lavender with pink shoelace lanyard

My work-station’s second chair resembles a
boudoir with white scarf offset to silver-white
fan & reams of colourful beads, Miss Marple
bag, blue jersey as big as a dress complete
this picture - I briefly consider cleaning up
and washing my pink cup - but luckily

Conscientiousness wins debate, dutifully I
continue with a lack-lustre oil pipeline and
rail link translation; day lacks excitement,
at least I’m awake and soon it will end, I’ll
be free to sit, watch rain & clouds at play
making plans for a warm dinner to chase

Grey coldness of non-stop drizzle away


[ORIGINAL:]

Magenta’s the colour of my umbrella, not ordinary
pink, magenta the placemat under my keyboard,
pink the rose in my zenith-blue mug, a purple star
on my magic wand, zenith-blue the tray standing
upright - as well as the dishcloths right in front of
me, lavender my top with pink shoelace lanyard

The second chair in my work-station resembles a
boudoir with a white scarf offsetting a fan in silver
white & reams of colourful beads - a Miss Marple
bag and blue jersey as big as a dress complete
the picture - I briefly consider cleaning up the
mess and washing my pink cup but lucky for me

Conscientiousness wins the debate and dutifully
I continue with my lack-lustre translation on oil
pipelines and rail links, my day lacks excitement;
at least I’m awake and soon the day will end and
I’ll be free to sit and watch rain and clouds at play
while making plans for a warm dinner to chase

The grey coldness of the non-stop drizzle away

Droplet Strings [REVISED]

A visual memory of rain
becoming a cloth of fine
lace framing the shining
fluorescence of grass &
soft green of trees

Translucence of crystal string
droplets adorning the eaves;
a view-master picture deep
in perspective; transfixed,
I try to imprint its beauty

On the screen of my mind
to recall enchantment of
this world forever

In Pink & Blue [REVISED]

A pink umbrella equates
to rose-coloured glasses;
Hanlie grins - says your
poncho-burka will keep
you safe from the rain

in zenith-blue oversized
jersey & lilac scarf I’m
ready to venture out as
symptoms of allergy try
to ruin this purple day

what is my song, shall I
sing “Could have danced
all night” like yesterday -
or “..and with every falling
drop I Love You More” -

where shall I go - bought
a pink shoelace to replace
the black lanyard I needed
around my neck for keeping
my entry card safe

no dark colour allowed
to spoil an electric effect
of dreams blooming in
delicious hues of pink,
purple and blue

[11 March 2014]

Nici’s Gift Poem

Written For My Birthday

Marilese, Marilese…

It’s your birthday
You’re such a flower girl…
You’re never where you’re supposed to be!

Never listening.
A head full of dreams and all
kinds of fairy things,

You sing in the halls
and sometimes sleep on the couch
but that’s not all.

You wander this house, like a ghost
checking things out. We get a fright
when you appear and scream

Oh dear! ..
A woman is messing in my
room, moving things…

What’s a person
to do with a flower girl
such as that?

Guess there’s only one thing to do
love the girl, well I
guess that’s that.

[Thank you to my daughter, Nici, who wrote this poem
on the envelope of the lovely card she gave me.]

My New Self-Image [REVISED]

 













 Work colleagues helping refine my
new self-image - just becoming Miss
Marple is too restrictive, given my
love for racing in a fast car - à la
Schumacher - imagine, if you will

My wearing his racing gear and Miss
Marple’s hat fastened with a long
hat-pin atop the helmet while I’m
clutching a pink rose-embroidered
bag at my side - oh why stop there,

Also imagine me flying through the
air true Mary Poppins’ style while
holding her umbrella, her carpet bag
hanging over the other arm; and I’m
singing “The Hills Are Alive” like

Julie Andrew’s Maria Von Trapp in
The Sound of Music - flying high,
also enunciating “The Rain In Spain
Stays Mainly In the Plain” like Eliza
Dolittle in My Fair Lady; my fear of

Losing capacity to imagine reality
of new self-imagery as different is
put to rest - mixing up my “Favourite
Things” lets me regard old age with
equanimity, flow with the times -

Changing my work station practices
astral dimensions where we modify
appearances by thought forms only –
“I Can Spread my Wings, Do a 1000
Things I’ve Never Done Before…”

[Thank you to all the classics and songs
which infuse my life with joy and happiness]

[10 March 2014]

Approaching Old Age [REVISED]

As she’s my new role model I bought a
Miss Marple handbag; Agatha Christie
created her through fictitious realism -
she’s a sharp mind in fluffy old-lady-pink
deftly knitting - we are different but share
one thing: nearing old age has taken me
to where she’s so twitteringly been

Grey-haired in quiet contentment while
analysing people with astrogenetics and
regarding people’s motives as suspicious,
an obvious explanation is most always the
truth; curbing tendencies to see mystery &
intrigue in all things so that cupboards
become impenetrable jungles

Fairytales used to be my priority; today
the only fairy around is me - in my purple
and lilac blouses, and my Miss Marple
handbag with roses - magic wand in my
work station resembling a Persian market,
I’m happier in myself, accepting life as it
comes and dreaming of sun-filled days

In a place like the beautiful Cape with only
the sea and Table Mountain for company…

10 March 2014
[I wonder whether my Fedora will do as substitute for
a Miss Marple hat also?]

Forgive His Hatred [REVISED]

