Blou-Deurglanste Boë

Geen land is ooit so woes geleë, geen wilde water-
weë, geen hemelsfeer kan buiten U heerlike loflike
Majesteit bestaan nie Heer - so wonderbaar deur-
glans is die hemeltrans- ja, die dag wat duisend-
stemmig sing tot in die diepste purpur skemering

Waar prag van hemellyn deur die wydtes dein,
deur die wonderbou van hemelblou - - waar die
Heer se wette skyn soos fynste goud - ja, fyner
duisendvoud & goed soos heuningdrup so soet;
vind almal wat U wet bemin, vreugdevol daarin

Met psalmgesange styg ons groot verlange - by
die smeltend-skone harp- en sitertone sal ons u
liefd’ en lof verklank – wat kan mooier wees as
die fluweelsagte liefdeswoord vanuit die eewige
hemeltranse met hul oneindig hoë

Blou-deurglanste boë; mag ons soete taal so voort-
bestaan in die woord-herinnering van die eerste
Bybelvertaling-Afrikaans...

[Psalm 8 en 19, met erkenning aan die woordeskat
van Totius = Dr JD du Toit]

The Best I Can Do [Rev]

Now the medica treatment is in progress -
special ointment & antibiotics in my case,
I am much too aware of my wounded leg’s
infection; I feel it burning - and after taking
the prescribed pills I’ve become nauseous

At home I feel contrite over being so intense,
I’m finding concentration difficult, its probably
an effect of the infection - I could not get any
of my work done - although I tried to conceal
this truth from myself, denying that I was

Not making progress with any text, but now
I’m tired of sitting still - my swirling mind has
reached a stand-still; my story of Dianthus,
serious and thoughtful to a fault, is of a girl
marked to be a witch, going to a Magician’s

Feast where everyone shall be impressed by
her superb intelligence; this is the best I can
do - if anything more, it’ll change into a
different story - and that just won’t do …

Silence Complete [Rev]

Even my thermostatically endowed colleagues
complain about the heat, asking me how I cope
less thermostat controlled bodily temperature; I
feel anger rising in my throat - & wearing a red
top the words flow as if from a sore’s opening:
I feel like killing them all - everybody involved in
useless air-con systems, blood flows, red blood
everywhere - these well-bred, kindly colleague
sophisticates softly laugh, enquiring in dulcimer
tones what would happen to our building

I’ll blow it up I acidly reply, being sorely riled by
their gentle demeanour - while a Conan’s blood
flows in my veins I’ll blow it up, fires will destroy
everything; being the sister of Attila the Hun and
daughter of Queen of Hearts always shouting

‘Off with his head’ with the crazy wildness of an
Indiana Jones, I add - I’ll blow the whole country
to smithereens - ring in Armageddon, being the
sixth horseman in my red shirt with whip to lash
out at the Valkyries if they rush in; silence reigns

Making me regret my words, but I feel all the better
for describing the destructive effect of heat - 35°
Celsius and more -  - the silence is complete…

Yak-butter Tea [Rev]

Seeing beautiful things - angel wings forming at
my arm’s ends - with their own ethereal charms
as I swim - gilded bedroom walls when slanting
sun shines in with much amazing debonair joy so
alien to my tortured mind, catching the white

Baskets with flowers & Pappageno’s song on
the radio, the sparkling transparent glassware
& the white net-curtain tablecloth; everything
deepens feeling of chemical depression after a
lovely Sunday family dinner enjoyed together

I have a feeling of growing foreboding as today
has been lost to my brain imploding - assailed
by allergy foods, mealie bread, chocolate and
fruit pastilles, a veritable feast, yet the price is
too high - I shall try to follow the virtuous road

Preached by Lobsang Rampa, eating sparse
boring food as it increases spirituality - in my
case by refraining from cursing secretly as my
head shrinks in pain - and I hate everything &
everyone - especially myself for feeling so

Very bad, responsible for my own suffering, &
knowing that a Tibetan diet would be good for
me - if only I could get hold of yak-butter tea

A Xenophobe [Rev]

Fallen out of my role as translator,
‘without the mask’ I’m confused &
cannot find translator tools; sitting
quietly in my chair and stare until
taking herbal tea & try to translate

The whiny tone of a complainant,
who seems to cause all of his own
problems, nearly drives me insane,
the idiot continues to enumerate
court cases he had to undertake

How he sued all magistrates for not
acting according to his request, dis-
like grows into disgust, ferociously
chewing I break off a piece of tooth,
self-inflicted injury occurs when

We’re compelled to carry out tasks
we don’t like, discouraged I see the
trouble-maker describes all his inter-
locutors as xenophobes – he creates
xenophones, changing loving people

