Some more poems

Here are some poems I have written recently.

The first is one I wrote after going to a Mary and Martha service (Anglican Women's Fellowship service) and getting lost on the way.

IT'S NOT A PROBLEM. JUST FOLLOW THE BUS

There’s a red and white bus to take us to our meeting.

(We all simply must be there,)

but I can’t stay for tea; I have to leave early, 

so I drive  in my car, my own little car,

my little blue car

just behind it.

The sun shines bright, the gulls fly free.

The bus trundles on, on the road by the sea.

I sing as I drive in my own little car,

my little blue car,

just behind it.

The bus-driver swerves out to pass a slow truck.

 There are cars in the way and I have to swerve back

The bus speeds on, on the road by the sea

and I am there in my own little car

my little blue car

far behind it.

The bus turns left and then turns right

I see it stop by a traffic light,

but when I get there the bus is gone.

Do I turn left, or right, or go straight on

in my own little car, my little blue car,

in order to follow behind it?

The chairlady sitting in the back of the bus

gets worried when she looks 
through the window of the bus

and she doesn’t see me, in my own little car

my little blue car

just behind her.

I get a message on my hands-free phone

With directions to get to the meeting

then the phone goes dead. There’s no coverage.

The bus has gone without trace and I’m quite lost

in my own little car, my little blue car

far behind it.

But somehow I reach the town of Belhar

and there I meet a charming man called Basil (of Belhar,)

who takes me to all the churches in Belhar

until we find the red and white bus

and I park my own car, my little blue car

right behind it

  

DIPSTICK

She was the first dog that was my very own,

wouldn’t walk with anyone 

unless I told her to. She owned

one black ear and one white

and on her head a spot

to indicate the place to drop a kiss.

The face she showed the world

was pure and innocent, but underneath

there lurked the nature of a thief,

a devious raider of cupboards with a love

for trash and rubbish bins.

She was a hunter, dedicated to

the hounding of squirrels, geese and ducks. 

a killer of rats and moles, a TV star,

a guardian of the home, and

for all her sixteen years,

my friend.

GHOSTS

“He sees a ghost,” you say

When your dog stares, growling, at an empty wall.

But do dogs see ghosts?

No, they don’t. They smell them.

There is a mouse-shaped smell that haunts

the space beneath the kitchen cupboard,

just in the spot a hapless rodent met its fate,

head bitten off and swallowed.

Say”mouse”− Jack Russell, Beemer

jumps up and barks and runs straight there.

There is a smelly feline ghost

that lives in the back lane and even I

catch whiffs of it at times. And then

there is the postman ghost

that hovers by my grandson’s gate

Dogs always circle him

with hackles raised.

though no one sends us letters any more.

And when my little dog sniffs round and round

a worn patch on the mat, and curls up

next to it, I know he smells the ghost

of my old beagle, Dipstick

lying there.

Birds in Winter

My new camera has a better zoom than the old one, so I have been experimenting with snapshots of birds. My success rate is rather low. By the time I have got the subject in focus, it has usually flown away. But the exercise has been worthwhile in other ways. Looking out for birds that are close enough to photograph, I have been amazed at how many different species can be seen in the garden in our Retirement Complex. I would have thought that there would not be much food around at this time of year.  It is true that my neighbour does have a bird table with seeds and fruit and I have seen quite a lot of birds there, mainly mainly pigeons and starlings, but all sorts of other birds can be seen in the communal garden in the centre of the complex. Unlike many of residents private gardens which are full of exotic annuals, the communal garden is planted exclusively to fynbos species and it is these plants that the birds seem to like.

 

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From top : Cape Wagtail, Laughing Dove, Double-collared Sunbird, Cape Bulbul, Cape Sparrow.

Awake at night

HIGH TIDE
Awoken on this windless night, I am aware
of roaring, as the sea pulled by the waxing moon
stills every other sound. There is
no rush of traffic on the road, no night-bird song
only the rumble of the waves, a trumpet
on alternate notes: soh fah,  soh fah, the moan
of conch shells in my ears. My blood
pulses more quickly and my skin chills with
the salt breath of growling breakers as
they bare their teeth.

