Welcome to our Rhodesian Poetry Homepage

Index of Poems

Rhodie Blues
Weaving
R & R
Mum please tell me 'bout Rhodesia
Who Wants Green Grass Anyway?
No Fashmal
Operation Noah
The Goodie Parcel
Going Phonetic
Birds for Mark
A Quick Look at Where I Live
The Ladykiller

Page 2
Forces Requests
Birds for Ray
Bushfire
Bezant
Mabelreign Drive-In
Wildflowers
Pictures
Burn Out
Festive Chaos
Tact or Truth

Page 3
Quick St Nick
Millennium
Distress Call
Not the Nine O'Clock News
The Hippo Pool
Namib
Sand Giants
Cormorant
The Survival of Sam the Pelican
The French Connection
Tits for Pete

Page 4
The Mask
The Rhodies
River Gods
Mosaic
Wondering
Searching for ?
The Seed
To the Demonstrators
A Cry in the Dark
Tim and the Vikings
For The Pinetown Demonstrators
The Lightning Bird
Phuneral phor a Phriend



Rhodie Blues(1)

Once life had a meaning
For we lived in a country with spirit
Where life was for living
And all of us did our “bit"

We fought for a common cause
To keep the commies out
Resisting without a pause
For we knew that we were right

They tried to impose sanctions
To bring us to our knees
Our industry's response
We'll make it if you please!

The writing was on the wall
And the world got what it wanted
For most of us, we lost it all
Took little when we Gapped it!

Now some of us live in places
Which have no sense of pride
Full of blank, unsmiling faces
Dull thoughts do they hide

We are a folk apart
Scattered here and there
Together from the start
Friendships everywhere


WEAVING

What a tangled web we weave
We live and love, and fight and leave
And hurt and hide and lick our sores
Till living calls us back once more.

We draw a breath, the weaving starts
To staunch the wounded, heavy hearts
And make life smooth, if live we must
And cushion us from hurt, we trust.

A little faster, weave along
We're settled now and life's a song
Now we click to pass the time
To play and learn and chat and rhyme.

So on the web we weave once more
The same old webs we wove before.




R & R

So you only got back this morning?
Man, it's good to see you safe
Dump that kitbag just there in the corner
Let's go sit by the pool - have a skuif.

Had a letter from boetie this morning
He was asking about you my son
Says thanks for the message last Sunday
And his girlfriend wrote him a "Dear John"

You've a look on your face that's disturbing
No, I won't keep you talking all day
There's some food in the fridge in the kitchen.
Have a swim, wash those hassles away.

Then get yourself into some civvies
I'll give you a lift into town
You've some muckers who wait at the Round Bar
And plenty of sorrows to drown.

Go and find a good woman this evening
For keeps - or an hour or three
Have some laughs, make some love, do some living
Life's too short to be stuck here with me.

R & R's are just too damned short, aren't they?
You're at home only two weeks in eight
But I'm proud of you son, just believe it
And I think that you've grown up just great.

In a flash, when the fortnight is over
And you're trundled back off to the war
I'll sit here and worry, not breathing
And pray just to see you once more.




MUM, PLEASE TELL ME...

Mum, please tell me 'bout Rhodesia
And all about when you were young
And the backhanded compliment's sweetened
By a beautiful smile from my son.

I think for a moment and wonder
And try to find something to say
To explain why I'm known as a Whenwe
That's not going to take the whole day.

I tell him of wide open spaces
One eighty degrees of blue sky
Of balancing rocks and waving gold grass
Wild beauty that dazzles the eye.

He hears of the kudu and sable
Kariba, the highlands and "town"
Winding bush paths, jacaranda's mauve haze
And having good friends come around.

There's fish-eagles down by the river
And crickets that sing through the night
And before the stars come, the sunsets divine
Setting the clouds all alight.

There's a fresh, earthy smell when it rains, son
First time at the end of the dry
And after the storm, in the light on the stoep
Flutter flying ants learning to fly.

I speak of the African colours
Red and orange and ochre and brown
And when it gets dark, you can hear the drums beat
If you're not living too close to town.

With the craftwork I end off my story
Crochet cloths, beadwork, carvings in stone
But when I look round, he's gone off to play
I'm Whenwe-ing all on my own.




WHO WANTS GREEN GRASS ANYWAY?

We've got it all now, so we muse
A peaceful country, a government whose
System deems no-one should lack
Education, food or a shirt on your back
Where even the povo have TV
And national health-care's nearly free
So we really shouldn't moan
With a place like this to call our home

But God, it's cold and glum and grey
The sun's not out AGAIN today
Always precipitation-damp
And inactivity's brought on cramp
Arthritis, chilblains and a cough
And the bathroom wallpaper's peeling off
The bloke upstairs is on the scrounge
And I look into my neighbour's lounge.

No, wait - before I rant and scream
Our public transport's like a dream
Ten sub-committees screen our food
No beef-on-bone, dioxins? Good!
No carjacks here, no dogs we keep
At night we rest in peaceful sleep
Or go to clubs, or window-shop
And never see a well-armed cop.

The grass is greener, without doubt
"Because it's always WET" I shout
Just once a month an English flick.
Of Europeans I am quite sick.
There's drugs and floozies, no respect
. Do I feel safer? Do I heck!
I save like hell, the gap to take
For BROWN grass, sun and T-bone steak.




NO FASHMAL

Two billion cellphones jangle loud
Three hundred thousand's quite a crowd
Streets and streets of bright-lit shops
And traffic noise that never stops
But me no worry, me no cry
With eagles in the berg I fly.

Winter's chill, perpetual damp
The sniffles and arthritic cramp
Weird cuisine and family feud
And early movies way too lewd
But me, I heed it not at all
I'm walking on Kariba wall.

Meat's a hundred francs a pound
England's interest rates are down
Politicians in the news
The race for power - win or lose
But me no fuss, I'm not at home
Among the Namib dunes I roam.

Trade war between UK and France
Local life no merry dance
The wise and shrewd their fortunes make
A call from people on the take
But me no panic, for I'm gone
Following the Bushman song.

Little people, little news
European Union blues
Christmas goodies now in store
On the Eastern front there's war
But me no care, who gives a damn?
Where my heart is, there I am.




OPERATION NOAH

Noah was a gardener
A very clever man
With his gnarled hands made all things grow
Out of the very sand.
With one short glance at situpa (signed)
Engaged to work our land.