His negative attitude is changing me
too – becoming the latest xenophobe
in his cosmogony of demons…

 

Human Free Tomorrow [Rev]

Land ownership’s just a Western concept; settlers
couldn’t steal it from indigenous Africans altho’ we
settled everywhere - governed by glorious tribal
power - just like survival of the fittest as land must
be ruled today - so let’s take Southern Africa back
to pre-European times, let’s return to natural land

Sans infrastructure & deep mines, sans libraries
& schools, let’s return to the sweet San People’s
stone-age; skin wearing, stick wielding, primitive
huts & carrying things despising spiritual evil on
rolling wheels; let’s imitate Ethiopia - land which
has not been colonised, a most desolate place

Let’s imitate Zimbabwe & ignore 1945 Germany
flattened to the ground and torn in half, 15 years
later West-German Economic Wonder, apartheid
end - Germany re-unified, 15 years later a global
leader; rather create Zimbabwe for ourselves, as
once a greenhouse-precursor wealthy country -

Currency outbidding the US dollar - let’s compete
with Ethiopia to be the most glorious desolate place
yes, let’s take land back to the tsetse fly & Malaria so
no-one can settle or graze cattle & Mother Earth can
become pollution-free again; let’s take our world back
to living without money, capital & wealth sparing too

Much life; let’s destroy infrastructure to return to pre-
Western times with nature & man living in harmony:
a short, primitive life will take the earth back to former
glory, let Africa give birth to a human-free tomorrow…

Unfortunate Souls [Rev]

London Times says South Africa’s very unique, filled
with poor unfortunate souls so lonely, so depressed,
so sad, living in the ONLY country where affirmative
action is needed to protect the MAJORITY of poor,
sad souls with total political control against a 9%

MINORITY group; this ATTESTS to failure of the so
lonely, so oppressed African majority to create their
own wealth-making structures, sorely needing a little
magic, but until then one solution only, take it all off
the 9% minority - because the majority,

Being delightful, loving, footloose & fancy-free souls
don’t think of ethics & honesty, shooting themselves
in the foot, living a cut-off-your-nose-to-spite-your-
face morality, happily chanting “Domani, let’s forget
about tomorrow ‘cause tomorrow never comes”

We’re taking Africa back to The Middle Ages to start
again from scratch as our ingloriously ignorant ANC
rulers learned nothing from history except formulation
of a kind of Social Communism, an absolute power to
oppress their own people - unheeding industrialism,

Dictating that the poor, unfortunate souls we are must
remain thus until Domani brings a pre-historic, hunter-
gatherer culture to the pristine African continent - so
evolution will choose its own course for our poor,
unfortunate souls…

Suspicions Of Me

Would have loved this dress – lilac, crinkly, perfect
for a fairy – but the bunch of purple imitation roses
on the left shoulder spoils the effect AND the style,
the way it hangs straight down without form makes
me look like a coloured ball on thin legs, thus quite

atrocious at best – I fail to conjure a Mary Poppins
scene in it: where one enters a picture and fly away
with Pea Blossom and Mustard Seed, the fairies of
long ago– I had better wash my face before going
shopping since the goo I pasted on it in an attempt

to cover the allergic swelling caused by my eating
a pizza did not have the desired effect, I look like
Madame Butterfly in Puccini’s Opera, wish I could
sing like her though falling into a sword sounds a
bit harsh, wish I could put myself in a trance ‘ere

going out  so the clumsiness of affected muscles
would go away and I would be a perfect consort
for long-suffering hubby who forgets my problem
and gets angry when I bump into things & make
idiotic remarks as the little alien in my head sinks

into the depths of the big black hole in my mind in
which everything I hold dear disappears from time
to time - it keeps me working hard to replace them
thus my thoughts always seem new - I do not age
emotionally, dangerous to admit as psychologists

insist one should, so staying under the radar is the
only safe place and voicing my feelings in poetry
the only really safe channel where I can become
a snow queen in my lilac dress and play games
without offending the sensibilities of all my

rational, ethical, common-sense peers whose
suspicions of me are barely concealed…

And Who Am I

Today I’m a computer-gymnast practising in front of the
machine, one foot supple & lithe on the floor - the other
held aloft, changing feet & when lifting my left foot I am
a Cossack, a trépak dancer given my wide-flaring black
pants held together at my ankles with elastic; standing

Is just subterfuge, I’m dancing to Mantovani’s Swedish
Rhapsody actually - on my haunches kicking out legs
with big Russian boots & high hat - feather swaying as
I kick out and jump around, changing legs again: back
on the trapeze, swinging high in the air and suddenly