Flamingo

I was delighted to see flamingos visiting Sandvlei again. These strange and elegant cratures are definitely my favourite birds.  I took my new camera when dog-walking and got some nice shots. I tried to video them, but was not so successful. This was my fault, not theirs. They were strutting up and down in full view, just the other side of the river, only a few metres away.

MacGregor Poetry Festival

So I am not as famous in Macgregor as I thought. I have just received an e-mail to let me know that they are willing to let me read my poems at their festival as long as I do it at my own expense. I do understand that they want to spend their money on poets that carry more weight in the literary scene -- poets that everybody has heard of like Antjie Krog or the poets who have won prizes. Nevertheless, I shall decline their invitation. I do intend going to the festival, but if I have to pay for the petrol to get there(and it is rather a long way) and pay for my room at a B and B and for my meals at restaurants in the village, then I want to enjoy myself and not have the stress of having to perform for an audience not to mention all the hard work that goes on beforehand of having to prepare a presentation that will appeal to fussy festival-goers. Also, I would like to see the programme before I commit myself to all the hassle of organising to go away( trying to get lifts or someone to help drive, getting a house sitter, letting the people at church and the people at the dog club know that I am not available on that weekend etc.)
I shall answer the e-mail and tell them so.
It  has also occurred to me that it might be possible to combine the trip with a visit to my daughter in the Eastern Cape.  But that might mean driving by myself.

Slavery and slave owners

At a recent literary party we had a number of  poets reading their work. One of them, I am afraid I don't remember her name, read a long and impassioned tirade about her Slave ancestors. Why, I wondered,did this annoy me and make me uncomfortable. Thinking about it I realise that it is because poems like this are intended to make pale people like me feel guilty for having slave-owner ancestors. Yes, indeed I did have ancestors who lived on St Helena and were owners of slaves, and most unsavoury characters they were too. I have recently been researching them on Google and have been quite shocked at what they were capable of. But what my researches also turned up was that not all my forbears were lily white. Some of them were definitely rather dark of complexion and must have been the offspring of black African slaves. So now I can also lay claim to slave ancestors and I can stop feeling ashamed and get all indignant instead. And, come to think of it, the poet in question, was not nearly as dark as the West Africans that were brought into the Cape in the early days. Could she carry in her veins the blood of  at least one wicked Slave owner? How much of that evil person's nature did she inherit? Shouldn't she also feel shame?
 

AWF Function

Yesterday I attended the AGM of the False Bay Diocese AWF. I looked upon my presence at this event as something of a duty, but found it unexpectedly enjoyable. Th main reason, I think, was being in the company of such very nice people. We are very blessed in our little congregation. I am so glad that circumstances brought me to All Saints Muizenberg. No, not circumstances, it was the Lord who led me to this small friendly parish and I am very grateful to Him.

Our Bishop, Margaret Vertue, gave the address and her theme was the need to combat the scourge of Gender  abuse. Of course the abuse of women is a bad thing. Of course we should be fighting it. But what can I do in my specific situation. I know our branch is involved in providing trauma packs at the local police station for victims. That is helping, but in a small way. Some people I know are involved in counselling, but that is not really for me. I did, of course, come into contact with abused women when I was a member of Alanon, but I don't want to go back to that. I haven't been close to the problem for such a long time that I can no longer make much of a meaningful contribution at meetings. Thinking it over, and now putting my thoughts into writing, I have come to the conclusion that making a financial contribution to an organisation like Rape Crisis is probably the best way for me. I know that throwing money at a problem doesn't necessarily solve it, but Rape Crisis does excellent work and, I believe, gets very little funding. The fact that this is easy for me to do does not mean that it is not worth doing. I think rape Crises is on my internet banking page as a beneficiary. I must go and check this and then organise a regular contribution.