A Joyful Sorrow [Rev]

When doing meaningless monthly reports with
numbers and figures - I literally lose my mind;
it seems my working off two stat-docs at once
is impossible: as the 2nd appears, I forget the
1st’s content - only by keeping a commentary
running in my head could I keep a tiny part of
mind almost focused on columns of numbers,
brackets and sums

When calculating - I forget what every number
stands for, struggling on without enough data to
come to conclusions on what happened in the
Section in July - then my translation’s returned
from a dear colleague with far too much time -
redoing the letter on 10 occasions - with each
one better than the last; more documents with
such wide possibility of interpretation are ready

To teach me patience & perseverance - all the
nonsensical words written by automatons with
nothing to say and excelling in saying it; these
words I am to study and cherish and translate,
watching bored colleagues demolish structures
& all my choices of nouns and verbs - but with a
Fa-là--Fa-là-l♪-la I bury the glorious docs to be
kept as my raison d’être, a confirmation of my

Being - without the requisite Work-on-Hand I’m 
bereft, a waif without meaning; work affords me
joyful sorrow to treasure - and an excuse to cry
to my heart’s delight - now I’m becoming one of
the Sylphides all dancing to death - without the
work I would be challenged to find a sad cause
worthy of my great powers of lamentation, clad
in sackcloth and ashes as befits one who feels
such need for self-flagellation…

 

Twirl Again [Rev]

Prepared the requisite lists for Monday
& finished Spanish translations, though
I don’t know whether I’m right in saying
“guaranteed by our collateral warranty
deeds” - but it sounds poetic enough to
warm my heart; took a call tho my ears
are blocked by a cold - I’m not hearing
a thing, told them ‘call back in an hour’
hopefully my colleague will be there -

So with nothing left to do I get onto a
desk and paint toenails with silver nail
polish found in my drawer, cleaned my
work station and now I’m ready for that
revelation or an inspiration, for anything
wonderful; my swimming wish has been
killed by the cold, it left me gasping for
air night long - and what else is there -
what can kindle a dream; dare I give in

To fantasies created while twirling with
scarves, imitating a great spy or diva, or
is a danger of losing contact with reality
evident; maybe it doesn’t matter, it is so
entertaining, no-one will leave me in any
doubt as to who I am at home - mother
and drudge, confessor & peace-maker -
so maybe I can enjoy my visions without
losing time or treading on toes - I’ll twirl

Again, apply lipstick - be the great spy
my soul knows I am…

Friendship Never Ends

I get feedback on my translation: You
confused oral, verbal and vocal (I still
don’t know the difference, but confess
it not), you added full-stops where we
needed none (I followed the English
source text – but apparently that’s a
mistake, one should be consequent

The rest of the tables have none)  so
with the mantle of guilt firmly affixed
to my frame, carrying the whole world
on my shoulders so Hercules go free,
pushing Sisyphus’ boulder up the hill
giving him a break; being the guilty
party breaking translation protocol –

Why is it I never hand in something my
dear colleagues’ like; why do I have to
receive criticism for my daily bread –
how then shall I lift up my head, look
up to the sun; the only thing left is to
smile within the warmth of my African
friends for whom friendship never ends…

GONE - 3 poems REVISED

I must complain - show how insane
it is to fall into the Black Hole in my
brain - where my feelings are dead
and all prior concerns are erased -
where I can’t access my mind

It is clear an alternative personality
in there takes over when my carefully
constructed harlequin-clown persona
loses claim to this physical body and
the poor, simple zombie left robbed

Of all ability to organise & understand
how to operate in my little world - the
chemical imbalance effect induced by
eating Swiss Muesli for a week - the
allergy’s killing me, body weak, my

Thoughts toxic & sick, unable to fight
it I sit alone, fantasise about dying to
escape from physical bondage to this
allergic body - the cereal must go - my
head’s become a swollen watermelon

My brain’s alienated and it has turned
to mush; I’m in pain, depressed, dumb,
falling asleep from time to time - and I
wonder where my spirit and soul may
have gone…