Tried to stay quiet on Public Prosecutor Percy Yutar
in his vindictive case against Nelson Mandela at the
Rivonia Trial, tried to say nothing about his malefic
rancour, sneering comments and smarmy, crawling
obeisance to the presiding judge

Mandela’s ascension to the Presidency destroyed
his reputation; I thought it punished him enough as
an invitation to reconcile with a former enemy could
not save him - wanted to be magnanimous towards
Yutar but reading how he revelled in public shows

Dragged attention to himself, sent team members
to work behind scenes while he preened, strutted,
& posed uttering falsetto cries vilifying the accused,
failing to realise Mandela’s integrity showed him up
for the petty sot he was; reading how he crowned

Himself PR King - there I lost all sympathy for him -
I never felt it for Haman preparing gallows for his foe
Mordecai in the Book of Esther - Yutar had prepared
gallows for all accused, tried to imply later he saved
them when it was international pressure that did

I demurred on reading of the petty meanness used
in presenting his flimsy case, even if had he faced
demons its nastiness would have left me aghast;
he lived in impenetrable fog of racial prejudice &
political hatred for ANC and communist alike  -

He should have learned from Haman where the
punishment he proffered for Mordecai was visited
upon himself; may I forgive Yutar his hatred lest I
suffer the same fate …

[6 March 2014]

Racing Is The Best [REVISED]

Driving along misty lanes after the rain, a memory of
adventure, scared 1st-year student in platform shoes
enjoying the feeling of rural peacefulness, until nearly
missing my turn into the broad city street

Fast Peugeot doing 85 kmH in the lead, I give chase,
imitating him overtaking on the left; fun, accelerating
to the robot and passing the yellow light just in time,
then Peugeot & I held up by an obstacle, a sedate

Large Estate car, dark forebodings well up in me and
I’m right, my stately beloved driving in the middle of
the street allowing no space for overtaking on the left
nor the right; being a forbidding obstacle I overtake

Him when swerving into the right lane before turning
into the street where I have to turn left – crossing the
road in a fast manoeuvre, lost sight of the estate car
to my relief, no repercussions today - I LOVE racing

It’s a sin I indulge in freely, loving every minute of it -
I’ll give up all else; but racing is the best fun there is!

[5 MARCH 2014]

Laughing With You [REVISED]

It seems that arrogant ignorance is becoming the
norm in our Government Departments - amusing
as it is hearing of an interpreter’s inexperience &
lack of excellence in a Court trial watched world-
wide - and remembering the interpreter’s gaffe in
sign-language of President’s Obama’s speech;

It’s probably one of the things feared by the sour
architects of apartheid, an Africans’ joie de vivre
makes it impossible for him to substitute pursuit
of excellence for love, friendship and joy - and if
loss of Dignity and Honour in the World’s eye is
the result, then so be it; I’d rather a free African

State battling to master good governance, using
money on the wrong things than an oppressed
Apartheid state’s racial discrimination aimed at
maintaining excellence as a norm with a greater
cost to naïve, untutored African races’ suffering;
nothing justifies racial isolation, if current Rulers

Fail understanding the role of rules & regulations
for good statesmanship, it does not matter, even
if we resemble a banana republic: nobody learns
by being told, we learn by experience, and a new
democracy still has to go far before knowing how
to do it right; just give us time

And laugh if you must - with our joie de vivre -
we’ll be laughing with you!


[ORIGINAL:]

Hearing of the court interpreter’s lack of experience
and excellence in a world-wide watched trial - also
remembering the sign language interpreter’s super
big fail during the American President’s speech; it
seems that arrogant ignorance’s becoming the norm
in our Government Departments and it’s amusing

This is probably one of the things feared by the sour
architects of apartheid – Africans’ joie de vivre which
makes it impossible for them to fall into the mistake of
substituting excellence for love and friendship and joy –
and if loss of Dignity and Honour in the world’s eyes
is the result, then so be it, I’d much rather a free

African state battling to master good governance,
spending money on all the wrong things – than an
oppressed Apartheid state with racial discrimination
aimed at keeping excellence as norm at the cost of the
naïve and untutored African races’ suffering; nothing
can justify racial segregation - if current rulers fail to

Understand the role of rules and regulations for good
statesmanship, it does not matter, even if we resemble
a banana republic:  nobody learns by being told, we all
learn by experience and a new democracy still has far
to go before knowing how to do it right; just give us
time and laugh if you must - with our joie de vivre -

We’ll be laughing with you!

[5 March 2014]

Passing Phase

Agreed, it wasn’t a spur needed to 
goad indolence humoured for this 
abating inferno - but it succeeded 

There’d been no unbridled or free-
ranging intimacies tying emotional 
primacy all week, then my mobile

phone - with gaucheries of Charlie 
Chaplinesque theatrics, dives into 
the spa and dramatically expires 

Gasping and wheezing, mimicking 
worse scenes imaginable from any 
French revolutionary torture scene 

And we fall for it, an act analogous, 
a hook & line sequence where fact 
corrodes in psychogenic creativity 

That wins in the end; ‘replace me’ 
is its last blank-screen gasp fading 
into oblivion’s funereal blankness 

Then death’s loneliness - a pause 
in passing, an acceptance ending 
this benign phase of its mateship 

© 3 March 2014, I. D. Carswell