My partner puts a machine gun in my hands - I shoot
the intruder who was going to murder the Tsar - we’re
back in Tsarist times by the way - I swing onto rafters
& disappear leaving no trace, so that next time I can
be a Tsar-protecting undercover agent again, what

Fun it is - until I remember the French document, tightly
packed letters of a sad employee treated as a refugee
while having worked in France for many years; putting
aside my whimsy & moving up & down on toes I dance
into the text keeping my rhythm breaking sentences to

Bring verbs & nouns into British military lines according
to required Hallowed Grammar Rules to be followed with
unforgiving precision according to my superiors and so
I follow, who am I to differ...

My Precious Chair [Rev]

My office chair should be called Gethsemane - or
even Calvary since every time I drag it to my desk
I’m attacked by heavy weight & splintered wheels
drawing blood by torturing my feet and even legs
with its amazingly sharp, evil, broken fragments

I keep the chair in case I need it cause my death
through bleeding; dying presents great difficulty -
the medical profession prolongs patients’ lives to
make profit from them; when 98-year old people
die where they are kept, their off-spring besiege

nursery homes and sue for negligence, making a
fast buck; my precious chair might be a means to
depart this world through multiple infected wounds
received at work in line of duty so that - “the silver
cord is severed - the golden bowl broken and the

earthen pitcher shattered at the spring” - its from
Ecclesiastes & said beautifully; old age is not for
me unless wearing a hat like an undercover witch,
camouflaged in fruit and flower layers, immobile
in an old-age home, living on chocolates only

Which  is a horrible probable future, death-by- 
my-murderous-precious chair constitutes an
ever so much better vision!

Nectar And Ambrosia

Lament, lamentation, it’s a disgrace, the great
Madame de la Pompadour complains her car’s
wipers’ not working - electrical problems, the
back-yard mechanics claim: take out sackcloth
and strew ashes over our heads, lift voices in
sad song to resound in the metaphorical gates
of our language citadel – all because sadly

our great manage-administrator & high-ranking
official as well as her own Mother Superior, whom
Mme suspects of dark deeds committed in secret
because she’s imitating long-distance managing
of our own esteemed, respected and lauded Mme,
ah, greatness, oh Their Excellencies – both of our
Super Superiors, VIP’s at every event and in

management, are involved in greater things than
the lowly day-to-day duties here in the open-plan
office where Mme la Pompadour still spurns her
special office isolating her from the noise and heat
shared by the rest of us immolated in the clucking
chicken coop where we live and work – oh, how
hallowed these Great Ladies who tread on

celestial stairs to bring down nectar and ambrosia
which we never get to see, but which they truthfully
claim they keep for Armageddon – we shall not be
found wanting when the final trumpet is blown and
the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse ride out, they say,
we shall join them like real Valkyries and then our
true value will be seen – indeed, indeed, oh great

and majestic leaders of our little people, assembly-
line-translators and humble language-practitioners
like Tibetan chelas in a monastery like me, destined
to never rise higher than the 2 inches I’ve made and
leopard-crawling, floor-kissing when the officials pass
who check my inadequate work which is changed
line for line to be correct in their astounding -

elevated minds; oh, with Voltaire’s Candide I can only
declare, this is the best of all possible worlds! And thus
stops the song of the flibbertigibbet and kissing the floor
I return to my Dutch document waiting like a wide-open
mouth ready to swallow me whole…

Fragile Happiness

Of course my fragile happiness, splintering so quickly
for no apparent reason, is the result of rampant allergy
with attendant clumsiness and chemical depression –
tonight the green beans burned, the curtain rod fell, I
feel tired and angry about everything, falling about 

Can’t think logically nor chronologically - my beloved
justifiably angry with me - all my own fault - at least I
can be miserable in blessed isolation tomorrow in the
office, laughter my only defence and humour the best
shield to survive my brain short-circuiting; with bitter

Coffee and Lobsang Rampa’s terrible Tibetan theory
that illusionary life is a form of hell and the soul must
return to this sphere until lessons have been learned
thoroughly – maybe his book “Cave of the Ancients”
is not meant for me as I believe life is wonderful fun

We can choose and change roles as we please while
Lobsang’s Tibetan Buddhism sentences every follower
to a cold life deprived of all physical comfort - this is not
a happy book to read while I’m trying not to fall into the
black hole in my brain, but since I don’t have anything

Else to read, the only way forward is to follow Lobsang
through his Lamasery hell where he lives and sleeps
in his robe day and night, listening to monks chanting,
the scenes embellished by the added glamour of Terry
Pratchett’s Listening Monks on the Ramtops

