Subjective, Strange Way [Rev]

Guess who’s been told to butt out - & guess who’s
been told to cease talking & hold her peace - moi -
of course - I’m the one banned from verbalising in
our little family overseen by regulated, organised,
official Scorpio; STOP, he cries over and over as I
try communicating my concern about the Duchess,

My twin sister: you are NOT allowed to influence or
derail OUR perfect New Year’s Party - we’re happy,
perfectly satisfied with life - your twin WILL NOT be
permitted any influence on our delight with the end
of 2016 - & I turn away, write down my feelings; my
comfort & happiness depends on Scorpio’s mood

So I shall desist; no more telling the world how I feel,
no more expressing the concerns about My Duchess
since my Scorpio wants to feel so carefree & to heck
with anybody else, especially my family - I accept it
because without rules I’d make a sacrifice to my

Past, a youth in a loveless house; at least Scorpio’s
loving in his own, very subjective, strange way

A Boyish Rogue [R]

When switching from one language to another I
become a different person, in my mother tongue
a boyish rogue like my irrepressible dad - as for
English I’m restrained like my mama, in French
an ebullient, outgoing extrovert feeling helpful &
righteous, in German a boisterous, noisy singer of

Quatschlieder, while Latin hymns makes me into
a devout seeker of the symbolism of the Divine –
actually I’m multi-dimensional in Afrikaans since
the lullabies mama sang, the stories dad told and
my childhood dreams of becoming all-knowing &
wise, were formed in the tongue of my birth…

Confronted with an exquisite friend who’d increased
in dainty sophistication with the years & who sounds
even more adorable over the telephone; I just backed
out, not able to recapture my previous role of learned
researcher in various languages & philosophy -as I’m
now a lilac humanoid stomping around -and laughing

With my son when he calls right-wing colleagues kinky,
I can’t pursue dignity, sitting in the kitchen with a beach
umbrella to keep the sun away from the sliding doors; -
like a Golem with a sacred Chem in her head - or rather
resembling a purple mermaid with a strange tendency to
change into Quasimodo when confronted with anything

Fragile & delicate beyond my reach though it’s the epitome
of my desire: my exquisite regal friend can depend on me as
a loyal subject without my competing her coterie of dignified
underlings & since the little alien in my head now feels safe
from any pressure to pay my respects in person, I celebrate

My decision with coffee - and washing dishes in the crystal
bubbles rising from pristine white, soapy foam…

So Would We [R]

Although it’s drizzling this mermaid keeps swimming,
always choosing a different outfit to wear afterwards;
the new red kaftan - awful; red & black top - so bleak;
the butterfly top - clean, zebra stripes - boring, a blue
forget-me-not top; trying to change herself with every
change of clothes: now the mermaid’s wearing a lilac
dress that makes her feel like an oversize fairy fallen
from the sky, seeing Dynamo the Magician changed
her a little bit, renewing old belief in a universe that’s
infinite where natural & supernatural is the same: the
only part of existence where boredom enters is human
feeling, if we were allowed to retain our love of life and
belief in joy with which we are born, we would live in a
different world where perspective would be free from
all coercion - and naturally - so would we…

My Own Shell

Finally I accept the Agony Aunt’s advice about the
communication problem: “If a husband contradicts
everything you say, it means YOU are wrong and
should stop talking” and since Scorpio contradicts
my every opinion and theory on principle, and the
sting of his negative replies makes me feel bad -

Keeping quiet will be easier, it seems a successful
relationship between “Alice in Wonderland” & an
Absolute Scorpion Monarch in his own Universe,
implies that Alice has to find her Astrogenetic sign
& act accordingly: my sign is Cancer, retreating into
my shell is one way to find my own happiness -

I shall quietly rest within my own shell and play at
being a mermaid in the pool when it stops raining,
maybe I can become an oyster and start covering
Scorpio's irritating verbal sand with all the wisdom
of quiet reflection until several beautiful pearls are
formed - thus solitude can lead to my creating

My own strings of mental bio-luminescence and I
shall delight in MY own universe deep within my
own protective and aesthetically pleasing shell…

[Saturday 24 December 2016, South Africa]

Mermaid Thoughts

I’m a mermaid alone crashing through the depths
of the open seas, sinking into the abyss to watch
the strange creatures there, then back to the ocean’s
surface, swimming with long strokes far beyond the
breakers on the reefs - as shape-shifter I get up to
walk on the beach and lie down under my favourite
fir tree where the North Wind, a great friend, sighs
his message through the needles and other trees

Leaves - I enter my cave to erect my own bulwarks
against the sun’s merciless heat with a big gift bag,
towel and beach umbrella - everything in blue-green
within the turquoise sheen of the blinds, I already
have fruit cake to celebrate Christmas within the
beautiful Miracle-Play symbolism constructed by
consciousness – currently I think consciousness
is a unit of many different electric cables conducting

Energy; after leaving the signal box of a physical body
turned into a corpse, the electric energy particles flow
into new cables which weave themselves into beings
as eternally continuing individuals which form part of
the virtual reality within an indestructible hologram
always creating new patterns and designs forever –
at this point in my musings I decide to look for my
Scorpio who would be strutting his stuff in his own

Virtual universe which affords all kinds of thoughts
and amusement when I visit him…

Alice And Duchess [Rev]

A lost drunk, My Duchess declared the Lord and Master
of the Crocodile Castle, while HE divulged she was the
deluded wreck of a failed interior decorator; the Queen
of Hearts deigned them out of existence, while Conan -
the reformed Barbarian - said they were both irrelevant
given the hungry people forced to steal from his freezer
on the outside patio - and then Conan -

My dad lurched off to his room and my Duchess played
a keyboard with human wraiths wailing their lives away
while the Queen & I, Alice in Wonderland, couldn’t hold
a conversation given the level of noise; we went to the
Duchess’ Castle where I found the bed so soft I had to
sleep on the floor; - next day the Duchess drove me to
see the Queen in her liturgical phaeton

Where she again played those wailing voices, and when
Alice got home Scorpio said the Duchess’ largesse didn’t
impress him; my sis - Alice observed, is extremely remiss
in good manners - she ruined all conversation with those
wailing electronic banshees on the Queen’s keyboard; &
Alice didn’t know what to think: was she hearing the song
of the crying Gryphon

Or the irrational anger of the Duchess upon discovering
that the Duke kept her changeling child’s wedding plans
a secret, she didn’t know it was on public show; whatever
the cause, while Alice is sad for the Duchess who has to
live with a Wayward Duke, the Duchess laments on Alice
having to live with a Scorpion - preferring the honest