Never Cereal Again

Being a martyr doesn’t make me
a better person - pain doesn’t work
for me; like steel chains around my

cranium caused by swelling until the
insides push so hard against my skull,
it feels like a train-smash in my head;

everything: every aspect of life, work,
feelings, relationships are destroyed -
and like a broken automaton I repeat

actions mechanically, making tea,
feeling worse, drinking hot chocolate
exacerbating everything, a psychopath

am I, without a single loving feeling -
neither for myself nor for others, without
anchor or lodestar, & I worked so hard

to put both in place; all will be lost until my
mind returns, I come to my senses knowing
I have learned never to eat cereal again…

Dreamed

By accepting I’m the guilty party in my bad feeling,
it is now easier to become humble & acknowledge
criticism; I had certainly earned scorn for shooting
myself in the foot eating allergenic food - got home
and accepted a glass of wine - and Nici enticed
with champagne: - now I realise that my pain is

Caused by my breaking the dietary rules - eating
cereal & wonderful corn bread my darling beloved
made, - & thickly buttered bread slices I dipped in
soup; I can revise my plan for life, start eating right
to function like a normal human being - the Swiss
muesli cereal went to the security guards

I realise suffering without explaining my feelings to
all my loved ones properly isn’t fair because I want
to communicate & relate to their feelings - my cute
little daughter, wonderful son and my sweetheart,
my darling beloved; I want to be the ME I always
dreamed I would be…

My Family Life [Rev]

I was born with exquisite awareness of an existential
abandon; what with grandma Strangelove & grandpa
Killdare and grandma Alice being Cinderella - I had a
choice to evolve as a rebel like my twin sis, an angry
Duchess - but became an insatiable crocodile trying
to fill the hole in my heart with the universes created
in books until I fell into Wonderland, and like Alice, I
changed in shape to become The Little Prince who
visited the exotic planet of bureaucratic Languages
so much; I stayed on and with Scorpion carved out

A lair where as Lord and Master of Crocodile Castle
he reigns as autocratic sovereign leaving Alice free
to try out as Miss Interpreter, while the two wee kid
crocodiles were left to existential abandon until one
day Alice realised she repeated the lifestyle of her
mother - the Queen of Hearts - who repeated the
life of grandma Alice who - abandoned as a child -
did not know how to offer love - just like the once
lost waif grandma Strangelove, & victim of abuse
grandpa Killdare, parents of Conan the Barbarian

Who, unlike the Phantom of the Opera, never won
the heart of his Christine, my mama the Queen of
Hearts - this is the story of my family life…

Made Me Feel [Rev]

I waddle & strut like a duck, hobbling behind you as my
adrenaline-fuelled joy was declared evil since my quiet
depression suits you so much better, reflecting on life I
plan that should I lose use of my legs one day, it’ll be a
sign I’m ready to die: Deepak Chopra, Indian guru who
is a charlatan par excellence says: we Humans choose
our hour of death & we can stay young until then - well

I lost that as soon as osteoarthritis was decreed as the
curse over me- so much for Indian yogi with false hope
messages- one day I still believed and the next day my
bones creaked and conked in - great, now my mantra’s
choosing my death & carefully deciding the hour ahead
knowing you’ll be content, never again horrified by these
adrenaline-fired passions for dancing and you’ll subside

And sigh as much as you like - without my interfering by
laughing and joking inappropriately; and after my death I
wish you a very angry wife who’ll fight and box your ears
when you curse in tears as your superb rugby team loses
again - she’ll take over household accounts and give you
a pitiful allowance frowning at you all the time while I’ll be
watching and laughing in spirit because she’ll make you

Feel like you made me feel too often in life…

Steel Outline [2nd rev]

Friday, I should’ve escaped in the wisdom
of Proverbs & Pratchett’s Thief of Time as
every beautiful hour unfolds petal for petal
and the rose of time grows until the flower
begins to wither, vanishing slowly until the
next flower unfolds into a new perfect hour,
I’m stuck in real life’s mind-molasses and
cannot create a special meaning within to
fill the mystery of my own being -