Bring Solace [Rev2]

Fragile & delicate - the soap-bubble thin crystal
glass of beautiful moments balanced on a cusp
of prism rainbows are destroyed by hunger and
fatigue; instant soup and quiet seem required to
reset my gyroscope as smiling tables turn into

angry frowns; returned with this soft fragrance
of wild flowers found in my lunch-hour ramble,
my soul longs for a temporary escape in bright
conversation with a soul mate, but I lament as
there is no email message; returned too early

no colleague after lunch on their post - alone
I face the dark, deceptive stillness in my spirit
to be fought in order to face the regular beat
of routine with which life drives me mad - as
my spirit requires adrenaline to function -

My tables feel bored with my long face: now
is the time to finish and move on to something
new, a text with Dutch statistics does not sound
very promising - yet even the excitement of the
unknown will bring solace too…

Fantasies Intersecting [Rev]

And this boudoir is my work station - white &
pink lace o’er formal office chairs, dishcloths
and a box with pink bandana lifting computer
high; bunched flowers smiling in pink, purple
& cerise, books & papers filling extra spaces,
& me, a stand-up translator wiggling my toes

Incarcerated with my tables, my colleagues all
talking – animated - to the accompaniment of
Mantovani’s Blue Tango - with my head’s little
alien dancing with Death, an Anthropomorphic
Personification of physical life’s end and freed
consciousness continuing in new dimensions

Without a body to hold it down; a pink fedora
on my hat-stand, white net & a rose-coloured
scarf - & Thokozile chides me worrying about
getting work done - I laugh, only thing I really
fear is my alien leaving me on a dream & my
having to face the tables alone, though

Every country’s table is another colour and it’s
fun to edit and correct, bitter coffee for energy,
making up reasons to be happy as per my best
guru’s instruction – fantasise, visualise; Saint-
Saëns, shimmering water piano caresses lead
to Chopin, Nocturne No. 9, it might be clear to

Anyone: many fantasies are intersecting here,
my heart rests in Chopin’s satin & velvet notes
eyes delighted by shades of pink all around -&
Bach Suite No 31 leading my spirit peacefully,
mind immersed in the colourful tables & they
are smiling back at me…

Within The Wisdom [Rev]

Let’s look at the text - all nations will be blessed
through Israel; by high technology, scientific and
medical innovations saving lives worldwide, and
Israel’s many Nobel laureates: Israeli aid to UN
workers trapped in Syria, and Syrians injured in
their bloody civil war with Israel being haven for
African refugees, & for injured Palestinians who

Are threatened by their own leadership, Israelis
offer developing nations agricultural advances.
After Sept 11 planes hit the World Trade Centre
Middle Eastern celebrations horrified the world,
Israelis stood with the US, sending supplies and
volunteering for rescue and recovery projects; -
Israelis prayed, donated blood saving people’s

Lives in New York as well as Washington D.C; -
then there’s Israel’s donations of stem cells to
help people suffering from dozens of diseases -
precluding the need for aborting unborn babies;
2009 cord blood stem cells saved a little Arab
boy’s life in Sweden; today all the ideologically
identical Islamic extremists - such as Hamas,

ISIS, Hezbollah, al-Qaeda with al-Nusra Front,
Boko Haram, including Iran, force God-loving
people cherishing freedom to stand together
within the wisdom of blessings to be brought
to the world by God’s people - Israel

A Legacy

Brunch, a 4th transgression after Sunday’s dangerous
pepper sauce, Monday’s magnificent pizza, yesterday’s
venison pie: toasted chicken mayonnaise - the allergy
has me in its clutches: brain swelling, head shrinking,
mind dissolving; leaving only anxiety & work undone

Chemical depression - impatience and frustration - a
nasty mess, all because a plain vegetable and bland
fruit diet is so boring; I’ve always wished my spirit to
go soaring after eating something amazing, like Alice
in Wonderland, but flight’s stopped prematurely in

The end by the allergy’s penchant to shoot me down;
there MUST be a much better way to consciousness
than being incarcerated within a physical body beset
with allergies - I never want to reincarnate again, I’ll
try to leave a legacy of insights garnered over a

Lifetime of reading & discoveries; one that’s making
sure nothing is undone and that my spirit’s ready to
deal with an infinity of planes beyond our universe
as a physical dimension …

Sanctify [Rev]

Should anyone dare to interrupt my serious task
of checking a list of scientific terms, I’m ready to
react with self-righteous indignation; I’ll interrupt
conversations, rest legs on the desk, as a stand-
up translator my feet feel sore - but not a single
soul breaks my concentration or shifts my focus