Scorpion to a brilliant, though fractious, Duke…

Larrikeet

We’ve a brightly coloured bunch of utter larrikins 

who share our space, they’re chatty & amenable 

on most occasions when we’re face to face - tho 

give ‘em room to spread their wings and bare an 

eccentricity or three, and there you see what’s in 

a Lorii bag th’ Rainbow Lorikeet declares; & yep, 

beware, they don’t pretend ‘consensual’ sharing 

other species grain acclaims their fey largesse 

So we’ve renamed them Larrikeets - it fits a tee 

they use to bend the way our rules apply, seats 

their aptly greedy dominance where truth is not 

denied, tells quickly how th’ other species wryly 

make adaptions to the way that they relate with 

we - who are the ones who shared them grain 

© 19 December 2016, I. D. Carswell 

Learn To Focus

Home again after holiday lack of discipline I’m too
tired to enjoy swimming and laying the sun & too
tired to enjoy music & animal TV programmes – I
fall asleep ever time, but delighted to see a house
bathed in soft green shades against the sun - it’s
such a privilege to enjoy the house getting ready
for retirement and deciding how to change every-
thing, prepare for visiting the library where I can

Systematically go through the books and making
summaries; my only fear is losing contact with all
people once colleagues are gone & nobody who
loves language is left – my only contacts the kind
pharmacist, ladies in the library, the Lord & Master
of the Crocodile Castle and kids; it might force me
to spread my wings - actively seek companionship
in new places - and if not, learn to focus on life

In the garden and my Queen & strange Duchess…

Queen And Duchess

My Duchess drove many miles to bring me to visit
our parents, the musical Queen of Hearts & Conan,
the becalmed Barbarian, then my strange Duchess
played loud electric-singing-voice notes on the key-
board drowning our conversation, the next morning
we returned to my parents and once again

My Duchess serenaded us with keyboard-voice-songs,
we could not converse & astonished I asked the Queen
of Hearts what could be the meaning of this & she replied
I should block the noise by a mental firewall like she did -
claiming she CONTROLS her world by means of LOVE
& reaps great rewards, but I thought - her love

Had no control over the Duchess - more likely made her
worse, then ‘playfully’ the Queen proposed a longer stay
sending Scorpio and my son home alone so I could sing
in her concert that night, taking the bus home afterwards
trying to use her Queenly LOVE to control her world while
such irrational plans have no hold over me

Why stay when my Duchess made rational conversation
impossible and the Queen condoned her bad manners &
lack of protocol – how unpleasant; when Scorpio stopped
to pick me up the Queen ‘lovingly’ tried her control again
insisting he stays for coffee, but he is strong and refused
any claims on his time wanting to finish a trip

Of 6 hundred miles and we left, the Queen of Hearts and
my Duchess probably complaining their different attempts
to manipulate Scorpio & me had no effect - I hope that my
Duchess learns to respect quiet conversation & my Queen
learns love is not a controlling mechanism - love should be
offered without trying to force others to submit

Only Conan, my dad, acted with quiet grace and thanked
Scorpio, Lord and Master of the Crocodile Castle, for taking
loving care of his grandson and daughter...

Witching Without Magicking

The witch fell asleep on the beach, later ran into
the sea to challenge breakers that threatened to
turn everyone head over heels, only the crocodile
witch and a few young men and kids remained in
the aquamarine of the high-tide sea, braving the
breakers like Spanish bull-fighters who spin off to
the side as the froth charges like bulls foaming at
the mouth, the witch came home to a scene of
peace and discovered her swimsuit is shockingly
un-magical and totally boring, having filled with
sand in the churning shallows the fibrous fabric
refuses to let the sand go and she will have to cut
the fabric to let out the sand, what a sad thing to
do, altering the brand-new suit, witching without
magicking is no fun and suffering sunburn from
sleeping in the sun adds no new delights to the
existential quest for meaning in life…

Witch On The Beach [Rev]

With feelings deadened like a sore tooth extraction by
a dentist where one discovers there’s no pleasure in
the place of pain, there’s only absence, a small death
by removing the nerves; and this is such a case when
desperation lifts away leaving nothing behind, only a
grey boredom, resignation, acceptance of my chosen
fate - as if my spirit chose suffering on entering into
human life with the focus on its most difficult path, the
most arduous work or even the most tedious routines,
leaving the heart lifeless and cold

And - on finding it impossible to decide who to serve,
my Duchess or the Queen of Hearts, Attila the Hun or
Scorpio, Lord and Master of the Crocodile Castle; - the
impossibility of making the right choice destroys inner
peace and turns me into a shape-shifter witch on the
beach, to become a mermaid tumbling in waves who
is tossed on the sand by the force of these enormous
breakers, then leaves the sea to turn into grey-faced
me, my load lightened by the humour of a comedian-
crocodile kid who mimics voices and attitudes all so

Ludicrously - I lose my breath laughing at him & with
him; this joy makes up for these lifeless, sunless and
nondescript areas of life to be traversed in between…

On These Shores

Life is deteriorating in nanoseconds as Scorpio decides my
infernal cheek visiting family in the Cape is the most selfish,
egotistic crime this crocodile has ever contemplated - for
hours berating me for daring to request a lift from the beach
and THEN, heaven help him, my twin sis The Duchess will
collect me to sleep over at her place – phoenix simply goes
viral and burns up himself to emerge unscathed while I, an
erstwhile-mermaid-turned-hag dissolves into a burnt ember
dead, dead inside, empty and blind, deaf, deaf and mute,
while my son, sun-burnt and cute, takes care of the braai
not saying a word in my defence at that would attract more
attack and he knows I can’t stand any more, soon we’ll be
out of the door as I wish to give my Little Prince some cash
so he can enjoy the night life on offer on these shores…

A Mermaid So Recently

Wading into the sea I turned into a mermaid, shot
torpedo style through bubbly breakers and turned
somersaults as light as a feather, the sky a perfect
sphere filled with impressive cloud formations, and
2 years standing at my desk instead of sitting have
made me strong enough to brave the biggest waves

Beach activities led by a loud young man thundering
into his holiday audience, a pink flamingo in the waves
with a fair damsel and her beau keeping her safe, then
my heroic young son asked his dad to collect me in his
sedate estate car as carrying things tired me walking
down to the beach, and like a flaming fury Scorpio