Noah was a gardener
A wily man was he
Could make the effort last for hours
Yet pull out so few weeds
So punctual you could set the clock
When it was time for tea.

Noah was a gardener
Who always seemed asleep
Despite his sugar intake
And the hours he'd homeward creep
When shopping day would come 'twas he
The house would safely keep.

Noah was a gardener
Yet boredom took its hold
Not satisfied with wages, seemed
He longed for much more gold
When we were out one evening late
He made his move so bold.

Noah was a burglar
A man of some repute
A special cell was set aside
For Noah the astute
But where to look? And would they find?
Were questions in dispute.

Because... Noah was...
GONE.




THE GOODIE PARCEL

There's a box on the dining room table
Plain brown cardboard - empty - agape
And it's flanked by the troops in a neat single rank
Scissors, ballpoint, black marker and tape
They wait at the ready - come end of the day
There's a mission they must undertake.

The Sunday request show is over
I start to amass their supplies
With letters from each in the homestead
A new T-shirt in just the right size
And the fruit-cake stands by, wrapped in bright silver foil
To add to our troopie's surprise.

There's a green balaclava Mum knitted
Berkshire nylons - why these? We must ask
And another wee something to keep out the chill
Some hooch in a tiny hip-flask
My troops from the stationery cupboard and I
Are getting on well with our task.

Then I slip in some radio batteries
Slabs of chocolate, those cravings to slake
Two cartons of smokes will go right on the top
And it's done - tape it closed - snip the tape.
The address very black on that brown cardboard lid
Monday morning it mustn't be late
I'll take it myself down to One R L I
Drop it off with the guards on the gate.

Now my troops are exhausted in neat single rank
Scissors, ballpoint, black marker and tape
They can rest for a month, have some sweet R & R
Till the next goodie parcel we make.




GOING PHONETIC

Zulu Echo Foxtrot One
Tune in for Bravo Tango fun
Once I was known as Zulu - E -
Charlie Bravo One Nine Three
I've racked my brain and hope you like
This Papa Oscar Echo Mike

Bravo Echo Echo Romeo
Has made the grey cells awful slow
I'm in a Juliet Alpha Mike
To work the tempo that I like
Having trouble letting go
To just Golf Foxtrot Indigo

Whisky Echo Lima (twice)
Phonetics just won't rhyme so nice
Seems Indigo won't make a rapper
With this Charlie Romeo Alpha Papa
So none need read this load of corn
But Yankee Oscar Uniform

This is a Delta Oscar Golf
I never should have started off
So before it becomes a pain
I'll Foxtrot Oscar and try again
Just one more thing before the axe...
Tango Sierra Boks AND Blacks







BIRDS FOR MARK

The swollen-headed goolie-bird
Is crowing with delight
For the double-breasted mattress-thrasher's
In his pub tonight
How he primps and preens and poses
Strutting to and fro so proud
His rivals must be all knocked out
After all, three's a crowd
There she sits, the thrashing beauty
Flanked by ugly sisters twin
Svelte and long-clawed money-grabber
And rosycheeked lovebird, Takehimin
They're surrounded by his rivals
Full of tense, excited shock
The redknobbed coot, dressed all in black
And plain-brown-clad dikkop
Not to get his feathers ruffled
Takes a split second to think
Calmly sidles over; murmurs
"Can I get you ought to drink...br>
For you are so very beautiful
And your legs so strong and fine
Will you come and mattress-thrash with me
How 'bout it, your place or mine?
Seems the goolie-bird got lucky
Seems he had the right approach
Seems the double-breasted wonder
Became his mattress-thrashing coach
And what then of his rivals
Too timid for nature's laws...
Well the dikkop he got rosyfaced
And coot's wallet, it got clawed
This is not the end of story
For in goolie's sultry nest
Thrasher gave the posturepedic
A guarantee-breaking test
Come morning, we find goolie-bird
Knees knocking, gasping breath
Double breasted one's reclined, content
She thrashed him half to death.




A quick look at where I live...

The motto here means "old and green"
We think refers to mould
For sure the place is damp enough
Or so the story's told
The town survived the German bombs
A pity some would say
A tiny bit is built anew
The rest rots in decay
No walls are straight, no corners square
And never level floors
Building inspectors here are doomed
To nightmares evermore
Yet more bad dreams come with the roads
So postcard picturesque
Most paved with damn-ed cobblestones
Suspensions hardest test
Taxes here and taxes there
Surprised there's none on breath
Don't dare to buy a fishing rod
Or you'll be taxed to death
Our cops are great, they're never seen
The cop-shop shuts at five
Yet despite all being held in thrall
Corruption's well alive
We've 'lectric light and megabyte
And yet one hopes that soon
For many folks a toothbrush might
Be found in their bathrooms
Despite the misty mountain views
The pubs and shops as well
What tends to smite the senses most
Along our streets - the smells
To bind the jaw, the sewage raw
Up from the drains does waft
And petrol fumes 'mongst buildings tall
Make the head go soft
But worse than that the stench of food
Floats up our own stairwell
Sauerkraut, burnt roast and dripping fat
Our neighbour's the chef from hell




THE LADYKILLER

Custom paint job shining bright
Your woman-catcher for tonight
Awaits like Roman chariot fine
Having spent all day in petrol line
The deep fun-fur seat covers brushed
You're hoping for a real lush
Vacuumed carpets, polished tyres
The driver is a man on fire
Sparkling windows, gleaming chrome
You'd give your eyes to take HER home
Strategic parking at the clubs
To pull in compliments, hand out snubs
But turn the key - alas no roar
From this fancy, souped up Renault four

Others


Forces Requests
Birds for Ray
Bushfire
Bezant
Mabelreign Drive-In
Wildflowers
Pictures
Burn Out
Festive Chaos
Tact or Truth



FORCES REQUESTS

Dear Sally, yes it's me again
I beg you on my knees
To kindly squeeze this message in
On Sunday's programme please
It's been so long since he's been home
I long to hold him near
To gaze upon his gentle face
Say love words in his ear

Oh Sally, won't you let him know
My heart's for him alone
I'll tell him this myself, and more
Once he is safely home
Please thank him for his letters
That have come to mean so much
He's fine, I know, but how I miss
His warm, familiar touch

