Strange And Awesome In 3 Parts

Part 1

I should be translating depressing President letters –
but whereas I feel lost and guilty when there is no work
on my desk; having depressing work I feel rebellious and
fancy-free and surf the web happily and guilt-free, feeling
forgiven and justified by having to RUN for LIFE from the
work texts threatening me. When my I am given too much
work at once, work that makes me cringe, I feel absolved
when I write poetry – because the mountain of menacing
documents is driving me crazy and I HAVE to escape –
so my survival depends on poetry. And without work on
my desk and no need to flee, I can’t think of any poetry!

Isn’t this strange –  and awesome –  at the same time?


Part 2

Just remember, sweet-talking one, too many macadamias
made you ill last time and by sweet-talking I refer to your
rhyming, alliterative, assonance lines; wonderful poem, all
onomatopoeia; beware the slow-roasting delight by which
you are digging your own grave, and thank you for your
kind trust in me; being successful will cost me my life or
at least my spirit, already I feel it rising out of my mind
to leave me empty and sad as I fight a senseless boredom
of forlorn legislative administrative mind-numbing lines….


Part 3

I envisage how I clamour for help from colleagues who
think I’m brain-dead and how I just ask everybody who
knows Afrikaans legislation to help me find the correct
terms, taking my sweet time to get the threatening text
done; after hanging myself given the sad slow pace of
my lack-of-progress through depressing President letters,
after being guillotined for displeasing Scorpio, Lord and
Master of the Crocodile Castle, and after you tut-tutted
me and failed to show befitting sorrow at my envisaged
Via Dolorosa - aha, this macabre piece of Bizarre Horror
makes me feel ever so much better now!

The Look Of Weltschmerz [REV.]

 

Drawing eyes for myself is all well and good, but
the gel eyeliner pencil is called Smudge and this is
what it does, smudges a dark sad sheen with a hint
of sleepless nights in purple sacks below my eyes

Making me look like a vampire with bad make-up
technique or an addict after a night in a heroin den,
I can see my eyes but it’s not an encouraging sight,
this might the last time I try – unless someone

Assures me the look of weltschmerz is becoming,
reminding of Violetta’s long-drawn-out end-scene
demise in La Traviata, even resembling Goethe’s
Faust’s Gretchen in prison - now I look as sombre

As the Mona Lisa without the strange half-smile
Da Vinci used to create the illusion her mouth is
moving, I have changed into the Gothic Morticia
of the Addams Family with smudged blackness

Around my eyes – guess I’d rather have no eyes
than floating around looking Gothic all the time

Stella - Happy Birthday!

You don’t turn four often Stella, tho’ we’ll make 

this allowance for you on your special day - it’s 

your’s to settle whether you pause here or just 

hurdle zillions of years on your ethereal way to 

becoming the alluring goddess you’ve already 

commenced expressing - glimpses suggest its 

no passing fantasy, that it’s there for all to see 

or be enchanted thru in your mercurial smile

Your sisters too are graciously blessed though 

on this day they’ll attest it is you centre-stage - 

with parents beguiled such loveliness pro tem 

isn’t the young lady’s sublime passing fantasy, 

but a gracious statement of fact and, similarly, 

will be passed on to bless the rest of ‘em … 

© 11 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

May I Rest In Peace [REV.]

Nici overjoyed, after the call she has a new job,
she was afraid of being unemployed, scared of
losing her love, starving to death on her own as
she aged all alone; her eyes sparkled in delight

Now with a new job no fears are left - only how to
arrange early departure from the studio to start
immediately; so glad for my daughter I forgot the
rules that make life work, referred to a time

When the Lord & Master of Crocodile Castle left
me because I seemed to have lost my job - this
was an error - Scorpio King had to involuntarily
lash out & sting me, angrily declaring I was out

Of line, it was all my fault we broke up for a time;
sighing I mantle myself in deep, dark guilt, march
to the guillotine & beheading for misdeeds of my
youth again - quietly I lay my head on the block

Close my eyes as my head is lopped - a fitting
end for big, bad, evil me; & thus may the world
be protected from me - may I rest in peace…

[11 August 2014]

Seeking My Demise [REV.]

Sitting amongst a Calvinistic work force in the
translation section - receiving mind vibrations
of workmates shaking their heads on learning
its my duty to translate a ‘Manual For Access
To Information’ into Afrikaans

I’m shell-shocked, not my field of expertise, I
abhor boring legal admin procedure intensely,
this is my ticket to hell, the descent to a depth
of despair that has never been reached by a
human being; maybe if I embrace darkness

Learn how to bear my cross it can become a
spiritual journey - a Pilgrim’s Progress to be
completed in sorrow; - every sweet word can
be interpreted a multitude of ways - but only
ONE term is right, the Afrikaans language is

All rules & tightened corsets pressing the life
out of you; already my breathing is affected -
hives & swollen glands on the way, how am
I to be grateful for love’s painful labour to a
maternal language personified in Demons

seeking my demise, plotting my end?

[11 August 2014]

With great Dignity [REV.]

Making Trinchado, meat stewed in a sauce
of Worcestershire sauce, Balsamic vinegar,
red wine and brandy, but my meat dish kept
separately - these ingredients would wreak
havoc with my system, yet

Like a wide-eyed child I shadow my beloved
as he prepares this exotic dish, excited by the
strangeness - quite resigned that I can’t eat it,
I wrote down the recipe as he read it from the
Internet, the Prelude to La Traviata

Playing on the radio - fitting for people like me
remaining outside normal events - at least I’m
good at ageing, tried singing in deep contralto,
though not exactly right - but life seems more
liveable as we grow as old as a pair

Of weathered crocodiles, I shall pour myself a
glass of whisky & soda, celebrate my seniority
and hope I remember not to run when leaving
the office building in the evening - but to walk
stately - with great dignity - instead…

[10 August 2014]

[11 August 2014 - upon reflection,  I prefer to leave at a run, 
waving and singing whatever song comes into my head, 
I shall not strive for dignity as yet...]

Nostalgic Smile (REV.)

I have no eyes - looked into the mirror but
couldn’t find them - found a gel eye-pencil,
started to draw serious eyes on my face,
wanted to see these eyes when catching
my own reflection somewhere

The intricate and tricky operation made me
realise my smile has changed - I’d tried to
smile in delight just like my paper-doll lying
next to my bed - but my smile is different:
seeing my eyes missing gave me the grace

To accept we age; there’s no going back -
there’s always more ahead than we’ve left
behind, thus I’m going to practice drawing
eyes for myself until there are no smudges
left  and I can feel totally content with

My older, wiser, nostalgic smile…