Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Madiba's pistol

a rusted
artefact
or: potent symbol
 some distance
from the compost heap
where the tiniest bits
of green
sprout

its trigger
cool as nails
(or as chilled words)
caressed by slithering worms

in the corner
a kind of centrepiece
a magnetic
tree
shading
a small area

just a house
a relic
suburban flagship
of
so many meetings
so many bolt-holes
in so many
places
so many
nocturnal
rendezvous

a house
strangely seeded,
turned
'intriguing'
by an old gun

the soothsayer
(cutely lying)
says madiba’s gun
remains cocked

for the pan africanist
this item’s
the incendiary seed
from which
the new revolution
will rise

the capitalists
ever looking
for safe havens
want to know
how much
it’s worth
they scan
the near horizon
of
the auctioneer’s
pages

by Frank Andrew

Sunday, June 19, 2011

in her eyes

in the pearl
of her eyes
beneath a face
in equal parts
weatherbeaten, and
carefully nurtured
before the mirror’s gaze
in a dimly lit room
ah, tamea!
been here, been there
seen much action
the hemispheres of love & hurt

wear & tear
vein out of place
un-oiled cough
a reset bone
aching (she said)
when the chill winds blow

love, so close
in blustery brittle bold blessed moments
so close, momentarily, then
slipped away

hidden tattoo
conceals emotions
deeply set

i saw her that night
under flickering lights
briefly, on my way to an old theatre
old, surviving, hanging on
against measly audiences
there, in the downtown district
on the border between inner and outer city
we spoke, because she knew me
we talked, smiled, said goodbye

Frank Meintjies

Thursday, June 16, 2011

new terrains

(for Gail 1957 - 2011)

adventurista, outdoor child, sunburned laugh
you
at the helm of your truck
that you rode
chariot-like
from (& to) those great places  ...

is a pillar stronger  
for being set
on two wheels?
        ... perpetual rotations of family; circles of love
        ... the continua of the comradely spirit
on the gravel road
cycling along, the
pleasures and exertions
of the circular world
within

children,  always there
in the comfort & velvet & lived-in texture  
of the hearth(s)
kids always around
on the edges
huddling, talking, playing, evaluating
forming new centres
& we the knots of restlessness
in the corner of the eye

kids ... prime in space & time & new dimensions
kids leaning comfortably
on the pivot

debates & conversations, gritty and spirited
the chatter ...
at food-laden tables;
 intently, eyes & laugher
       peeling away the stories
       of schools, book clubs & holiday places
eyes & words      
       tugging at
       the tangled tendrils
      of government policies

we, observed by drinking glasses
the rims
moistened by
the last drops of wine

ah, water-diver
lead us
from Lindani/Welkom/Sakatia
to
 the bluegreen beyond, to
 new & pink-streaked worlds 

to new terrains, just up ahead ...

Frank Andrew