And please do tell him, Sally dear,
That life's so quiet at home
I long to hear his laughter so
I don't feel so alone
So cold and silent is our room
Can't get to sleep at night
I dream his footsteps in the hall
When I turn off the light

The message reads "My special man
I miss and love you true
God bless and keep you safe for me
We've much living to do"
The time's too short to say it all
So darling, listen well
With Sally's magic, secret notes
Between the lines will tell




BIRDS FOR RAY

Of all the places I have stayed, the best for birds I found
On 20 acres of thornveld, not far from Savage ground
For visiting that quiet place 30 species did I count.
A first - MIRAFRA AFRICANA on his anthill mount
LONGCRESTED EAGLE on his pole, terrorising WHITEFACED DUCK
November late, a meeting place for SWALLOWS and SWIFTS, what luck
Seven thousand of them at one count along the phone wires crammed
Catching late sunshine on the roof, and swooping over dam
CORVUS CAPENSIS on the scrounge, and hanging food on spikes
Our common friend in black and white, the butcher FISCAL SHRIKE
The FORKTAILED DRONGO guards his land - and yonder on the sly
Blending well against the bark, JYNX RUFICOLLIS shy
Seen only once in two long years, a group of WAXBILLS BLUE
A cackling group from tree to tree the REDBILLED WOODHOOPOES
KINGFISHERS at the water's edge, saw MALACHITE, GIANT and PIED
Still at the dam, to my great joy BISHOPS and WEAVERS cried
With harem, PINTAILED WHYDAH came for seed near every day
And SUNBIRDS, WHITEBELLIED and BLACK drank from Grevillea gay
There was COSSYPHA HEUGLINI with eyebrow stripe so white
And NATAL ROBIN's grey and orange-gold, an all-year festive sight
PASSERs GRISEUS and DOMESTICUS to make it feel like home
Where tiny ZOSTEROPS PALLIDUS and TOPPIES want to roam
Bright BLACKHEADED ORIOLE, a flash of yellow gold
Machine-gun call of multicoloured CRESTED BARBET bold
FISH EAGLES soaring early morn up in a clear blue sky
And BURCHELL's COUCAL's haunting call as sunlight slowly dies




BUSHFIRE

Sparks rising on a grey smoke haze
Bush dry-tinder, a late winter day
Through grass, over hill and down valley-side
Harsh and voracious the searing red tide
Bird falls, smoke-doped, stiff-winged dive
Tortoise huddles under rock, barely alive
Up comes gentle breeze fanning the blaze
Flames leap onward, their black path raze
Snake writhes upside down, too late for escape
On sweeps greedy fire, more land to rape
Grass waves, stiffens, charrs to ash and falls
Trees writhe and silent-scream, turtle dove calls
Quick flash, duiker dash to cool river glade
Hot fingers grasp and tear, stealing the shade
Red-tide roadside as far as it can get
Flicker down, lights out, crackle, hiss and spit
Look back, stubble black, ash in the air
Woodsmoke, tree stumps, desolation square
Dark sky, purple clouds rolling over hills
White flash, thunder crash, first rain spills
Drops sink, earth drinks on ashfields wide
Two weeks, green peeks - a new life-tide




BEZANT

The night is old, the moon sinks low
No sound from all about
Six friends they sat upon a wall
And drank their brains right out
Their brandy mixed with orange juice
Lasted a goodly while
One weighed his empty can in hand
And smiled a drunken smile
He tossed the can on good flat ground
Pick handle in his grasp
Then put his forehead onto the wood
Ran six times round and gasped
And reeling well in boozy swell
He grabbed the stick and swung
His shot was wide, he laughed aloud
Then tripped and bit his tongue
When mirth had died the others tried
Each failed to hit the can
Each picked up wounds there, one by one
Who gave up? Not a man!
When daylight came at end of game
All six were stuffed up well
And with fur-tongues and babbelaas
They were in pisscat's hell
Their heads did ache and hurt limbs shake
All bloodied stiff and sore
Before they slept they took a vow
To try this never more
Later awoke and all did choke
All six they barked at ants
Then limped off home to patch them up
And change their shredded pants
And marvelled at the mystery
And pain of playing Bezant!




MABELREIGN DRIVE-IN

Sun's gone down, let's hit the road, Head out west for Drive-In show
Smokey and the Bandit's on, Burt Reynolds' smile and car chase fun
The road is dark - no streetlights here, Did someone think to bring the beer?
Past big glass house on hill on right, Looks like a plane landing at night
At last we come to entrance gate, Queue two by two - we're not too late
From screen top spotlights glaring bright, Illuminate the parking site
Hills and valleys without end, Just steep enough exhausts to bend
Cars weaving under, over, through, It's like a scene from Convoy - true
At last they're still and quiet all, The heavy speakers well installed
Half an hour of movie clips, Then messages of sponsorship
Lights on- a "fifties" parachuting clown, Cries "Get yourself an ice-cream now!"
All troop to restaurant (the pits!), For greasy burgers, cokes and chips
On that short walk you'd see some sights, How folks set up their drive-in nights
Some next to van, on deck-chairs sat
Wrapped well in blankets and woolly hats
Schoolkids lying, sharing jokes
Zipped sleeping bags on forward slopes
Reverse parked wagon, what a hack!
He's got a mattress in the back
Young man and date in Daddy's Ford
The bench-seat says HE won't get bored
These guys sure haven't wasted time
Windows foggy - doing fine
The movie starts, the fun begins
So do overtures to cardinal sin
Let Smokey and the Bandit fight
This snogging session's pure delight
At last the end, the engines start
And speakers from their poles do part
But don't ask me about the show...
I didn't go to WATCH, you know.




WILDFLOWERS

When I was just a little girl
A bit more than knee-high
I used to walk to Primary
Beneath Rhodesian sky
There was a piece of land to cross
Between the school and home
And though straight-lacers all went round
I'd dare it on my own
For there between the stalks of grass
There wound a bush-path small
I recall clear the brooding peace
Between those golden walls
And there I found to my delight
Wild flowers in blue and red
That grew in clumps low down upon
Their fertile sandy bed
A little taller also thrived
Twixt bush-grass tussocks well
A plant with fleshy purple stems
And white translucent bells
There came a day that smoke rose high
Flames ate the grass away
My patch was used as firebreak
And to keep large snakes away
When it was safe I walked across
White socks turned sooty black
The plants were gone, the path laid bare
Heartbroken, I never went back
And as I grew my interests changed
In concrete jungles roamed
And travelled to a desert place
Bordered with briny foam
Then it was twenty years on
I was a newly-wed
I was by guide in wildlife park
On foot-safari led
And there in clumps of blue and red
The friends I'd missed so long
"Oh there you are" I, tearful, said
"I wondered where you'd gone."
And though I know somewhere must grow
My friend with purple stems
Those lovely white translucent bells
I never saw again.