I have to do it all by myself, digging for intrusive
emails - nothing - hunting for shocking events -
nothing - left to the celestial resignation of ages
I go on BUT checking without playing is boring;
Maria Callas singing Bach over and over until I
change to the Skaters’ Waltz - yet even these

Amusements lose their attraction, time’s slowing
down, if only I could work in the empty moments,
use every second preciously - if only something
would appear so I could ignore it & demonstrate
my conscientiousness; what’s the use of ethics
if not to impress our fellow human beings - how

Can I ignore a raw fact that nothing is happening,
how demonstrate dedication to passive checking
jobs if nothing offends to test & sanctify my very
steadfast resolution…

Up & Down (Rev)

I spill coffee every time I take sip while swaying,
how can one not join the dance when listening
to the Nutcracker Suite, who can withstand the
charm of extending arms and toes in graceful
bows while moving to and fro

To express the music in physical lines leaving
sparkling designs and phantom motions like
faint explosions in the air - just to start turning
circles along with the Waltz of the Flowers so
eloquently expressed in Walt Disney’s

Fantasia changing music on a flat screen to
holographic images; bending knees - head
bobbing up & down with the Trépak Russian
dance, turning with the Chinese mushrooms;
a never-ending music with my iPod

On replay, the dance is heaven experienced
on earth inspiring me to lose sight of my end-
less tables to contemplate Infinity instead...

Feverish Chills

The feverish chills of last night manifest
in failing energy - the Duchess’ tale of
woe clouds my perspective – the image
of a little girl sitting alone without hope
is so strong when I think of my brave, if
overbearing, Duchess, how big a scare

She would have had when no payments
were made by any of her creditors and
the contribution for my father & mother,
Conan and his Queen of Hearts, never
came through, how terrible the feeling
of desolation must have been as she

Looked at the empty purse for domestic
expense – crying now would empty my
heart and enable me to be joyous – at
present I’m falling again, a descent in-
to the dark past of loveless martyrdom
such as Grandma Alice has known

Is suffocating and my throat is swelling
no breathing while my eyes’ re watering
the dry air, I have to acknowledge pain
to let it out & bring back interest in my
little world, to lift up my eyes to my old
and trusted icons, open my ears and

Rejoice in a magnetic world that will
bring us the delight we visualise – far
away from the inner darkness that
makes me cry…

Energising (R)

Enjoying the happiest moments of my life:
embraced within the bureaucratic coccoon
rolling with Bert Kaempfert’s African Safari
while Thokozile’s solving the mystery of her
niece being on a lost-and-found-person list

Hermien’s battling the Medical Fund, Hanlie’s
struggling to regain her telephone line after
‘Bruce’ transferred it through to me long ago
and Annette finishes the new Government
Service Beginner’s course after 3 years of

Her super successful apprenticeship, then I
discover Bruce’s morphed into Mosimanyana,
from there to this Google-led English version
of Portuguese Certificate Regulations; though
the music becomes repetitive the feeling of

Well-being is so great I’m loath to change it
to something less energising...

Listened Enraptured (Rev.)

In my text tables on 40 pages - 40 sheets of joy,
is a tale to be saved ‘ere lost with the document:
cultivars scientific names; the matriarch named
Matricaria Chamomilla so disliked meddlesome
Melissa Officinalis; as story’s blurb let’s just add
this - who’s mysterious Ocimum Basilicum and
where does pent-up adolescent Pentas Lanceolata,
a very chivalrous young man reminding of Sir
Lancelot of the Round Table, come into this?

The eldest son was Ditylenchus Dipsaci - dipping
too often in wine, an ingénue Viola Wittrockiana
and her worldy-wise friend Zinnia Elegans, were
friends of the stepbrother Callistephus Chinensis
who loved talking nonsense; the French Foreign
League got involved as soon as darling General
Plectranthus Scutellarioides appeared, he was
secretly in love with Celosia Plumosa who had
given her heart to an opera singer, Mr PhalarisCanariensis - they had a daughter Dianthus

Who took her cat Cucurbita Pepo everywhere
she went and the witch Gomphrena Globosa
grumbled all day long as she wanted the cat
for her Familiar, but grandmother Limonium
Latifolium protected Dianthus & her cat from
beyond the grave; practical Dianthus disliked
Lycopersicon Solanum who recited his own
love poems for her – luckily her best friend
Alysson Maritimum was infatuated with the
poetaster & listened enraptured as he