Descended upon me: Lord and Master of the Crocodile
Castle with a frown burning happiness to a tinder, how
dare we, his minions, ask him to move from his happy
spot in front of some heavenly sevens rugby game &
fuming he explains this is NOT how this holiday will be,
we’re on our own - my son and I should know, so

The beautiful mermaid turned into a hag, a witch, an
evil apparition, a banshee; lost for words, besieged by
the Queen of Hearts and brother Attila the Hun who de-
mands a formal visit and my Twin Sis the Duchess also
wants to show her refurbished home, yet the menacing
danger of Scorpio exploding is so real, stopping future

Holidays, the hag stomps to a screen to write the things
she has seen, yet can’t interpret, being a dumb witch who
imposes on Scorpios, takes getting used to after having
been a mermaid so recently…

[10 December 2016]

Supermoon

So far today its been a two-coffee intro to awakening 

realities not evident yesterday; & Lorikeets inimitably 

in a crowd-rousing debate expressed concerns as to 

my responsibilities for spreading sunflower seeds at 

places they habituate - and appropriately appending 

squawking akin to profuse ‘colloquial’ abuse - just in 

case my hearing aids weren’t in; so, having already 

had to solve slow water-delivery problems to get the 

washing machine functioning normally, I’m piqued in 

a manner appropriate to the house-husbanding beat 

of rhythms I am supposed to mythically understand - 

even Magpie encroachment on Kookaburra territory, 

the Hills Hoist clothesline - got a foot in the door; ok, 

I agree, there’s a lot more learning and I’ll get into it 

but first please give me a wee bit of peace; that 2nd 

coffee has a characteristic buzz I’m remembering, if 

not revelling in, from back a ways; yeah, olden days 

when the pace wasn’t frenetic, and listening to ABC 

morning news not a trial by ordeal; then there’s that 

other weird explanation of an enlarged ‘supermoon' 

being an upbeat to contend with this week … 

© 16 November 2016, I. D. Carswell 

Slap Of The Waves

Beginning to realise the advent of headaches 

cringing behind the scenes when they are not 

meant to be has a serious consequence; they 

aren’t random events, trials by ordeal or even

tethered complicity of hearing aids perverting 

duplicity with godlike ease - damn things are 

palliative relief not auguries of consequence, 

nor harbingers to frailty

If there had been sleep-lack confounded with 

irrationally strong drink binges - maybe - or a 

juvenile fantasy of self-destructive behaviour,  

but we’ve been modest since those days; so 

where’s the connectivity? It answers, saying 

this wont please you rationally in the least 

The beast at back of it is serendipity, meant 

as a happy event, and elaborations of sound 

where more impeaches luxurious freedom to 

bathe peacefully; a life-guard confined to the 

beach with caution’s flag in winds of change, 

hearing a ceaseless slap of the waves 

© 8 November 2013, I. D. Carswell

I Was Right [Rev]

It was dangerous advice from a kind guru who wants
what’s best for us, saying don’t tell it like it is - but tell
it like you want it to be; here I am - struggling through
the day, limping home and hanging about in the heat,
my beloved fixing a broken PC: - suddenly, he says

If you have time, come to the study - and here is your
Christmas present, a brand new PC you can take with
you on holiday; how can I speak of reality as I want it
to be when it’s so perfect already? The only thing left
in my life that I’d want different is to be healthy and

Groomed perfectly, all of the rest’s already perfect; its
just my ability to look well-groomed lags behind - my
beloved is sweet, kids darlings, colleagues kind and
coach the best teacher there is - plus my parents are
still alive and my duchess is happy

The sea is waiting for me and right now the clouds are
gathering under my friend the Wind - it is a conspiracy
of well-being - and I always knew that there had to be
a conspiracy somewhere - & I was right, you see!

Beloved By The Gods

I am the beloved of the gods, only those cherished
by the gods get to see such a sunset where clouds
glow in Baroque glory of cherubs held within golden
curlicues while the grass is glowing as if glass lights
shine from below just as the sun god’s golden touch
is covering the rest of the sky and this is clear:

I must tell the world, right here in this place on this
spot at this moment in time, I feel that we, my dog
and I, are the beloved of the gods; the terrible heat
today brought about thunder and built a palace of
clouds - with my heroine dancing a tango I waited
and here it is - a short burst of rain that opened

The curtain of life to show delicately framed cameos
of bright blue sky framed by images of mighty angels
created by swirling lines woven by clouds; what else
can I think - the beauty of it: I have to be the beloved
of the gods to be offered such a glorious scene…

Haunting Beauty [Rev]

If vibrational harmony means we have all we need
to be healthy - illness illustrates the ways in which
thoughts, feelings and mood alter our bodies; with
medicine we control hormones and stop synapses
from relaying signals of pain straight to the brain

My mental template is feeling anxiety and nobody
can extricate the thin silver threads of happiness
from the rusting mesh of sad feelings in which my
life began; chemical imbalances which are caused
by my eating sweets to fill the hole in my heart -

I direct my eyes to happy words and pictures to
keep a lid on angst inside - I can’t look at things
that resonate with cynicism, inhuman conditions
or clueless characters with whom I can’t identify -
it pulls me down so far that living becomes an

Impossible feat instead of the joy it is; vibrational
harmony is my ideal - even though it’s a Quixotic
dream since my hands are burning with the fire of
rowing upstream, while trying to pull them away,
being still to drift downstream, is impossible - yet

I still sing of haunting beauty and cherish visions
of exquisite loveliness changing life around me…

Individual Sanctity [Rev]

Cuba’s government winnows 95% of the money
received by workers from foreign companies and
claims to use it for public health: covert research
reveals a run-down health-care system, shortages
in medicine, state clinics & hospitals in bad repair
with doctors badly paid

Fabricated health statistics add shine to Castro’s
revolution in Cubans’ segregation from decadent
tourist beaches, hotels and hospitals with the best
medicine & service - they’re second-class citizens
forbidden to enter beautiful tourist facilities, no
discourse with tourists allowed

The State uses profit from workers & tourists to
fund the lavish lifestyle of the officials who enjoy
free medical service in tourist hospitals - while the
so-called ‘free’ health care system is used to spy
on the people & report insubordination when an
individual objects to having no Internet access

No cell-phones & satellite TV keeps them from
Western individualism contamination while they
must provide cheap slave labour for the wealthy
government. Money & power corrupts & destroys
moral worth, the greedy become more insensitive
and take ALL from the suffering