PICTURES

Frost on the vlei near the RLI
Sun on my face as to work I fly
Waving yellow grass so long
Rainbird and fish-eagle song
Mum's trusty old Cortina car
Faces in Sahara Bar
Salisbury Gardens colours bright
The Southern Cross in starry night
Months and months of dust and dry
Lightning flash in purple sky
Kariba floodgates, what a sight
Jacaranda, mauve delight
Dense brown bush for mile on mile
Vivid picanninny smile
Granite outcrop gold and brown
Inyangombe, looking down
Soaring storks on thermals high
Msasa, in whose shade I lie
McIllwaine Spillway Restaurant teas
Vervet monkey's search for fleas
Jumbos in Chirundu wallow
Yard of ale, just twist and swallow
First Street's Christmas lights so dear
Biltong, wors and crates of beer




BURN OUT

Up with the lark and off to your school
Done all your study - won't look like a fool
When the marks come out for the end-of-year tests
Even though the folks say "Just do your best"
Long long nights burning the midnight oil
To guard against sloth in a lifetime of toil

The job starts at eight - school's far behind
Giving all that you've got to the daily grind
It's for earning of pennies and making your mark
From the start of the day until it gets dark
When you've mastered your trade, polished up the sales pitch
You might notice your feet are beginning to itch

In your somewhat full schedule, start making some friends
Cos the candle was made to be burnt at both ends
And you party and play till the dawn's early light
And if lucky, remember what you did last night
Now you're sporting a beard, cos there's no time to shave
And your job goes to hell for the sake of the rave

Then there's marriage, God save us! Along come the kids
And behind the brave smile, you've a life on the skids
But you're tough, you can take it, just step up the pace
In your rush to keep up with the whole human race
Then computers arrive and you know in your heart
That the cells of your brain are just starting to smart

Now your office takes shape as a small padded cell
With its air-con and neon, some new kind of hell
As you spin ever faster you just want to shout
And to scream "Stop the world" cos you want to get out
The kids tell you on "Highlander Kargan did say
That it's better to burn out than (just) fade away"

But you're Rhodie, and fading is part of the deal
Take no notice of modern life's frenetic speel




FESTIVE CHAOS

Wasn't it just yesterday
They put up Christmas lights
And the Christmas elves went prancing
In their spray-on festive tights
When evening starts mid-afternoon
And in the beery gloom
All the pixies they get rednosed
And fly around the room
When the shops are full to bursting
And the postmen work like dogs
Every family member's friendly
And you drive through freezing fogs
When pickpockets get daring
Grabbing easy Christmas cheer
And Mr. Plod tells Santa's aide
"Don't park that reindeer here!"
Kids (and Dad) all write those letters
Tell of deep and dark desires
And you lop a foot off Christmas tree
To feed the ravenous fire
The temperature hits minus ten
And polar bear's about
Some joker steals the Christmas socks
To thaw their chilblains out
By the streetlight on the corner
Though the snow lays three feet deep
Warbles drunken carol singer
Wrecking Santa's precious sleep
Dawn's first light (about mid-morning)
In the chaos of the day
'Mongst the wrapping-paper mountains
All my marbles go astray
Scrape the charcoal off the turkey
Crack another frozen beer
Wasn't it just yesterday
Damn! There went another year!




TACT OR TRUTH?

What is it about family
That brings out all the worst in me?
Tolerance all well and good
Does not improve things as it should
No taste in dress? Then don't ask me
How you look, as offended you'll surely be
When I see kids with faces grimed
And nails all black, must I be blind?
Must I dish up and let them eat
Or make them scrub before the treat?
If I get vexed with family natter
Do I calmly say "it doesn't matter"
Or take my stand and rant and rave
And bluntly call a knave a knave?
When kids do swear or raise their hands
Do I bite my tongue or reprimand?
And erring folks their silence keep
Am I to snore or lose more sleep?
I must have some deep-seated fear
Of saying what they want to hear
'Cos as the game of life is played
A spade will always be a spade
The old folks always used to say
"Ignore it - it'll go away"
This in-laws game is not for me
Seems an outlaw I will always be

Quick St Nick
Millennium
Distress Call
Not the Nine O'Clock News
The Hippo Pool
Namib
Sand Giants
Cormorant
The Survival of Sam the Pelican
The French Connection
Tits for Pete



QUICK ST. NICK

Twas the night before Christmas, and Santa's left home
Leaving poor Mrs Claus to play on her own
All the night lights extinguished, the world is all dark
Thinks the elf, "time for me to get up to a lark" So he chooses a rooftop where candles still burn
Lands the sleigh like a whisper and goes off to learn
If there sits late a lady still making a gift
And to spy out some skirt that he might like to lift
In the chamber the master sleeps deep in his cups
And the children snore dreamless for early wake-up
So St Nick creeps downstairs to chat up the good wife
And to add just a touch of Festive spice to his life
At the doorway he pauses and heaves a deep sigh
Swallows quick a Viagra, with twinkling eye
Down the chimney calls reindeer, "What keeps you, St. Nick?
We are freezing our balls off, for God's sake be quick!"
But Santa is busy, and having his fun
Is under the mistletoe, giving her one
And another, another, and lastly one more
Before dragging his knackered frame up off the floor
Calls to wake up and ready the frozen reindeer
Fluffs up his whiskers and craving a beer
Flies up the chimney seeking satisfaction
Lights up a Lexington, the best after action
Next morning the Mrs Claus asks "how'd it go?
Did you fill all the stockings? Was there very much snow?"
And Santa, with cocoa-mug warm in his hand
Just smiles and says " Mrs Claus, it was just grand.
"But what did YOU do from one hour to the next?"
Says she "was on your computer having great cyber-sex!"