Recited - with many a sigh escaping his
breast: Cultivo, cultivo viveiro, submetido
dedicação produção, inspeção durante
periodo da lua; o amor no meu coração –
Dianthus ran away while happy Alysson
basked in the young Lothario’s terms of
endearment - & with this story done I can
start to edit my document…

Final Touch

My first Spanish translation – a Google-led
interpretation – with few mistakes – oh joy,
I’m busy with the Portuguese Phytosanitary
Regulations - with Hanlie’s template - and
Annette showing me how to copy & paste
tables thus no need to retype Latin terms

Never sat down today, standing in front of
my desk rising on my toes doing pliées as
my feet felt too much strain: maybe John
Kehoe is right when he says good things
happen when we affirm belief in ourself,
even the alien in my head’s peaceful -

This is the greatest victory – to be able to
concentrate without his noise in my head,
he just needs to throw a few tantrums on
paper then goes to sleep – it’s all due to
your scrutiny which led me to scrutinise
you realising I found a Master teaching

The art of cascading breathlessly and how
to create mystery while your riddles show
life as perpetual self-discovery, here the
spiralling snowflakes on my walls turn
the magic on and pink flowers with
white bows add the final touch…

Flowing Out [Rev]

With Hanlie I can talk and laugh, wonder at
Hermien’s celestial calm, learn from Annette,
create comic shows with Alet, admire Dea’s
attire and delight in Mimi’s high stiletto heels,
I can share my ideas with Thokozile, explain
my plans to Mapula - but I can’t reveal how
I feel when not happy; fury & tragedy aren’t

revealed with a stiff upper lip, imitating the
Queen of Hearts - surviving the destructive
voice of Conan, lovable Barbarian, my dad
and dealing with my Duchess-sis who might
blow pepper all over your face as soon as
she thinks her rights infringed; gazing at a
glamorous Cinderella grandmother whose

Mind and fingers were more nimble than
anybody’s yet never won much love in her
life; finding refuge in an eyrie of a Phoenix
flying so high I only see him from afar & I
was alone in Crocodile Castle: then came
the confident stride of an army of poets who
knew the way out, led by the Mystery Master

Composing cascading melodies with such a
hypnotic rhythm, it resounded in my heart
and taught expression is free; thus my dark
despair and red-hot fury are flowing out
leaving me a sweet inner sanctuary…

Thou Slave

A Phytosanitary Certificate in Portuguese – what’s so
fearsome about that - though the words sing in deep-
throated phonetic vowels, the meaning is obscure, I
feel quite obtuse and as  blood sugar levels plummet,
my eyes become unglued and fail, I hear explosions
in every little sound while my mind derails

The terms “Quarentenarias Ausentes Definidas para
Normativa Especifica” flow like opera, but the English
equivalent is not musical - “Quarantine according to the
specific rules” doesn’t sing at all; a small headache has
turned into an avalanche of painful muscle spasms in
my head - fearing I’ll never finish this

I remain at my computer, slowly dying on my feet as
the battle for understanding ravages my spirit and it
disappears until only my brain, shocked and lonely,
remains in my work station, seeking help in mystical
arrangements of pink scarves and delicate fairy wing
confections; the Certificate is unending, I’m falling

Headlong into the central Galactic Black Hole which
defines our corner of the visible universe – see, I am
disappeared - a creature always tortured by the iron
chains of the ethical imperative: thou shalt translate,
thou slave

Dark Non-Existence [Rev]

But suddenly my world is not small enough - its
tranquil borders are invaded by a Phytosanitary
certificate with Regulatory Instructions, just like
Torquemada’s witch hunts with sullen discipline

To keep the nation safe against alien pestilence
carried in seeds to be disseminated; desperately
I google every term but lack of progress without
inspiration to illuminate my work dissolves any

Resolve, it’s dead-pan boring, I seek relief and
protection in myriads of pink scarves, whenever
I see pink I buy one - I’ll be so ashamed on the
day I die, my kids will be shocked on seeing the

Proliferation of scarves in my life, at least my un-
necessary fluffy blankets can be used to build a
tower on my bed so I can read with ease - but
what to do with so many pink scarves - I wear

Them in two’s and three’s, glittery ones on top,
safe from the grey Decrees & Annexures, the
the dreaded non-being of dark non-existence

My Werewolf-State [Rev]

No amount of Ke-hoe repetitions from the book
Mind Power which took Mr-Hehoe-guru himself
to a schwarmy hotel, to brag about entertaining
friends in a Presidential Suite for a month (with
their ‘e tu’  Brutus crew of backstabbers about),
no amount of positive affirmations counteract a
pizza-effect transforming me into the scrubby
werewolf whining at the waning moon

