ongegrendelde danse

uit hierdie wilde dans steier ek

die roekelose energie

nog taai om my kuite

spin ek uitbundig in sirkels met

die onstuitbare pols wat fakkels deur my are pomp

dit kan net vrugbare klank wees

wat so lewendig in my binnenste kom sit

met ‘n indringerige ritmika

jaag die koors van die wil deur die klank-tonnels

en hervorm my voete tot

primitiewe passies dans

styfgespande spiere tril ritualisties

soos die ongegrendelde danse oor die vlaktes skud

waaragtig! hierdie vasgevange energie ken geen gelyke

die dans praat in een taal

wat alle lywe kan verstaan sonder serebraliteit 

as jy ‘n paar druppels van ware vryheid wil proe

sprei jou lyf oop in Die Dans

unbridled dancing

from this wild dance i stumble

the reckless energy

still clinging to my calves

i spin unguardedly in circles with

the irrepressible pulse that pumps firelight through my veins

it can only be fertile sound

that comes and sits so alive in my guts

with an insistent rhythmica

the fever of the will comes charging through the tunnels of sound

and reforms my feet into

primitive pulsations of dance

tautly strung muscles tremble ritualistically

as the unbridled dancing quakes over the plains

yes, indeed! this captured energy knows no equal

the dance speaks in one language

that all bodies can fathom without cerebrality

if you want to taste a few drops of true freedom

spread your body open into The Dance

owed to the San

Those who invented neither gunpowder nor compass

Those who tamed neither steam nor electricity
Those who explored neither sea nor sky
But those who know the humblest corners of the country of suffering
Those whose only journeys were uprootings
Those who went to sleep on their knees - Aimé Césaire

from the day the dawn of humanity
licked the skin of your ankles
you carved open the way with your spindly-light tread
with dust on your brows and cracks in your feet
you slipped into sun-warmed valleys and dusky caves
filled them with stone, footprints and chiseled dreams

when the humble ritual of your dancing followed

the stamping of your feet would resound to a most primal beat

and your bony cheeks would break open in smiles

and make the stars dance in the skies
how could a people like you be silenced?

your blood spilt onto the cave-walls of our minds
princes of the lands the one day, wretched slaves the next
your identity torn and scarred
how can we forget?
how can we forget?
and yet, you keep on rising, the first peoples
filled with dreams and confusion, you do your daily deeds
with soil under your nails, you stitch together the continents
you keep your feet and hearts pressed firmly against the roots of the earth
feeling the vibration of mineral strength
earth is happy to feel how lightly
you have imprinted your spoor

how could a people like you be silenced?

when your tongues come to life, pure and spontaneous metaphor
leaks recklessly from your throats
and in filigree syllables
drips like stalactites in our ears
we will listen and

we won’t forget
we won’t forget

with ochre wings your spirits keep flying over mountains 
naked and free just as the wild skies like it
like a haunting hunger the memory of you clings to our bones
and keeps reminding us of the direction into which we should go
that way, that way

a people like you can not be silenced
hear how your voices break through stone and history
see how you have ignited humanity
as you came walking in harmony with the lands
your beauty throbbing with hope in your hands
hope that with or without our selfish will
will keep haunting us still
we will not forget
we will not forget

beskawing

wat is dit om 

beskaafd 

te wees?

geskaaf van ‘n mens 

se 

wildheid

geskaaf van 

die stekelrigheid

wat jou jy maak

geskaaf om te blink net soos 

al die biljoene ander?

hoekom wil ek deel van ‘n beskawing wees
wat soveel kak aanjaag?!

ek dink dit is by verre 'n beter idee
om rond te rol in 
die lekkerkry 
van 
my ongeskaafdheid 

enemas

ek wil stukke digkuns 
oprol in enemas 
en dit opdruk in
die holle van die siellose politici
en hulle verrottende sisteme uitsuiwer

I want to roll up pieces of poetry
into enemas 
and push it up into
the arses of the soulless politicians
and purge their rotten systems

offshore

for Martin Wolfhaardt and his jazz band Offshore

synaptic cyclones spark

iridescently in my brain

blisschievous fucking that swoons in

the turbulent waves

making chaotic sense of beauty that has

never been so alive as in these sounds of

sax bass piano and drums

be ready because

it will helix you

and swallow you

into the first hole of existence

boldly filling every crevice of body and space

with orgasmic beats

the blizzard of tone clusters

remap the constellations

my guts tremble shake and reshape

with the driving bass vibrating its

obsidian deep through my buttocks

trancing and spinning me off of my axis

the sounds envelope me like a cave

i can smell the dark mossy corners

encapsulating these momentary strains of

spontaneously masterminded music 

into delicious fever pitch delirium

metafoor

ek soek geen lomp, 

bak-been metafoor nie

ek soek 'n metafoor 

wat sing 

met 

die heilspellende keelklanke

van 

die blou kraanvoël

between the cavities of my ribs

that is where i want to be

there where continents of sound

flow from my throat and fingers

and i give birth to a whole new earth

there where the mighty poetry

determines the rhythm of the day

i feel the interminable knocking in my throat

the never-ending pricking of my ears

i stand to attention

ready for the mighty verse

to land on my palms with full-blooded wings

i dig in the seashells in search

for the truth of the word

i scratch under the toenails of the ostrich

hungry for the metaphor that will surpass all other metaphors

the words lie like ghostly footprints

on the shadows of the night

refusing to be seen or captured

and yet, like small black poppy seeds

the relentless willpower of

the poetry

lies

between

the

cavities

of

my

ribs

when the word comes

i know how rapturously the syllables

will melt like ripe slices of avocado on my tongue

let me lie deep within the grip of the word

make me swoon, make me unconscious,

make me fly, make me laugh,

make me shiver

and

make me free