MILLENNIUM

There was such a queue at the bank today
Quick! Draw out your bucks 'fore they vanish away
There's a bug on the loose and it's coming your way
And back in its wake in the dark we will stay
The computer that's had us all caught in its sway
Has a microchip missing to count in the day
When the earth's in the zero hour zone

So how will you face the Millenium tears?
Perhaps in a crowd 'midst the wild drunken leers
Snuggled tightly to someone you really hold dear
With a smile and a frown crossed twixt wonder and fear
As the big 'Oh's approach what we all want to hear
Is "Come raise up your glasses," and "Happy New Year"
And we'll do the same in our North Hemisphere
And toast our new friends and all other B-T'ers
Cos it ISN'T the final countdown!




DISTRESS CALL

Not long before the Birthday Feast In North Atlantic chill
With swelling seas and winter blast That bode good ships no ill
But no good ship was Erica A death-filled pirate bitch
With black-slimed guts a bulging Making barrel barons rich
Old Erica was deep debauched A rusted raddled sow
Her captain felt her straining boards Sweat broke upon his brow
For brave she scaled the salty mounts Crashed down in vales of brine
With final heave, stem to the sky She groaned for one last time
But Erica won't rest in peace Blackhearted through and through
And through split sides she sent the crude Sixteen thousand tons to spew
Upon the sea for acres wild There rode the greasy slick
Pluck out my eyes that I don't see The vile ooze floating thick
Then
Twas the night before Christmas And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring Not even a mouse
But down on the beach In the pre-dawning gloom
Is the message for Christmas An omen of doom
Come the sunrise the horror The waves are all black
Coastline, businesses, beaches, All raped and ransacked
To the churches we troop And our sweet carols sing
While the guillemots gag On oil preened from their wings
Christmas dinner is served Raise your glasses my dears
And the death croaks of gulls And terns ring in our ears
What more to be said? The toll rises still
There is nought we can do By mere strength of will
Take the time to walk out On the coasts killing fields
Teach your children a better way No more oil-baron shields

In memory of the half million birds and other creatures killed by oil in the spill off the coast of France. In thanks to the volunteers left to clean up . In anger that the perpetrators will no doubt get off far too lightly again. Finally in hope that the new millennium will bring some enlightenment in the minds of those who make the changes.




NOT THE NINE O'CLOCK NEWS

The telly's tuned to BBC
Our lifeline every night
And on the whole it's quite OK
But news is our delight
Tonight the doctors cannot cope
The hospitals are packed
A bugged ub dose in every bed
Tough shit for heart attacks
French truck drivers are all on strike
The froggie ports are blocked
So trucker poms throw out their toys
In queues on Dover Docks
Another food scare on the cards
Listeria amok in France
Poor starving sods, no good Brit beef
Or shellfish - mauvais chance!
Stanstead Airport's big on news
Twice in a week no less
A jumbo crash, and now they find
Scud missiles - what a mess
The Belgian bods have introduced
Checks at their border posts
To keep out waifs from Kosovo
And strays from North Africa's coast
Red card for David Beckham
Playing footy in the sun
They say Man. U.s the best on earth
Come pull the other one
So watch the news on BBC
Oh entertainment cursed
For if it weren't so bloody sad
We'd be laughing fit to burst.

And they think that Southern Africa has problems ..???




THE HIPPO POOL

Follow the tunnel through the undergrowth
Over trampled grass between the living walls
To come at last to lush emerald sward
Near river running where the fish eagle calls
Where scarlet mantled bishops preach from the reed tops
And weavers twine their nests above the flood
In the drinking place at waterside - the wallow
And squished in deep are footprints in the mud
Lumpy rocks break the green water flowing
Brown and copper leaves swirl all around
To frame the gargoyle, yawning now
Pink and cavernous maws, teeth yellow ivory ground
To mere jagged stumps big as a man's wrist
Then, lumbering, slow-motion to the shore
Waddling in crazy negative camber shuffle
Sample sweet roots caught on the earth's floor
A secret kingdom this, and little explored
A muddy green world where river-lords rule
Walk with me and together we'll hunt out a secret
Hiding in fever tree's uncertain shade by the hippo pool




NAMIB

Sweeping dunes the guardians of this coast
Barren wasted acres of a land
Made in fury. Its rivers can but boast
Once in a decade to have damped the sand
Of a thousand thousand dust storms. And the sight
Of that rampant, swirling muddy-water's race
Down to the sea, I'll not forget. It might
Not happen e'er again while I can face
The cooling westerly, bringing mist along
To chill the night. In broken silence sounds
A jackal's cry, the croaking cormorant song,
While stars burn bright and loneliness abounds
A single ibex climbs a steep ravine:
In lower gullies the hyaenas haunt
The carcasses of one unlucky team
Of donkeys - dead of thirsting in this gaunt
And bleak expanse. The Namib stretches on
Extinct volcano to the valley of the moon...
Home of fur seal and flamingo; and beckons
To dare mere man to break the spell of doom

Written 12.09.85




SAND GIANTS

In single file they shuffle on
Beneath the white-blue blazing sky
'Tis strength in numbers for the sons
Of desert jumbos, lest they die
And scatter sun-bleached, scavenged bones
Across the shifting Namib floor.
So on they trudge, a breed alone
Let easterlies erase their spoor.
To stand upon a dusty rise
And watch them dig to drink their fill
In spots known only to the wise
Then wonder if they ever will
Recover numbers, now declined
By man's blood-thirsting, hunting purge,
And live on, solitary, resigned;
Unheeding of the forward surge.
Man will encroach in his mad race
Upon the places of the weak.
The desert elephant's gentle face,
Wide-waving ears and sand-splayed feet
Must stay. The world's last seventy
Have far more right than man to range
The Namib wide. Who can compete
With decades of genetic change
These humble giants have been through,
To live at peace in Namib's sands?
Take care, young man, of what you do...
Their fate rests solely in your hands.




CORMORANT

With spray-drenched feathers soggy
And wings outstretched to dry
Before the chill Atlantic's foggy
Billows darken up the sky
Stands a solitary cormorant.
The last rays of the setting sun
Lend the body warmth important
For the lonely homeward run
To the salt pans and the hollows
Where they live, and breed, and die.
Angled sun-rays on the shallows
Light upon an azure eye.
Darkness gathers ever faster
Shadows lengthen all around -
With a quick plea to the master
To preserve the fishing grounds...¦
A sudden dash! A wisp of down
Is all he leaves behind
Leaving man to call him "clown"
As he flies across the wind.