A headache grows insidiously until my mind
broadcasts on emergency frequency where
mental gymnastics manifest a fluttering fear
of the immense abyss in my head where all
life disappears - oh, where’s the crocodilian
escape from physical reality where my eyes
search for pink & silver glitter to mark every
moment in delicate glimmer - only to find a
bleak steel-frame out-line of life instead -

Refuse All Rule [Rev]

I’m swimming in a sea of terms, drifting midst
the strange, exotic and exciting: its Colombia,
Fusagasugá town - around forty miles from
Bogotá in the Department of Cundinamarca -
I’m hearing these names sung in a b-flat
chromatic progression, while reflecting on

Solar energy based on fulvalene & graphene,
given that atherosclerotic plaques in arteries
shortens life - a melody in sad C sharp - then
on to non-existent modesty in modern society
offering Strictly Come Dancing with scantily
clad contestants being told sensuality’s okay

While I may rue never teaching my daughter
about dressing to kill - its such that she hates
shopping anyway; adorning herself’s a mirage
she’ll never chase, thus she’s protected from
those with bad intent, yet she wants to ‘feel’
everything - may she enjoy experimenting

Decide her own rules of integrity to remain
true to her own dreams in the end - & I try to
keep my love for music in words undefiled by
the ice-cold translation rules leaving no room
for the individual mind and the imagination -
so I refuse all rules in art and writing….

Keep Evolving (rev)

I am returning to work next week - that is after 3
weeks of feeling free, of sleeping late, and doing
whatever appealed to me; - movie watching with
Nici & falling asleep on her bed, her chasing me
for my intrepid cheek, then cleaning the kitchen
and joking with my entertaining, clowning son

Helping to straighten bed sheets, laughing with
Linah, sharing secrets - like the chocolate cake
“donated” by her “mate”, the sun shining while I
am reading until falling asleep, again! - taking a
bath whenever I pleased; - since knowing I was
going to return to the office after surgery, I’ve

Lost control of the wee alien living in my mind, a
delinquent shouting & screaming, stamping his
feet, though he normally hangs from the rafters
in my head – he wants to live the good life while
my Puritan conscience insists it is time to return
to work, take up my cross, continue on my own

Via Dolorosa; yielding to my Calvinist perspective
is such a threat to the little inner pest who believes
I waste my life, but I love feeling free to frequent
the Internet researching new concepts and listen
to words forming music in my mind - and this is
the most important part of my job - if only

I could get my little inner alien to understand all
of life’s challenges are just part of a game so he
should enjoy everything: even when failing we’re
simply growing, finding a new place from where
we shall keep evolving…

Prayer For Grandma Alice [REV]

Reciting a prayer for Grandma Margaret Alice
Van Wyk, praying her spirit may see the light,
find the peace and affection she so deserved,
relaying her my love and gratitude in praying
that she knows I have discovered how hard

She worked caring for us all, five kids & mom
and dad; praying that grandma’s spirit will be
covered by love if it isn’t already pertained so:
Dearest Grandma, though you felt so lonely
and bitter with life, it’s lovely to reminisce

About your unfailing service and presence in
mine when I needed you most - & I apologise
for not being there and taking better care of
you near the end; I want you to also know of
my boundless admiration, I understand

Why things went wrong as you tried to provide
for your only son and how much the problem
between you and mom caused pain, know that
wherever your spirit is - my heart is with you -
in the whole of eternity I’ll never forget you 

I shall sing your praises wherever I go in every
dimension; I’ll take my cherished memories and
spread the message that I LOVE you, grandma
Margaret Alice Van Wyk - and I delight in your
Memory - wishing you joyful and happy in an

Abundance of love in every realm wherever 
you go - feel my esoteric embrace & kisses
raining on your lovely grandmother-face
 

