POEMS: Time Concept, Worthless, Tall Dream, Widowed Dreams, The Coloured Sheep, Own to Owe, Cheats & Fools of Africa


Six seeds of time dropped from its void,
They arrived as miniatures of old cut-out foil.
Once here they germinated into its concept;
Those half dozen hideous monsters we accept.

They search for the lovely maiden in man.
In her flowery easy gown she now ran
Towards the mirror at the end of time,
Where ends all life-sweet misery’s crime.

First time they caught up with her in a pool.
As she bathes they unleashed their fierce tool;
The devouring mystic swamp behind their teeth
Swallowed the whole lake’s water in a breath.

Then they missed her in the air’s grip,
As she flew in a dream with her sleep.
Again their devouring teeth slashed all wide,
And ate the skies winds as she fell off to hide.

She found the drawn carriage and rode it,
In hot pursuit they caught up and bit at it.
The transport means and yield it coughs up,
And land the horses pulled, they chewed all up.

Lastly the depth of earth sneeze its protection
And its molten heat threw out its combustion.
Though it covered her all up, they still did more;
Devoured fire’s fury and left her alone for sure.

She made it to that final aged tunnel of the old
And had to walk its slow dense forest alone bold.
Behind her, the quick hunger of time reaches on;
The future’s uneasy peace mirrored unknown.

Just as she did make it and melt inside it,
The milky embrace silvery end didn’t admit;
The monsters that had made her their bait,
All six; love, pain, joy, sorrow, need and hate.

She ends the long journey just as she began,
As a little helpless babe time held in its hand.
Time will always be a bountiful bondless chain,
Releasing yet holding its ever shortening reign.


What profits this mind,
To its end it never finds.
When it says its heart’s pain
It looses the grip of its chains.

Am I always on trial,
My soul alone on its isle?
I am mindful more than less
That is the value of the worthless.


Closed eyes clasp the warm darkness,
Shutting out the silvery glow of the moon smile.
The cantata contest invade with its happiness,
Carrying all in the still air of the mating mile.

Oh how simple the peace of this revelry,
The mind and ears wonder the vastness of it all.
Clinging on sanity with man’s overt mystery,
Wishing all love melts into this dream so tall.


What claims have dreams, each on its scale?
One solemn day they all see and they fail;
The egg they lay carries another’s shell.

Thank goodness for a glance at posh’s hell,
When lust toyed with life’s curtains’ rail;
Behold the widowed dreams yet trail.


Bah, bah black sheep, they always point you;
Wolf in your clothing or something ever new.

Rainbow and gold pot in your closet is true,
If you’re concerned, skies aren’t ever blue.

The skeletons you cupboard are there for show,
Honeycombed for Bees, you Bearnessly shoo!


I have always wondered
What goes through the mind
Of the infant we so conceive?

If he know he is or if he was
And how then I can never tell
If he wanted or wish to need?

I need not wonder to know
All about the known conceivers;
Their want, wish and need they say.

I know the person as a being;
His want, his wish, his need.
These same I didn’t know before.

I couldn’t tell before he is,
From where he is or has been.
His hopes are all lost to me.

I then can not justify
All this favour I’ll do him;
If I do know he knows not.

If it is all I, mine and me;
His life ever has been mine
To want, to wish, to make?

I owe him more than knowledge!
What is more human and selfish
Than to owe who you own?


To a mass we wore those frowns again,
Webbing lines on our brows with pain.
These insects spanned and trapped we are,
Drunken hulks with secular cheats we spar.


Were you named as you sat on a shelf?
Who named you what you call yourself?
Are you really what you say you are?
Or basically you just turned out as you are?

Every man has only his fingers and toes
And they are to be thanked for all numbers.
His logic of senses beyond his own shores
Made perception a bias heap of blunders.

When the timing of the African’s existence
Is entirely based on another race’s perception,
Then his foolish identity by every instance,
Likens his time; another European conception.