Written 17.09.85




THE SURVIVAL OF SAM THE PELICAN

Etosha lies in state until the first few drops of rain
Bring life to shrivelled foliage, restoring green again
To draw unto its rising banks the elephant and sable
Upon its islands far removed, the pelicans are able
To breed in peace. Ungainly young on thin bow-legs a-waddle
Ugly grey and balding while their elders croon and coddle
And protect them, hoping that the water lasts till they are ready -
Strong of wing and character, and healthy, for the steady
Slow migration to the plentiful and cooler coastal home
Has begun - And how they long for sight of wild Atlantic foam.
Day by day the sun evaporates the waters of the lake...
Desperation forces adults to take to the air and make
Their journey to the sea, leaving helpless young behind.
No food, no water, baking heat - they cannot even fly -
So they walk! Some hidden intuition heads them to the coast
With their down-soft pouches flapping, while the sun burns down to roast
The not-so-lucky ones, who stopped and fell along the way.
Cruel as it sounds, fate always seems to find another day
To promote survival of the many species in its hands
And ensure the graceful pelican a place on South West's sands.

Written 17.09.85




THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Greetings all, 'tis back I am
From mighty Paris traffic jam
Down the long and winding ways
To where BT's MacZimba stays
An icy nip was in the air
But otherwise weather mighty fair
Only the brave do take the chance
To do the inner city dance
But Nanoumack the fearless thrives
On monumental scenic drives
To Eiffel Tower glowing bright
With sparkling stars in darkest night
Round Arc de Triomph's hectic feet
Where thirty lanes of traffic meet
Not one white line upon the tar
It's free-for-all , no prang to mar
Enjoyment of the tourist show
Past Conciegerie we dared go
The holding pen for bourgeoisie
Before the trip to guillotine
Along the streets of St. Michel
Past grand Sorbonne, the student well
Great Notre Dame of hunchback fame
Les Invalides for soldiers lame
Then on to crowded brasserie
For late night meal and toot or three
A grand old time was had by all
But Sunday came and home did call
So once again we hit the road
With thousand cars that homeward flowed
A thousand thank you's back we send
To great Maczimba, Rhodie friend




TITS FOR PETE

The boobies of our birding set, by issued challenge writ
Must sit them down and read them on, let's pull the other tit

It's nesting time in Brambly Hedge so watch a little bit
You've never seen so many pairs of busy little tits

This year a wren crept in and laid an egg upon the sly
In nest not hers - then felt a tit and far away did fly

At hatching time the feathers flew 'tween frozen, proud blue tits
Arrival of one puny young did really stir the schitt

Great consternation in the nest, the blue tits bounced about
"That runt's not ours! He's much too small! He's got to go!" they shout

The Presidential Pair (Great Tits) flew in so they could share
The limelight, for, you know, they were a truly stunning pair

With top ends pointing skyward the lovely Crested Tits
So quick revealed for fleeting glance - then took no part in it

"Not me," said Mrs. Pendulous, "I've hatched out both of mine.
See how they're hanging out the nest, both truly Penduline!"

Coal Tits cozy at fireside said "We have ours where it's warm.
Don't envy you, small tits blue, outside in cold and storm."

Dark tipped and swarthy Marsh Tits, those beauties from the south
Twas their belief never to look a gift horse in the mouth

It was at last decided that the pseudo-tit should stay
Because, they said, he'd grow up fast and leave the nest one day

The Great Tit who was president, looked down upon the pair
Said "Stop making such a bloody fuss, here's extra worms for his care!"

In silent fury and disgust the tits went off to bed
Great tits they ruled the roost and there was nought more to be said

Next day Blue Tits had their revenge we'll grudgingly admit
They called him "Nipple" cos he was too small to be a tit




The Mask
The Rhodies
River Gods
Mosaic
Wondering
Searching for ?
The Seed
To the Demonstrators
A Cry in the Dark
Tim and the Vikings
For The Pinetown Demonstrators
The Lightning Bird
Phuneral phor a Phriend


THE MASK

The mask hangs still upon the wall
It hasn't got a face at all
Dead wood stare out of half closed eye
Through and past you. "Stop!" you cry
Try to find the God within
For freedom from a looming "sin"
But empty eyes they hold no truth
No sound advice, no help, forsooth
No understanding, nor the fear
In sockets' void no answer clear
Expressionless, they seem to say
"Tis not for me to guide your way"
The straight-set mouth says little more
Although you writhe upon the floor
Debating on what's best to do
For him or them or me or you
No words are there to ease the pain
That threatens again and again
No whisper soft to still the guilt
No shout to shake the wall you've built
No echoed "Aye" no sharp rebuke
No smile or frown, just stony look
The ears are wood, they hear you not
Or have they heard and just forgot
To pass the message to the brain
And formulate the right refrain
To ease the soul and show the path
That brings the very least of wrath?
But no, we blame a wooden mask
We must but take ourselves to task
The blinded eyes are yours and mine
No wish to see the bottom line
The silent mouth is ours alone
No words can come our dreams to drown
The deafened ears of you and me
Heed no warning, the souls fly free
So look again, and see a friend
And know our secrets here do end
Sightless eyes can shoot no nails
Wooden lips can tell no tales
Closed-up ears can hear no lies
Deadpan face shows no surprise
What more could any woman ask -
A chance to shed the other mask!




THE RHODIES

So here we all are
The green-and-whites, Rhodie allstars
Still hanging together, still doing our thing
To hell with the world, for the Whenwe is king
And whether you're nearby or far
And if you're most comfortable propping a bar
Or get real shirty 'bout washing the car
You know we know right where you are

And what do you know!
If two decades have passed, does it show?
There's still braais and biltong, the toast to Charles Glass
We may make out great, or just land on our arse
But while we all go with the flow
If a wheeze or a creak makes us just a tad slow
Should we hear you cry "Help!", we'll be right there my bro'
To lend you some get-up-and-go

Tell me - what do you do
When you're feeling despondent and blue?
Do you piss off the neighbours with tales of the bush
Of your doings with muckers, when life was so mush?
Are you part of an army in a waiting game
Dream the march on Harare to change back the name?
Strange you should say that - me too!
Just imagine, we'd show them who's who
We'd create a huge rollocking hullabaloo
And say Hey man, it's only what's due
But Lord! What an old motley crew!