Why should the poor grow poorer as the rich
increase in wealth? Maybe this is the chalice
they chose, the fire by which true worth will be
revealed - which would otherwise never have
known itself as good growing better and bad
rotting completely - these people are forced

To face themselves in a testing ground of true
nobility; is it by their own free choice to define
themselves within a socialist system? Why is
this happening to them otherwise? But my wish
for them is, may the oppressed rise to fight for
their freedom, may they discover the delight

Of individual sanctity & egalitarianism…

Oblique Obligation

No guesses necessary t’ set this status quo to rest, 

there’s nothing in the tank for running engines and 

recharging batteries; - and yet the lowest ebb stills 

inherent dissent - because, I quote, it isn’t dead - if 

you don’t believe me put a hand where you’ll feel it 

breathe, soft & regularly - just isn’t into the passion 

of proselytising Saint, exorcising crimes of Masses

that confront it urbanely - yet again - & yet again 

Tho they say never the twain shall meet it is a past 

tense defeated by its own chimerical perplexity; I’d 

be happier to compete were there a lot less onus it 

hadn't already derailed, so I’ll stay this way; please 

don’t applaud or rise to your feet, it wont matter as 

the rules you intrigue nolonger fête this game 

© 27 November 2016, I. D. Carswell 

It Might Be

Right after concluding that in a few areas of
life I have total control, my appearance and
order in the bedroom and kitchen, therefore
feeling proud of my discovery and admiring
the assortment of clothes artfully arranged
on my bed while I try to circle my eyes with
a smudgy pencil imitating a girl on TV, just
to receive comment from my family that I
look like the walking dead; I realized --

Though it is enjoyable to decorate my grey
hat with silver filigree & glue back the broken
arm of my Christmas fairy -- I’ve lost control
over my room with clothes strewn about and
blackened eyes make me look like the after-
math of a boxing match: the only two things
still all-right are my grey hat & restored fairy,
as the kitchen falls into chaos, I start to ask
why it is so enjoyable to do things for myself

When it always results in the mess facing me
now and why do theory and practice diverge
so much - I cut out pictures of the mountain
bike I desire and recipes for scorched potato
salad; yet my beloved thinks a bike would
be wasted on me & I never make the dishes
I read about, the control the guru claims we
have, seems to be lacking in my life & it’s my
own fault as we are free to create our destiny,

The guru claims - thus I give up my desire for
mastery to focus on my ideals as it’s the only
vision left after my world-view crashed, I just
want the gift of wisdom to show love in res-
pect & serve where required, control is not
yet mine – though it might be someday…

Without Chocolate [Rev]

I ate everything healthy today - fruit and vegetables &
a boiled egg, but sans chocolate; tried to make up for
its lack by eating sweet jelly - but it can’t compensate,
without chocolate life’s not worthwhile as nothing else
comes close to satisfactory, not ice-cream, cookies or
cake - nothing fills my heart and head like chocolate

Exorcising chocolate to lose weight’s counterproductive,
I eat more to make up for it, but raw carrots and apples
do nothing; without chocolate, my spirit sinks into torpor
and lassitude - and though the world’s beautiful after a
shower of rain, when clouds disappear & a golden sun
shines everything into a green fairyland - and I feel

Joyous & energised - its without chocolate & merely a
short-lived victory; so with tonight’s no-chocolate-delight
I can’t sleep; a state of affairs for addressing tomorrow,
nothing else can keep my inner gyroscope steady within
transparent glory, nothing else can take me to one of the
better alternate universes - & how did life come to this -

How did I forsake my love for the wonder of chocolate, it’s
pure masochism - a deprivation resembling death: my idea
of heaven is having a hot chocolate fondue - and here I am,
without the prerequisite for spiritual survival - this is no life,
this is a descent into grey where thoughts cannot soar….

In The Silence [Rev]

Blue Tango plays in my ears as I close the door
to its outside world - concentrating on my work,
to find myself leaning forwards like Mr Bean and
moving to the music as he does - knees always
touching and feet apart - being Mr Bean carries
me through a translation without my noticing, &
then Maria Callas sings Bach’s Ave Maria and
I become Salieri gasping upon discovering new
music- with an unfulfillable longing in the notes
reflected in his face; I lip-synch silently and the

Longing for positive expectation nearly becomes
overwhelming, my face contorted in passion, yet
no-one notices anything; in the open-plan office
we’re isolated with other people present only as
warmth - after my grandiose dreams I am but a
demon serving in a demon king’s bureaucracy &
part of the universe’s 99% invisible black energy,
a grey hooded Auditor without a face, recording
people’s great deeds & as I compare Nureyev’s
biography with my life, which seems bereft of

Feelings except LOVE - love for my family, and
fellow authors who are never read as we entrust
our secrets to a Poetic Internet Pensieve - where
they will remain eternally; now I’m looking for a
reflection of my feelings in music, JS Bach & The
Skater’s Waltz & Mozart, but sadness unleashed
by reading of Rudolf’s Nureyev’s death - and his
creative passion lost from this world - still keeps
me cold in its clutches - with throat constricted I
face my quiet duties and life regulated in the

Silence of the Crocodile Castle…

Emissary Need

If you write every day without the need for emissary 

words - you’re freed to express those inward trends 

too gauche for the literati; as if you’re likely to share 

‘em ordinarily - but there are jewels & gems - some 

so rare polishing them blinds everyone equally - 

It is like learning to hear the subtlety in a tune when 

played by an ear too abstruse to be copy, original & 

out where the icons are first birthed - like measures 

the cognoscenti instantly recognise as unassailable 

and blend incontrovertibly into the soothing scene 

And then there’s the agenda team corresponding in 

their factotum sense of what matters, by expression 

and riposte, following an order digested as the best 

use of words within a tier of sustainable interjection 

where meanings and agreements are their rules 

In my trade the tools are an inner ear unaffected by 

hot air and raucous discontent - the rhythm is leant 

upon originality freed of onomatopoeic contempt or 

metric mutuality & there’s no ‘agenda’ I’m aware of  

excepting the refreshingly fey freedom to be me 

© 25 November 2016, I. D. Carswell 

Infinite Flow [Rev]

A swimsuit-hunt is never a happy event - trying on a
million swimsuits aiming to be inconspicuous in my
black camouflage, to fade into the background so I
can bathe in the sea rolling to and fro in the shallows
where sand fills my swimsuit until I look like the Oros-
colossus; ended up trying on a million swimsuits in 5
shops, finally bought the magic-making-me-disappear-
one at the 6th shop, but it offers no protection against
the high breakers in which I love to tumble, shopping
again, another million, then found an amazingly-awful

