Little Children


What is happening to this world?

Brother against brother we stand.


I see a playground

and on it, little children:

brothers and sisters

fighting over a Father’s love.

One Father, many children, one family.


I see a playground

and on it, little children:

the bullies and the victims,

fighting over their differences.

Some invited in, others cast out.


I see a playground.

On it, just little children:

the popular and the unpopular,

fighting over the right

to be on this playground.


Who decided this?




The playground didn’t change much,

nor the rules of the game.

Neither did we.

We are the children of yesterday.


I see you, men and women:

Yesterday’s children,

fighting over land that is not yours.

Deciding fates, directing lives

you do not own.


Creation –

Humans, animals, plants, water, land.

You are stewards of these, not owners.

Never forget.


Beware little children,

for time is a fragile thing,

like wings of a butterfly on the wind.

Do not stray, little children,

for time is a sharp-edged sword.


So, play nicely, little children.










On the surface beyond which no one looks –

a calm ocean,

a mirrored plane,

life continual.


The surface of my skin

may crack under melancholy and strain,

but perhaps even that

passes unseen.


The surface of my heart

in darkness waits –

untouched, yet guarded,

for love’s tender touch.


For only your touch –

key turned in lock,

at destiny’s feet

will move the surface of my soul.




Om te dig/ To write Poetry


(English version of poem at bottom of page)

Ek wil dig

van die dag

toe digtery

my gedagtes bevry het.


Ek dag ek kan dig,

elke gedagte vaspen,

maar daai een gedagte

sit vas in my pen.


Waar dan heen?

Wanneer dan?

Dis waar

wanneer die waarheid uitkom.


Soms bly ek staan.

Daar is sommiges, te dig om te verstaan

waaroor ek dig.

So, ek laat staan hulle maar.


So ‘n gejaag na wind

wat waai waar hy wil.

Hy waai my

na my wil.


Gister het ons nog gedink, gedog,

geweet, maar weer vergeet.

More sal ons weer probeer,

maar dan weet ons nie meer nie…


To Write Poetry

I want to write poetry

about the day


freed my thoughts


I thought I could compose,

pin down every thought,

but that one thought

is stuck in my pen.


Where to then?

When, then?

It’s true

when the truth comes out.


Sometimes I just stand.

There are some, too thick to understand

what I write about.

So, I just leave them standing.


All is just a chase after wind

that blows where it will.

It blows me

toward my will.


Yesterday we were thinking, we thought,

knew, but then forgot again.

Tomorrow we’ll try again,

but then we won’t know anymore…



The Lady leaves her seat,

Gracefully approaching from afar.

Attention piqued,

She gently descends from her celestial home.


She rides the wind bareback across the skies,

Waving her lightning sceptre.

In one fickle sweep

She throws her purple cloak over land and sea.


The tempest rages!

It is her right!

She flings hail, like pearls from broken string

as she rips it from her neck in a moment’s fury.


An attempt to subdue her

Is like trying to hold the wind in your arms –


She is above you.


But when her anger is spent,

She retires to her den

To end her tirade

In tears across plains.



It ‘s the wind blowing through desert sands,

It’s the sound of a song,

The heartbeat of a dreamer.


The sun’s tender hand strokes my cheek,

Little dust children play around my feet

As I journey on paths unknown.


Small steps become many miles.

On wind’s song my heart travels to greet my future –

Un-thought, unspoken,

To wait for me at life’s final destination.


Or, perhaps not.

Perhaps, merely a port

Where I will rest my weary head for a moment’s respite,

Before the wind blows me away to foreign shores

Where dreams are yet unborn,

And stories are yet untold.


Still, I will journey.

I will walk on,

Never to stop.


As the ebb and flow of time moves us in this delicate dance,

All will dissolve into finality,

Only to endure into eternity.


And we will be here, you and I,

With our laughs and tears,

On our bench at journey’s end.


But for now I will say my goodbyes,

For my journey is not yours,

And yours is not mine.




Guest (A thought’s Visit)


You came in through my window –

A bird,

A boyish lover.

You swung your legs over the sill

And sat there, smiling at me.


You came to share my day.

I helped you inside.

We lost our footing

And lay there on the floor, laughing.

We drowned in each other’s hugs and kisses.


You took my hand and we snuck out

To wander through streets

And run through fields,

Breathlessly chasing the day

Until it pushed us back inside.


I held you close.

You watched me while I slept.

When time came for you to go,

Your whisper softly touched my ear,

Leaving love’s final caress.


I don’t know when you left,

Or where you went.

You just disappeared,

Dissolved with the night and the air

As dawn laid the table for the new day.


Will I see you again?

I do not know,

For you were only mine for a day,

And yet forever mine alone.



In darkness we move.

We pass one another in the night.

The pendulum slowly swings,

The clock slowly ticks,

The sword slowly lifts, readying its strike.

Slowly it moves – a restless predator,

Stalking you, distorted creatures of darkness.


The ship will slowly turn from its course.

When the pendulum returns,

When the clock stops,

When the blade falls –

On which side will you be, creature of darkness?

When the destination is changed and the final course plotted,

Will you be present?


In this, the soul’s darkest hour,

You will not see it coming,

But come, it will.

In the darkness, time waits.


When is the darkest hour of the soul?

If the soul is our will, wants and emotions, our humanity –

Is it when we’ve lost our humanity? Is it when we stop caring? When we carelessly begin to rip each other to shreds? Is it when we sell our soul?

When have we sold our soul?

Is it when we let go of our own free will – our will to live, to resist injustice, to do what is right?

Is it when we relinquish our wants – On the one hand, did we become so saturated, so over-fed on the good life, the easy life, that we “want for nothing”? Or, perhaps on the other hand, some of us have suffered want in some shape or form for such an extended period of time, that we now believe ourselves unworthy of the right to want anything – care, love, even respect?

When have our emotions and our humanity been sacrificed?

Is it when we’ve become so stunted that we cease to feel, to have empathy? Or, is it perhaps when we’ve let our emotions run so freely that we cannot make any room for someone else to exist? In the end we’re left only with the ego.

Perhaps it is all of these. When our humanity and empathy dies, and hope is lost, what are we but distorted creatures of darkness? We can only move away from the darkness when we turn our gaze, hearts and hands to the lost, hurting and rejected. These are the thoughts that increasingly plague me. Like a ship, headed for a destination, I find myself slowly turning. Change can be slow. It is frustrating when one still sits in life’s classroom, being prepared for an unknown purpose. You want to get out there! I only know I cannot sit by and do nothing.

I look around me and I see that our darkest hour is now.