[STORY BEHIND THIS POEM:

My grandmother, Margaret Alice Van Wyk, née Puth in South Africa, was the only daughter in a family of 7 brothers. She took care of us,5 children, as both my parents worked and I never realised how wonderful she was until the end of her life - and as I was ill, I did not show her love with my presence in her life.
My name 'Marilese' is a contraction of 'Margaret Alice' and I chose this 'nom de plume' to honour and commemorate my grandmother who was the best cook, seamstress, care-taker and helper there ever was. So I wish her spirit to feel the love and admiration I have for her as she felt lonely and rejected in life. She will never ever be rejected while my spirit exists to give her the love she missed in life!
My alias for my mother is 'Queen of Hearts' - obviously, she was imperial, and for my grandmother it is 'Cinderella' who served everyone - but who never went to the ball. So in the afterlife I'm going to take grandma Alice to a ball of admiration and delight - starting with my poetry!]

My Real Hero

So let all the people proclaim that a higher purpose
has been served - rummaging through books at my
bookstore led to a favourite, Velikovsky’s ‘Ages in
Chaos’ - which I desired passionately, and to add

Dessert to the substantial meal served by his tome,
there’s also ‘Thief of Time’ by Terry Pratchett, which
I love, reminding me of my melodious guru Lobsang
Rampa; - and the cherry on top brings in Susan,

Death’s unwilling granddaughter and a reincarnation
of an unstoppable Mary Poppins - while an Eternally
Surprised Wen’s sweet Lady Time makes an elegant
“Audrey Hepburnesque” appearance;

These wonderful things framed within ideas of time
wound & unwinding on prayer wheels, is a course
so full of variety it almost out-ranks my real hero,
Velikovsky, himself!

A Higher Purpose (rev)

Getting up after nightmares made staying in bed
impossible, facing Thursday’s imperative to give
meaning to life, cleaning the house and endless
rounds of tea & coffee, and being at home where
no-one requires me to accomplish a thing

Yesterday’s victory meant Tiaan didn’t complain
after he found I’d cleaned and covered his desk
with clear plastic to protect against layers of dust
covering everything in our house - wishing I knew
how to sew without getting confused and lost -

Then I’d buy the beautiful fabrics I love and make
something, sew pink tops with wide tulle skirts to
be as bohemian as I felt since birth - not wearing
boring clothes, decorating the study’s my only fun
and since this is done I need new challenges; ah,

Being down-to-earth I’m going to bathe endlessly
hoping inspiration fills me - & that the bright new
sun with all-blue and cloudless sky can be used
by me for more than hedonism – can be made
to serve a higher purpose…

Growing Darkness (rev)

Doesn’t feel as if anybody has forgotten me, oh no,
much worse, it feels as if everybody should forget
about me as there’s nothing to tell, nothing’s worth
mentioning; my beloved explained that he doesn’t
have the energy to listen to my narrative - after that
who can I trust to listen - and who can I listen to?

I am losing my self-confidence - the world seems
perfect & people are loving & grand - but I am not
part of it, I don’t feel a thing - as if my feelings are
dead; the world seems to be out of reach, even my
kids, my mother, my twin sis, I can’t reach out to &
I can’t find words or interest, there’s nothing to say

I can’t discuss Velikovsky’s grandiose history-view,
the changes made to describe reality - the terrible
planetary events that led to the Exodus, & Israel’s
interpretation of righteousness - there’s no-one to
talk to because I don’t matter to anyone, and how
could I matter by feeling nothing; maybe, one day,

When my beloved listens to me my feelings might
come back again, maybe when I return to work my
colleagues will laugh and sing with me, helping me
rediscover my feelings again - living in silence does
not work for me, I could never become a nun - and
the silence grows into a hole - a huge black hole

In which nothing can grow, no feeling can live - I’m
empty & slow, struggling through the molasses of
thick nothingness, the world retreats & emptiness
devours everything - I can’t even cry over my loss
as no feelings survive in this growing darkness