Garishly-coloured-design top to reinforce the weak
swimsuit - a most unnerving search as prerequisite
for the exquisite experience of bubbling waves; we’ll
also visit Conan, the Queen of Hearts & my Duchess
while there - mother dreams I’ll sing ‘I Will Follow Him’
to her piano accompaniment; dad looking frail yet de-
termined to keep boxes with suspicious contents next
to his bed - his delight on hearing his favourite music
while I tuck him in - I‘m weaving these scenes in my
virtual reality - strengthening the Positive Vibrations

To become a strong, beautiful design to bring about
my currently transparent visions in at least one of the
many parallel universe-tributaries into which our lives
keep flowing as ALL possibilities are fulfilled, and I’m
working with these thoughts to dominate all the others
which play out in the infinite flow of the never-ending
River Of Life…

[Song: “I Will Follow Him” song from “Sister Act” – Whoopi Goldberg]

Can’t Listen To

Concentrating on Madame La Pompadour’s mournful
face while she elaborates on her aches and pains so
that not a single rational conversation on world events
and theories or books is possible, such as I enjoy when
talking to Sister Sunshine & the Mother Abbess; is a sore
Christmas-lunch-trial for me, a sinner finding it difficult
to show love to her fellow human beings

I love all people in principle and the IDEA of loving and
helping them sounds so good, but the actual application
of this principle in reality is beyond me, I just can’t settle
down and listen to their rambling gossiping - raconteurs
without the art of irony or satire – so please let me learn
how to listen in the RIGHT way, I pray: please send me
intelligent, loving, conscious energy – teach me

To push my own ideas and theories away to concentrate
on my fellow human beings; I love conversation in writing,
no desultory idiocies and description of pets offered in an
inexpert way: I love talking on paper - because when it’s a
verbal interaction with body language in facial expression
filling in the details and my imagination doing the rest – I
lose interest finding it all so one-dimensional –

Especially when someone drones on in an unlovely voice,
it is so difficult to like voices deliberately made to sound
unmusical, while the speaker dissects life in a negative
way… now I’m rambling, let me stop – are you fed up
with me as I may sound like those I can’t listen to?

Sentence For Negligence

Two boys unloved, plucked from the school and
countryside they loved in Nonfiction Condensed,
I’m on the side of the boys whose parents had no
love for them in their hedonist life, the boys sent
off to boarding school, parents without honour or
a moral code, no integrity, taught no forgiveness,
the boys living with burning hearts - persecuted
by a father who lived the creed - ‘IT’s ALL about
ME’, an uncaring mother chasing excitement all
the time: horrible parents who deserved to die

Never taught their sons a moral code - never
gathered wisdom to bequeath to their kids, I’m
on the side of the wild, forlorn boys who killed
their useless parents - they should not have
been sentenced for a crime instigated by their
cruel, detestable parents, snuffing out the fire
of love & emotions in their sons, condemning
their souls to ruin and perdition caring ONLY
about wealth and a social lifestyle in which
children were unnecessary and unwelcome

The situation growing worse as the boys grew
up & realised how unloved they were compared
to other kids; detestable policemen who punish
the sons for the parents’ deeds - now my mind
finds reality grey and stale; a sad account of the
lonely lives of two little boys - a burden to their
happy-go-lucky parents, the boys judged for
a crime their parents prepared themselves by
living like faux socialites, they are lucky to be
dead - THEY should’ve received the death
sentence for negligence…

I Still Dream

Are my desires still delightful - though impossible:
to be Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice and
Miss Marple in frail sleuth beauty – to be at the ball
able to enjoy rock and roll - to win my appreciation
of myself, enjoy my own being without reference to

A point outside - to be in harmony with my soul and
strive to fulfil my own goal - without seeking anyone
else’s approval; I’m fighting with the soldiers in the
trenches, yet I still harbour the ideal of a wonderful
trip to Pixie Dell where I can fly with Tinker Bell and

Feel the wonderment of fairies visiting incredulous
human beings; of having fluttering transparent wings
which are carried by the North Wind who will prove
to be my friend – yes, these desires are still intact;
maybe to manifest as a play on stage, illusion and

The imagination; I still dream of merging with these
impossible dreams; I’m still fighting windmills with
Don Quixote – another ideal I will not let go; after
existing in readers’ minds for so long, he might be
alive, maybe Don Camillo is lovingly painting the

Image of the Baby Jesus and Comrade Peppone’s
helping him, claiming his belief Is beyond religion –
in the goodness of man and Jesus will agree with
him – my desires are still as wide as my reading &
reality is criss-crossed with silvery lines weaving

Our knowledge & stories into exciting new designs…

Mind Streams [Rev]

It was to be a treat - reading alternative theories
on the origin of the universe and different beings
from other dimensions and planets living with us,
looking for ideas on a hollow earth where lizards
& dragons give birth to reptiles, & shape-shifters
threaten us secretly; the author claims to receive
the information from his Oversoul… Lucky him,

My Oversoul never talks to me, it’s a construct in
fact, and could tell anybody anything with no way
of testing for veracity; everything has potential to
be true through our belief, & accordingly created,
so our ONLY challenge is deciding what we wish
to do: I wish to find the loving lines of reality - but
my mind seems to be hollow now…

I’m probably one of David Icke’s empty hologram
people without a soul - no wonder I’m depressed
on Icke’s earth, it is the universe’s bleakest place -
his visions appear as a nightmare mess of alien
lives & soulless humans, & I quickly leave before
I become embroiled in these threats to humanity -
though my own mind’s winding down, it still is

The entrance to my inner cathedral, & even when
I’m locked out because I dabbled too long in other
mind streams, it always opens up again and I can
chase beautiful thought-forms; and all the while -
using the mesmerising eyes of porcelain dolls as
the standard for the enjoyable illusions I create…

Her Exaltation

Why isn’t the world swirling with hope - why isn’t
the office bright in the expectation of the holidays
to come, I asked my Beloved who just shrugged;
a fellow soldier scoffed at my idea but she scoffs
at everything I say, shrinking me with a withering
look – scornful of my ideal to become a visionary
and look at dreams instead of the iron-clad reality
we live in; she offers darkness as living space