And I don’t see any advice from Mr-Big-Hoo on
how to change into wealthy & successful - as a
werewolf, and how to invite other werewolves to
treat them in a smart hotel where even the best
is not good enough; Mr-He-Big-Bunkkum’s plan
for becoming  a billionaire is a pyramid scheme:
he teaches you how to lecture and tease people
into peace and plenty, you sally forth and teach

Others and you get paid an exorbitant amount
for being a mountebank - but let me explain: the
cause of today’s backsliding into shape-changing
diet-hell was boredom - just feeling almost good
enough, nothing exciting, no passion, no fighting;
spiritual texts reveal kindness and love makes us
invulnerable, yet I experienced none of this; thus
down to Hades for a change - when good health

Returns I shall be content again; only by jumping
into the fire can I appreciate my boring miniature
worlds and use what little of my mind is left after
years of seeking wisdom, missing the life I could
have lived: repeating positive affirmations about
my being a successful business tycoon who can
listen to my double-dealing “friends” croon com-
pliments about my lovely lifestyle & invulnerable

Love; indeed - this werewolf wonders at Kehoe’s
invulnerable technique to make gullible people pay
for lectures on how to become as rich as he is, the
only thing to say is Kardashian, balderdash I mean
while I whine at the moon in my werewolf state..

Reinforcing [Rev]

I’ll try at least 5 minutes a day Kehoe affirmations,
my self-image is too fragile & needs straightening,
but when I start positive-assertive line repetitions -
“I’m fine, good-looking with lots of friends (ha!) the
right place at the right time” I feel foolish - a glance
in the mirror confirms this: pink socks with pink flip-
flops, brown leg warmers and grey running shorts

A mauve rose petal top and ice-pink scarf, awful yet
comfortable; my mindless work, washing dishes &
cleaning is the height of my achievement, earlier this
morning my beloved accused me of attempting to kill
him, entering the room with cheerful speed - nearly cut
off his feet as he left the bathroom: as he’d designed
a small bedroom, I must apply make-up in the sitting

Room - the faults his design, not my joie-de-vivre, I
need open doors slowly to prevent my decapitating
the hapless man; I mutely withdraw, watch dinosaurs
resurrected on TV, & fall asleep - not up to learning
anything: I’ll need work hard on positive self-assertive
affirmations, especially when thinking of my August
office production sheet still to be done, it’s a game

Of procrastination predicated on the principle that a
tornado or tsunami may destroy everything before any
administration’s necessary - though it’s never happened
here; the story’s moral is my self-image needs a lot of
affirmations for reinforcing…

Need To Repeat [REV]

We can do ANYTHING we want a self-help thriller
promises; I feel his accusatory eyes on me, a hot
flush triggered eating sugary things - it forces  me
out into the rain - another aspect of my life to be
mastered by his principles - & once again failed

Don’t even have ideals to reach for with his tricks;
success and wealth is our duty - to serve others in
our prosperity, he says; makes me feel like Wall-E
after being crushed on the Spaceship, dutifully I try
to find a vision that requires Master’s techniques

I’d LOVE to accomplish something but what, as for
beginning a business - I can’t even add or subtract -
as the Mind Power Master instructs - it sounds like
my biggest nightmare; I’m glad John Kehoe is so
successful & happily brags about it in every line

Of his book - but alas, following his example isn’t
possible; a reaching for some things has already
proved unattainable in my life, I could not master
piano playing, sewing or being calm while bored
out of my mind - so I pay him the compliment

To read his brag-book in total - his theories have
no effect on me until a dream appears needing to
repeat his affirmations until I’ve realised my vision;
’til then I shall keep his words ready for the day my
subconscious wants to steer me towards success

For now I shall remain a translator-bum waiting for
inspiration to strike - then I’ll repeat his affirmations
with alacrity - morning, noon and night…

Purple Spring Witch

Being the only one interested in sporting a sticker on
casual day, gave the boss an extra adhesive label to
remind her life is great - I celebrate the spring theme
wearing pink with flowers in my hair; waiting for lunch
to go outside with hydrangea umbrella & glittery scarf

Have checked my version in the Queen’s English of
our self-made “Sir” Mr B’s Afrikaans essay - realised
with glee his quaint lines do not allow a single perfect
rendition so my colleague and I present 2 completely
different texts - scintillating; such a wonderful world -

It rained last night - the weather conspired in creating
this unforgettable day; must carry lilac fan to complete
image of a Purple Spring Witch - newly released from
the Disc World Dungeon Dimensions, taking on all of
Hogwart’s Dementors sucking the joy from my quiet

