Night sounds.

Frogs chanting through the fulcrum of the night. These last four poems have all been written in response to my reading of a wonderful book of poems by Silke Heiss, called Sweet nothings. At the end of these incredible poems, she invites one to write ones own poems of a similar nature. so I have…

Storm dance.

Winds roar, clouds billow, rains swirls great dances of the ancient womb, through the waterways and vleis, up the wise mountains and dunes, I can hear the rhythm of the steps, hear the silence of the dance, as the storm skips heartily over the mountains, over the sea, to dance another time in another place.


Waking , stretching, yawning, opening the curtains: Metal grey morning light, shrouded in a gray mist, slowly meandering into fluffy clouds; turning pink, Egyptian geese begin to honk excitedly doves angelic slow low songs, resonate through the colours of dark blue; while squirrels start to dart along the branches of the tree, doves slowly drift…


Shaken by the sound of more ice cracking, into unborn futures of sunken societies. Water seeping , falling into drying earth, cracks appear, trees are struggling. My great tree fights off infestations, looses its leaves, throughs new green shoots in the heat of dispear.

On topology II.

Shyly the sun peaks out between houses, flickering through the huge old tree, warming me, as I sit watching it start its daily journey; growing in the spirit of this hot summers day.

Natures song

and if I feel a song rizing through the cool mist bringing sustenance to the parched world around my cooled smiling face, then I know that my garden and I are twining into a soul world of song and dance, and I feel the soul rise as the leaves begin to perk up from their…

Bare feet

Walking a rhythm, no shoes on my feet, I begin to pick up thoughts feel the life pulsing upward, as I plant myself perfectly still, feeling wisdom, hearing the breeze whispering through the leaves and I stand at attention drinking in our dwindling natuarl world, seeing a consummate manifestation of the universe rich, but troubled.


The breaze russels the leaves of the great tree, I sit under the tree, listening, looking out at the mirage hovering at the horison, drinking in the mystic rhythms of the tree’s ecosystem in the steamy coolness of the midday sun, as I slowly doze off into infinity.

Concrete tears.

The tree stands between two house, pushing in on it, causing it to be trimmed further back, having its sides shaved, it is drowning in concrete , leaves fallin in anquish as pests attack, leaving black tears running down ancient growth, slowly blocking this great store of wisdom.

Pruning towards wisdom

I push on through the undergrowth of a huge tree, slowly opening up the way cutting away dead growth and bringing light to this struggling giant, then just sitting in its great shade, letting my feat and hands feel the energy of the wisdom held in this great tree, hoping that this wisdom is not…