It provides a great background for lodestar dreams,
yet my desire is reconciliation, I regard her antipathy
as invitation to find the source of her discontent and
fear of life and freedom - fear to drive alone, fear of
admitting that ALL people are equal and individuals
are powerful in themselves; I interpret her symptoms
of dependence as I have problems with it also, I see
how the soldier next to me navigates life’s trenches

Hiding herself in the glory of her hero & referring to
him as the godliness determining her life’s purpose,
her illusion of his grandeur exalting her as cherished
treasure of her Prince, while I pledged my allegiance
to the Lord and Master of the Crocodile Castle - who
gave me my own jalopy with which to instil fear in the
unwary slackers on the road - the soldier next to me
lives under a safe coverlet - without interfering kids

Maybe she loves her exaltation so much, she does
not care about freedom and empowerment…

Converse With Me [R]

The reason for my unhappiness is ‘Orwellian
Crimestop’ practiced by my ethical colleagues
enjoying the protective stupidity of deciding to
accept everything taught by propaganda and
brainwashing while I’m a sceptic, too curious
to believe just anything: there’s only 1 kind of
truth, intersubjective consensus & it changes
with political expediency, Belief IS the logical

Basis for the self-created reality we live in and
since the culture & religion I was born in used
religion to propagate hatred & racism, it’s clear
gods are created by humanity’s desire for any-
thing that furthers selfish interest, this train of
thought is ignored by those who blindly follow
leaders taking their power & freedom away,
brilliant minds are flat and one-dimensional

Refusing to look at alternatives to the current
paradigm, safely ensconced in this protective
stupidity - the sad thing is they are bored and
repelled by seemingly apostate thinking - they
live passionately according to the categorical
imperatives of  working hard, so wonderful to
see - the only problem is that nobody ever
wants to converse with me…

The Dunce’s Behest [R]

I.              The Dunce’s Behest [R]

A story - leading to the ultimate in humility,
because she chose to be the dunce in class
she serves under the dunces of the universe,
when she has taken 30 mile steps she must
stop and retrace every league at the dunce’s
behest, this story will not lead to glory since
she doesn’t know how to formulate a request
for improved conditions and respect, how to

Escape the smothering strangulation of those
unable to follow her logic & now she doesn’t
trust herself any more, everything she sees,
does, thinks and encounters is tarnished by
her corroding touch, her vibration slows so
only grey registers on her emotional scale as
she has to look up to pugnacious nuns trying
to tread on her fingers from time to time, and

She realises her fingers are crushed - as she
has ignored her emotional feedback system
her whole life long, her emotions solidified into
a flat plateau where nothing matters and even
less happens, another 5 years imprisonment
before she can escape purgatory under well-
meaning but presumptions nuns trying their
best to administer the lessons in humility she

Requested to purge her from desire and
refine her dreams; there’s nothing here for
her except criticism so her existence serves
as the platform from which the nuns get off
to get their daily dose of self-emulation and
glorification, she understands at  last - being                                                                      cast as the Ugly Duckling forever is not the

Fun it seemed to be in a world of fairy tales….

Threatened By Dreams

I’m listening not caring what I’m hearing, nothing
makes sense, nothing leads anywhere - we just
drift on the waters of eventuality -with no end in
sight - we have a state-capturing President and
America has a Trumpeting Trumpster heading
for the White House: I’m drifting in

The empty lanes of mediocrity, translating with
no prize to give meaning to assembly-lane work,
so I concede I’ve nothing to say, nothing to give,
nothing to contribute, the role I play – what is it?
I’m a nonentity, nothing to achieve, no ideal as
lode-star: it doesn’t matter what I feel –

Or what YOU feel, what anybody says - we have
a Zumadimi-Dudukini-Malema-dilemma and the
guru I like most declares the Donald as amazing
victor in the sweepstakes of creating through focus
and dreams: now I feel threatened by my dreams…

Life-giving Green

NO challenge, no hurdles, no accomplishment, and
now it doesn’t matter because the rain is washing
away all sorrows, the threatening drought is more
important than my ear-ache and depression facing
bleak words that carry me right back to the age of
9 when lessons on the merino sheep drove me to
despair, the same despair rears its head as this
existential phytosanitary text runs on roasting my
mind and shriveling my spirit, mute I’m laying my
head under a guillotine of grey auditors reinforcing
the work of the Dementors trying to suck all joy out
of my soul; determined to follow my via Dolorosa
to the end and continue my Pilgrim’s Progress I
feel my heart shrinking and my emotions dying,
step-by-step I descend into Hades, yet right now
it’s raining and everything else disappears in the
the joy of sheer survival and life-giving green

As You Want Me To

I hope I can stay down and resigned, that no false
joy or illusionary delight draw my focus away from
the blackness of our economy - from plummeting
markets and my own aches and pains & may I be
preserved from counting my blessings because

That is blasphemy unheard, may I stay in the dark
realm of unhappiness to save you from frustration
of a cheerful me – what a cross that must be! – to
keep following in your depressing footsteps, echo
your forebodings and soothsaying of an eternal

Drought in the heart, the shame of being unprepared
for comfortable income and easy years - yes, let me
sink my head and never lift my eyes, let me keep my
gaze firmly fixed on the anxious thoughts that inspire
our painful walk through life - may this absolute

Depression replace my hateful aggression - so I can
sigh and cry and be sad all the time - just as you
want me to….

Survive My Life

Deaf on the left - my left ear & learning state
capture isn’t clear - not clear enough to stop
capturers from continuing with illegal ousting
of honest people, and you complaining loud-
ly about losing your pension – finance being

Your sole interest in life at present; - robbed
me from the pleasure of browsing in a local
shop for suitable tops - I don’t care so much
that the country’s falling apart, your reaction
to this event causes the injury that smarts -

You rant and rave making me feel guilty for
trying to save my inflammatory left ear - for
living & breathing, then obtaining medicine,
the only short-term relief I know is watching
the most notorious killers in Britain, taking

Comfort that 1 day a mass murderer might
also help me to close my eyes for the last
time to become consciousness freed from
the isolation of being the failed bureaucrat
whose circumspect colleagues treat her as

An anomaly, imagination equating her to a
most abhorred incumbent in administrative
circles & do you know how awful it is to be
shunned by GOOD people? - - rejected for
not able to do routine assembly-line work

In a way that improves life since I’m also
plagued by existential crises and a brain
like a black hole-sieve that shunts all facts
into a pensieve before properly realising
what important terms mean, how could

My life descend into such a low sphere,
how did I estrange many GOOD people,
how selfish am I that others can never
confide their troubles to me? -- T’is the
end and I admit that I never got it right

