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

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

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