Colleagues forlorn at their laptop screens, my yellow
flowers prevent Dementors from approaching, golden
auras shine in my place as legions of angels stop by
to enjoy the confections I made with fairy wings and
reams of pink and purple flowers which scare off evil

The delightful shine hurting their eyes, my colleagues
blink & look away while no spy enemies approach the
sacred sanctuary of my work station; ah, perfect life…

 

To Be Warm

What did I say last time – drudge, washing
dishes, peacemaker: - tonight a test of my
peacemaking abilities, my beloved and my
belligerent little girl at loggerheads because
her dad said she HAS to go to great trouble
to give him the right money as HE goes to
great trouble to provide her with a car - at
her mother’s expense – me (I don’t care)

But what can I say; so I told her I was going
to buy take-aways, what would she like, and
she was happy to accept – if I told her it was
her father who was going to buy the burgers
she would have refused - angry as she was 
when he said having a car was her privilege
not her right – another sleepless night – no,
tonight her temper did not ignite, all is safe

Daughter not angry at her dad because I
told her how ill he was last night, it scared
me so much – and she helps her mother
deal with the scare by being kind – what
a lovely family I have; now if only my son
would accept the extra blanket I threw on
his bed as the wind is growing colder and
colder and I want him to be warm…

A Melted Heart [Rev]

We can't find ready-made love, camaraderie
and friendship, we must create it - polishing,
grooming ourselves and our life-partner until
all sharp edges are filed away - snugly fitting
together; these soul-mate feelings only grow
from long gestation of devotion & integrity, in
determination & honesty true to our contracts
& promises: I’ve endured the painful smelting

Process, its like being immolated, parts of me
burnt away - but the end product is that we’re
comfortable with each other, each feeling as a
fused-together entity merging tears & failures;
of getting up & trying again to reach heavenly
feelings, kindness, comfort and consideration,
peace, trust and safety - even if its like being
designed by your own shortcomings - and

Your mate’s requirements - empathy created
by whorls of spiralling transformations; then in
old age we enjoy it like our favourite pyjamas
or shoes, snug, cosy - happy to breathe: once
you find a special one, share knowing that, if
willing to fuse hearts and minds, together you
can make a new life and risk forgiving each
other everything and remain true to each

Other for as long as it takes to melt in the fires
of your emotions - to be polished in the floods
of your feelings - then the joy of togetherness
comes into being as a new Soul Gestalt which
never existed before in this or every other life:
just like the devoted “Little Tin Soldier” losing
his life in fire to hold his beloved one-legged
twirling ballerina - all that remained was a
 
Melted Tin Heart - and that’s when I cry...

Fade Away [Rev]

There is a Jewish debt to Iran and Lebanon rang
Rabbi Nachman's rousing words, and the current
violence and hostility of these nations will erase
this debt shortly: although Israel brought science,
justice, morality and monotheism to the world, it

Owes Persia and Southern Lebanon for incurred
debts from when King Hiram of Tyre, in Lebanon,
helped Israel’s King Solomon in constructing the
first Temple - and Persia’s King Cyrus in spurring
a Jewish nation to rebuild the Jerusalem temple

And he returned the stolen gold and silver vessels
to them: the Jewish debt means it owes Lebanon -
for King Hiram’s generosity & Persia’s King Cyrus -
for his kindness - yet the present belligerence and
hatred shown cancels this debt every day, little by

Little, until it will completely fade away….

[Persia = Iran]

A Public Carousel [R]

To Mantovani’s sweetly played Elizabethan Serenade
my day quietly fades away with 2 documents pending:
an irate man claiming poverty though he still has a car
sadly an older model - furiously denouncing a security
guard terrorising his wife and he at a clinic they attend
because they are gravely ill - and can only survive due
to the medicine - and a letter by a local Mad Hatter

Who professes to be The President thinking he has a
World-wide Empire and everybody is ready to fulfill all
his wishes; not that I mind - the mental gyrations may
be good for keeping the grey stuff in shape, but after-
wards some over-zealous colleagues dig in & change
everything to pass official time & returning everything
to sound like original, literal, home-made Afrikaans

This Secret Spy disguised as plain government agent
isn’t inspired at all as it leads to naught as the Biblical
Ecclesiastes says; assembly-line work lacks all charm
this Spy needs an assignment with violin case holding
machine guns to take out ALL messing with my words;
changing my the flow of my sentences then destroying
my interpretation, nullifying my work & relegating me

To the plane of the damned - this will be a wasteland
when I’m revenged on these mine enemies who’d kill
melodies & strangle free-floating terms simply to earn
their bureaucratic salary while turning in these public
carousels of repetitive administrative activity…