So c'mon, chin up mate!
You must know that it's never too late
When things get a bit heavy and leave you washed out
Just call up the BT and give us a shout
You'll find that you wont have to wait
To find exiles aplenty lined up at your gate
Each with their story to add to the slate
Or if you've just a terrible urge to create
You'll have enough feedback to fill any plate
Hell, that should be good enough bait
Struze fact hey, I'm telling you straight!




RIVER GODS

River running's green and secret deeps
Hold the secret of where Nyaminyami sleeps
Cradled in his living, weedy bed
For ages unremembered - guards the dead
And the living of Zambezi River way
Never ageing, never dying, see he still keeps watch today
Every hippo, every wader and each glinting silver fish
Knows their life-length, knows their movements, hears each whispered wish

Tread softly on the riverbank my dear
Don't disturb the river lord resting here
Dabble toes in cooling water here and there
Never cast in net or hook without a prayer
Watch in wonder as green river runs along
Be lulled into a daze by water song
Slip unconscious neath the floating bubble swirl
Dreamy wonderment watching river-life unfurl

Nyaminyami slumbers troubled in his bed
Lest the man-folk do forget the faded thread
Holding life in wavering balance through the years
Boosts river-flood with cold and bitter tears
Hearing watery echoes of deadly Danube spill
No God left there, by sneaking cyanide killed
Do we all offer prayer this be the end
Fear Nyaminyami as enemy, my friends




MOSAIC

Colour me purple, stormcloud hue
Distant and brooding, trouble a-brew
Shot through with sparks from raindrops bright
And slashed with startling thunderbolt light
Colour me golden, grass in sun
Warm and glowing, the dancing one
Neath bold hot touch grow strong and sweet
And blossom there in blazing heat
Colour me green, as riverside
To calm and still turmoil inside
Shoot jealous glance or flashing dare
While brimming peace and healing care
Colour me blue as widest sky
As doleful look in careworn eye
Deep and silent as mountain lake
For soothing touch or thirst to slake
Colour me red at campfire bright
With burning hope and sultry night
For anger, pain and mindless fear
And smouldering passions rampant here
Colour me orange, sundown time
Brave relief and promise sublime
Piquant, fruity, hour of fun
Relax in glory of setting sun
Colour me black, colour me white
Africa's heartbreaking delight
Colour me white, colour me black
Calling you back, calling you back




WONDERING

Who knows just where the future lies?
On lonely paths under indifferent skies?
Will walls crash down neath despot's rage
Or do we see new-dawning age
Of peace and hope, with love between
The parties on the wider scene?
Tis high time now for joyful sounds
And work to heal the battle grounds
With prayers and thoughts from far and wide
Let us join hands, stand side by side
And send a plea to God to send
A special angel our land to mend
For what I have I'll freely give
Towards non-judgemental way to live
Towards a future filled with hope
No bitter past round necks like rope
No shadows from the abyss dark
To blight new history or dull the spark
Hold tight onto hope's fragile thread
And pray that you'll be wisely led
For when in dark and groping blind
Needs must to have trustworthy kind
For future's treasure-house awaits
Closer now, with change in fates
If winning seems a hope too high
At least we can but dare to try...




SEARCHING FOR.... ?

Do you walk with me - or must I go alone
In search of subtle magnetism drawing me home?
Is it the same rosy dawning glow we see
The sunrise of old Africa that moves you and me?
Is the raw drumbeat of the land inside your head
With the dust of long-embattled earth rich and red?
Perhaps the echoes of the bush sounds haunt your dreams
And pull your new lives into tatters at the seams
Was soft gabbled African market place as brash
As the European inner city dash?
Talks punctuate with flashes of green and white
As you try to put old memory to flight
Days drunken on good cold beer and sun
And distant youth misspent on fights and fun
Frustration biting hard at modern youth
Causeless, helpless, directionless, lacking in truth
As truth we lack held now in foreign maws
Whence comes the yearning? What happened to our cause?
Closer, closer together we have come
Discovering the power of the sun
All by selfsame savage beauty birthed
In land of flaming sky and warm baked earth
A hint of frangipani perfume in the air
Sudden recall of that country fair
God, how long does it take to stop
The exile's intercontinental hop?
The wanderlust of man without a home
Never happy, never settled, not alone
How far off the earth to stop the pull
To African shores where hearts were lately full?
Where love so fierce mutated into hate
When despot's charge did finally breach the gate
And wild winds howled and scattered leaves apart
Leaving wandering souls all sundered from their heart
Slowly, slowly gathers the lost tribe from the south
Visions of savanna in their eyes and history in their mouths
Come closer, see faces with pain of ages etched in deep
And hear their life-tales wondering of the secrets that they keep
In skuif-smoke wreaths smell bushfires on plains of imagination
And follow soft-trod memory paths that criss-cross the little nation
That spawned them. For your chance to do so each day shrinks
As long-hid memory slips away. The sun-bronzed image sinks...

LORRAINE... many thanks for the inspiration to find the soul of whatever it is that makes us what we are, draws us where we're drawn, puts the shadow in our eyes and the sunshine in our smiles. Am still looking...




THE SEED

The land was rich and rolling when the settlers first arrived
They shaped it with their bleeding hands and farming folk contrived
To plough and plant and feed and reap a little more each year
Till generations later all the country could eat here
They learned them of the seasons and the rivers' ebb and flow
Slow acres cleared of binding weed so that the crops could grow
They battled with malaria and sprayed the tsetse fly
Stayed waking through the birthing times and prayed for rains when dry
Few other folk so open lay to nature's ire or whim
Few others hung on by the teeth when chances looked so slim
Then for a while, near perfect time... sun grew the mielies strong
And wind blew twixt tobacco plants through morning mombe song
Sunset beer upon veranda, reflect upon a job well done
Rest brain and bones in deep oblivion, then get up before the sun
Who went without that prime braai steak, Cashel Valley tins of peas
Madison home-grown smokes a-plenty, cotton clothes, Tanganda tea...
Then there came a change of fortune (as if the droughts were not enough)
Came the gooks with landmines planting - made the farming life more tough
Filled not only roads with danger, bitter hate filled labourers minds
Nightmare mix of strain in daytime, fear-filled dark for farming kind
Some did move to safer pastures, others toughened for the stay
Fought to keep their produce coming, feed the masses for a day
They might own near half the country, tis not they who need the space
But the plants and stock they're tending need to thrive and grow someplace
Now the torrents fall from heaven and in despot's latest rage
Brings new terror time and testing 'fore the turning of the page
Keep your cool, o troubled farmers, lay no hand upon your gun
For the tyrant's days are numbered in the land of burning sun
Treat your foemen with civility give them not one chance to moan
For the tides of fate are turning in this land you call your home
Not alone are you our kinsmen, swathed around with thoughts and prayers
For the seed will only grow beneath the hand that really cares