Yet my spiritual website tells we can’t get
it wrong as we never get it done because
evolution is eternal, developing to Infinity
so there is no ending –let me continue to
thwart those who claim to know it all, not

To punish them, only to survive my life…

One Thin Shard

In quiet stupefaction I watch as my body
language as well as irrelevant or the most
unsuitable remarks destroy my life, I simper,
whimper and sigh until no positive feeling
remains in my breast, with a ballistic ear
directing my disposition & attitude through
pain, I watch horrified as even the basic
forms of interaction disintegrate, either

My body is a stranger to me or my mind
has gone haywire; sitting in 30 degree
Celsius as our old friend the ancient air-
con broke down again in the middle of an
overheated season - despondent, I can’t
visualize myself normal again & carry on
acting like a simpering simpleton saying
the most outrageously stupid things, so

Inappropriate my colleague’s endeavoring
to survive by ignoring the idiotic remarks
that keep jumping out of my mouth like the
thorns and thistles in the fairytale of the
girl who damned herself - why does my
mind keep breaking into pieces and only
one thin shard’s left for trying to do my
work and live my life?

My Oversoul-Self

Finally it struck me that there’s no such thing as “non-
being” & this is the key to understanding everything, I
thought existing was a victory over the defeat of being
dead forever; but it’s wrong since the physical world is
an illusion in which all particles only play a certain role

But when the show is over, the particles accept a new
role: consciousness is eternal within the vibrations we
interpret as the 3-dimensional hologram through these
laser-like lights produced by the brain cells - whatever
happens - non-existence is impossible, every thought,

Every theory, assumption and supposition we have ever
had is realised somewhere in the fractal multitude of our
realities; every dream, hallucination or virtual scene has
a place in some alternate universe where a suppressed
part of our consciousness fulfills all the dreams we tried

To hide from ourselves and the most wonderful thing is -
nothing we ever thought remains unspoken or unfulfilled
because every thought has a life of its own: the variable
in every choice finds its home someplace and we meet
up with the preferred outcome in a new version of the

Inter-subjective parts of reality we share - so let me not
lament the circumstances of my life as there is another
version of my reality where every rejected thought has
been carried out & so my choice of reality is based on
a myriad of possibilities that were analysed, weighed

And rejected by my Oversoul-Self…

All My Years [Rev]

A slow tortoise I divide each legal sentence into
small bits, check terms against each alternative
and paste the whole together again, knowing it
must be checked also after phrases have been
joined in the new synergy of another language

Without previous experience it’s hit-and-miss as
I choose what seems right to my inexperienced
eye, when it becomes just too much I read some
paragraphs in Pratchett’s Last Continent & enjoy
a Housekeeper’s victory over learned Wizards

Who are embarrassed when she teaches the god
of evolution about natural procreation so replacing
the slow process when assembling unique beings
piece by piece, many layers of meaning fascinate
with Evolution & Creationism theories juxtaposed

As gloriously unsubstantiated assumptions given
empirical positivism versus consciousness as the
driving principle of every precise detail - amazing
humanity in lying beyond a blind chaos of simple,
repetitive million-to-one-odds creative processes

Time slows down and I’m forever stuck in my now,
maybe it’s the portal spirituals always define as the
only reality - an eternal moment in which my spirit
will be stuck on one wavelength until a miraculous
subconscious movement to another wavelength –

To do this I listen to the most beautiful voice I can
find to silence my thoughts & touch my heart, with
this beautiful sound in my ears, I can live through
all my years spent in this infinity….

Follow The Light [Rev]

A sad solo floats on by as the lonely soloist, haughtily
disdained by a strong Valkyrian mezzo-soprano who
just deals with slain heroes to be shuttled to the Feast
in the Sky with Ho-to-yo; sings: ‘Think of me - think of
me fondly when we’ve said goodbye’ – a soft echo in
the empty stairwell where she’s stumbling, distraught

Scorned as ingénue by the noble sisters of a cloister
where words are slaughtered in a menacing silence,
never a song is heard, she flees to hide from the con-
demning Abbess‘ eyes and from Sister Self-Justified
ignoring Christine into non-existence; their disregard
destroy faith and trust so she has to leave this place

Finding refuge in her Favourite Things, images from
Nanny McPhee & Tinker Bell Fairy Dell supply proof
that Good exists, although the arrows of disdain find
their mark, life is sad as spinning straw the only way
she can CANNOT endear her to the Holy See & she
leaves in a dream sheltering in her inner cathedral

Where cloister-ideas are just a virtual reality without
Valkyries, where Indra’s pearls as mystical symbols
glimmer and glow, uniting light & sound in a joyous
new perspective within the understanding that dark-
ness is required as background to enable mankind
to find and follow the Light

Telling My Story [Rev]

The benevolent atmosphere, industrious dedication
of my colleagues and the kindness of our Boss who
lives in his own man-cave which I glimpse from time
to time; he asks what gives meaning to life, & I reply
the mere fact of existence, the triumph of being over
destruction and nothingness, the victory of our being

Free to choose where we go and what we do, playing
and challenges provide fun & our seeking adventure;
watching how people fall about on skate-boards and
jump from roof-tops and drive bicycles over the abyss
and somersault with speedboats and snow-mobiles -
life is more vibrant than ever and internationally the

Gloves are off, people don’t hide behind respectable
masks but present as blunt as Trump - the amazing
energy which infuses every day with new intrigues -
life’s purpose is JOY, growth happens automatically,
just to BE is our victory - even when we lament the
choices we have made everything can be changed

Every painting can be redone, every concert is the
stepping stone for a new twist in every tale weaving
new perspectives into the myths we still adore, and
though feelings come and go, by meditating on this
I floated downstream feeling the glory of telling my
story as a new discovery of the imagination people

Offer us - and refuge in which to recharge our life…

Crown of Thorns

I thought my brain was frozen like my
heart – but now I find my brain is made
of stone useless for analytic computer,
my brain fails - anxiety the bane of my
life - completely defenseless against
arrogance, open threat & aggression

Coming from a perfect saint teaching
creed to the Pharisees of Jerusalem
as she has never made a mistake in
her life – as she believes - and has a
mission to burn me at the stake since
I’m a heathen Pratchett acolyte who

Claims we made up the gods & that
includes her god also - thus Sisters
Self-Righteous and Apartheid-Jane
find it offensive that I use their divine
godliness in prayer and obtain results
YET I refuse to bow to church creed

I’m a bent reed Christ refused to break
BUT now they’ll show Him how they’ll
crucify the sinner they identified & I’m
as mute before my divine persecutors
as Christ was – though anxiety makes
my muscles twitch – and wonder now

Did Christ with his Crown of Thorns –
feel the same?