TO THE DEMONSTRATORS

Twas Sunday ninth in London town
The time to make a stand
To show opinion loud and clear
On purloined farming land
The "Bill" was there, and TV news
And, yes, each one of you...
Banners proclaiming "ban the Bob"
And chanted points of view
A true mosaic on the move
Outside Zimbabwe House
All calling for the pest-control
Seems somewhere there's a louse
Here's to the frozen heroes
So far away from home
Who chose to stand together
And knew they weren't alone
For while you did the sidewalk beat
ZimRhodies through and through
Every single one of us
Was right out there with you!




A CRY IN THE DARK

come in farmer joe.... where are you now?
and the ones who followed
from macheke, on a dark day?
tis not only they who follow you
our prayers too
our anger give you strength
our tears to tend the crop while you're away
our heartbreak harden the resolve of those who stay
where are you, farmer joe?
come back soon
we pray...




TIM AND THE VIKINGS

Tim and the Vikings stood on top of the hill
Surveying the country so brooding and still
So rich and well-tended, high-yielding and fine
Said Tim, "By my balls all this land will be mine!"

So he grabbed him an army and found him a cause
Begged arms off the Russkies to forward his wars
And started the terror, the killing so sour
Till the scared voted "Aye"in the land's darkest hour

Tim and the Vikings slid slow down the hill
And the voters, aghast, had to swallow the pill
Every year getting poorer, no money, no work
And no chance opposition where CIO lurks

And the grave downward slide, it got quite out of hand
For twenty long years no more thoughts of the land
Till the great referendum screamed out a loud "NAY"
And the tyrant must needs win his votes back some way

Tim and the Vikings are down off the hill
And he found a good way that they vote for him still
So he starts senseless land-grab and farmers does beat
But how many votes when there's nothing to eat?

Tim and the Vikings are over the hill
And the brains are all gone, all that's left is the will
With sanity questioned and marbles all lost
His last stab bites home, but, dear Lord, at what cost?

So look forward all to land brooding and still
When Tim and the Vikings lie under the hill...br>




FOR THE PINETOWN DEMONSTRATORS...

ZimRhodies join together
To make your voices heard
And tell the world that they must save
The bold Zimbabwe bird
A tyrant runs amok right now
Who good folk makes to beg
He must be stopped before he cooks
The goose with golden egg
May your resolve be steadfast
May your voice be heard so strong
May chance come to oust the despot
Who's forgotten right from wrong
As you join down south in Pinetown
Neath that sky so wide and blue
There are those right there in spirit
Shouting loud along with you
Not the least among the spirits
Is yours truly, little me
And today there's really nowhere
On this earth I'd rather be
Hold your heads up high ZimRhodies
All the bravest of the brave
All doing what we can to end
The vice grip of the knave
And at last when Rally's over
And the braai fires have been lit
Take a moment for reflection
Sit and pray a little bit
For the souls of Olds and Stevens
And the unnamed fallen too
For all good folk, and those in fear
And know they count on you
Then celebrate our homeland
In the way ZimRhodies do
A good day's work you will have done
We're all SO proud of you......




THE LIGHTNING BIRD...

Twas five a.m. and mockingbird did start to chuckle quiet
This was the day South Africans would take a sheep and braai it
As Lightning Bird climbed in his car, said mockingbird "Must see
How all things do unfold this day, this suits the likes of me!"
And so he followed down to Liz, and on to Mr Wors'
To get the sheep from coldbox deep, so folks could eat, of course.
Then on through rain, twas worth the pain, and giggled like a twit
To see the feathers ruffle when they could not find the spit.
And then at last the sheep was lashed, but spit it would not spin
Then Lightning Bird espied a plug, and went to plug it in.
But plug it was the other side of looming six-foot fence
"Tis no big deal, I'll sort it out!" said Lightning Bird with sense
So Lightning Bird stood on the fence and reached out other wing
A spark of light and plug did bite and gave a mighty sting
Now duly zapped, how Lightning flapped, but could not stop his fall
And mockingbird he Laughed Out Loud from perch upon the wall
The fall was long, the fall was hard, and drum along the way
Gave Lightning Bird the black and blue of plumage worn today
Now not to fuss but plug we must to feed the raging throng
He rose again (with rubber mat) From there could do no wrong???
The mockingbird gave gross guffaw as sheep it caught alight
Gave Lightning Bird a headache, so with water put things right.
Did Theo say "Sheep she's no good, you have to part her legs!"
Or was it rocking mockingbird, or echoes from the keg?
So part her legs they did my friends, till sheep did groan and roll
And slowly slip from off the spit and landed in the coals
The ninety five they never knew why mutton braai did crunch
For in their cup was Riesling wine - the perfect S.A. lunch
Then Lightning Bird did lead the prayer for Reason and for Peace
After raffling off the goodies, through the pain and gritted teeth
Nine forty five he's still alive returning home to sleep
And mockingbird's hysterical, no peace can this one keep
And so, my friends we can deduce from following this farce
That man CAN fly, and mightily, when LIGHTNING strikes his ...(wing!)
In memory of the Galliano Winery Braai, as recounted by Ray Schep




PHUNERAL PHOR A PHRIEND...

P(h)epe the p(h)easant, the amorous one
He p(h)icked and he p(h)ecked in the garden in sun
P(h)reened all his p(h)lumes and did cackle and p(h)raat
And p(h)ursued all his p(h)retties to p(h)rogeny start

P(h)epe the p(h)easant did rule the whole p(h)lot
Oh so p(h)ert in his p(h)ride that he safety forgot
But his p(h)assion continued through obvious p(h)ain
P(h)leasing the p(h)ervert p(h)erusing his game

P(h)epe the p(h)egleg - a p(h)easant of note
For the p(h)ot is this p(h)et, but for whom can't be wrote
Our des - p(h)air at his p(h)assing is p(h)urely the most
So for P(h)epe the p(h)easant we p(h)lay the last p(h)ost...

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