Line Of Notes (c)

Cast as Jane Eyre’s friend Helen Burns
persecuted by Miss Scatcherd - I listen to
the Nutcracker Suite over my earphones
and read advice not to observe life as it is,
but imagine it as I want it to be - I escape
into a parallel reality, another dimension

Where an orchestra plays the prelude to
La Traviata and Marie Plessis explains to
Victor Hugo’s son she can’t live in a rural
town, she needs to be in the lively hub of
Parisian life even if it kills her through her
serious illness, but Jane Eyre returns and

Reveals her sister Maria died within the
death of Helen Burns – I had better try it
again and take a different tack to follow
a new dream - sing Les Oiseaux dans la
Charmille in Hoffman’s Magical Tales, the
Doll Song - so I become an automaton

Who translates strange documents which
change in front of my hallucinating eyes in-
to droll incantations harnessing the power
in sound to redo reality until my spirit sings
a jubilant line of notes in a bittersweet song…

Nothing More

This day has splintered into a thousand pieces,
I constructed another bubble to hide my mind
from the fall-out and continue working, but then
the bubble was burst for me and I’m constrained
to construct yet another one, even more fragile
than anything that came before, to enable me to
stay upright and continue until it’s time to go home

Constructing bubbles is the only way I know that
makes it possible to continue when my world
keeps breaking like the most delicate porcelain
and I wonder if plastic would be a better option,
precious materials like glass and porcelain break
into shards and my heart is pierced every time it
happens, please stop trying to improve me –

I’ve had a lifetime of trying to improve myself & the
result is totally disheartening, there is only one way
correction can come, that is death and starting over
with a new mind and a new brain mechanism, a new
reptilian core unmarked by these failures that have
continued to plague me from earliest youth, please
just accept that I am trying my best - though

The result is never good enough, it’s all I have to
give - there is nothing more in my arsenal…

Near Nirvana [Rev]

Its soft as prime, glossy silk and rounded like the
finest wine or the taste of real maple syrup - now
the at least three weeks adrenaline storm which
ransomed me, is over, peace returns and I hope
to reach my inner cathedral from which a cocktail
mix banned me with overpowering feelings - tight
screws about my head loosen: Nici’s back, finally

My heart’s emotions release their suffocating hold,
I’m sitting here in her chaotic room breathing again,
viewing her photographs - she and brother playing
a card game; all’s well, the world’s uprighted itself,
my hideous headache’s gone, she’s safe, the tight
muscles relax and I can now eat and breathe in an
unalloyed joy of having my daughter home

Soft rain falling outside accentuates the wonder of
the time; she hasn’t changed, still the same bright
little one-person explosive ball of energy, suddenly
food and drink taste good again and I feel freedom
of being - all because she has returned with all her
bravado & cheek, smiling then laughing at us, my
darling child; now adrenaline overflow subsides

Velvet peace replacing effervescent sparkles that
smashed me in waves of anxiety now takes me as
near Nirvana as I’ll ever be…

Fantasies In The Air [Rev]

A puppet show theatre where my Jane Austin
& Charlotte Brontë symbolic dolls amuse the
mind - thus lunch hour turns into play-time as
I drape pink fabric for curtains, adding a silver
carnival mask as a theatrical prop

The dolls are waving to me, I try to ascend my
chair with a long jump because it tips forward
& I fall off as if Pegasus refuses to stand still
for the rider to mount & fly off into the sunset,
my chair runs on wheels, one misstep means

Falling on the floor, then I see a broken lilac fan
& hang it on top to replace the pink curtains; add
my smiling wooden dolls to the cast in my small
theatre, now with my mind refreshed and teasing
dreams hovering on the threshold of my thoughts

I turn away from my play to confront the pages I
must relay into a different tongue - but as a last
touch - drape a pink cloth over my mobile air-con,
my blue fairy as snow queen amid white roses &
yellow highlighter as a sunbeam bringing hope

To my little make-believe world - held within these
pastel colours I bravely wrestle with my text while
Saint-Saëns twinkle fairy notes on a piano & Bach
provide languid harpsichord lines in my ears - both
weaving fantasies in the air…

The Way Back [Rev]

The world I know is finally changing, Barbarians
are rising against the current order - we’ll return
to primitive forms of society soon - where peace
& calm exist, and beauty will be chased without
disciplinary restraints & impediments; in the USA
an overgrown orange barbarian already aspires
for Presidency - in Southern Africa the barbarians
are currently ruling, while happy idiots called

Students are gregariously burning down all the
institutions of learning to ensure Africa will stay
undeveloped, and that the Northern Hemisphere
keeps its advantage; how lucky that the languid
boredom of law and order is replaced by exciting
chaos - which is joyous news - otherwise history
would stop & what a boring world that would be,
let Presidents’ return us to primitive forms of

Living since technology is destroying the world,
let’s enjoy the Banana Republic as the only way
to free Africa of the shackles of technology and
return a pristine Africa to its original inhabitants
who see Mugabe’s Zimbabwe as the way back
to an unspoiled past; how happy this makes me,
life is getting better as students destroy every-
thing to prove their freedom & free we shall be

The New Burkini [Rev]

Our Managing Director calls to everyone: Look
at her strange attire – I am battling the freezing
office conditions until the sun rises - wearing a
black burka blouse and scarf, sleeveless black
lace jacket & black school jersey - also

The large, green fleecy jacket of an Irish goblin
and a magnificent magenta blanket over my so
amazing ensemble, all laughing and remarking
on my bare feet – I stand all day so shoes are
uncomfortable and I forgot to bring socks -

Peace restored, drinking hot chocolate brings
heat and I ditch the paraphernalia till only the
black burka top and magenta blanket are left -
I dream of bathing in the sea, clad in the new
Burkini* covering me from top to toe, though

My Afrikaans brethren might succumb to severe
shock on seeing this Dutch-decendant looking
just like a radical Muslim suicide bomber rolling
in the waves, the Burkini protecting me against
the ravages suffered in traditional swimsuits

Sighing I stop day-dreaming & return to the
very exciting and inspiring “Legal aspects
of human settlements” text...


[*Burkini – a burka-bikini covers all except the face;
the Mayor of Paris immediately forbade it as it is
dangerous to swim in street clothes]