The Clay Pot

Light bouncing playfully across the perfect facade,

the vitreous outer layer gleams,

revealing neither fleck nor care,

beware the weakness starts within.

 

The gyuveche, so solid and robust,

feeds the family day after day,

year in year out.

Enduring temperature and abuse,

roughly washed, shoved back on the rack,

until called upon, 
when needed.

Beware the crack starts within.

 

The agitation creeps in slowly,

at first unobserved by neither.

The micro-fissures spread slowly from the heart,

impossible to observe from the outside,

the fracture forges the emotional abyss.

The chasm only visible within.

Negligently placed in a careless instant,

in an oven too hot,

shattered beyond hope,

the children go hungry tonight.

 

External aftermath, a reflection of the devastation within.

Two Boats Afloat

As life’s tsunamis sweep us from the strand,

We find ourselves struggling to stand.

Water and debris crashing down around us, upon us,

Some never come to the surface.

The dark depths of the ocean drag them down,

the cold currents of the sea,

suck them into eternity.

We that finally lift our heads,

above us, clouds and sky and watery threads.

We breath deep, thankful to be alive,

the taste of the air, survivors of the seismic dive.

To survive the sea you find a boat,

looking around you notice one afloat.

Barely remaining adrift, brimful of water,

as if to beckon you to the slaughter.

You drift around desperately seeking the shore,

relentlessly prodding the sea with your oar.

sometimes its visible, mostly its just a hallucination,

you continue despite the knowledge that its your imagination.

Look over the bow and you will see

more boats around, and one of those is me.

You are not alone my dear,

for despite the distance I still am near.

Fighting to keep my own vessel afloat,

I am not far from you in your little boat.

Together we turn, together we yearn,

together we will our bobbing boat,

towards the land we dare them to float.

Through uncertainty and pain, steadfast we will remain.

And one day, together, we will stand,

on that hard and stable strand.

A Storm in Sikasso

I move into consciousness, the cobwebs of sleep cling, 

desperately trying to drag me back into warm slumber. 

Leaves on the trees outside begin to rustle restlessly, 

a door deep inside the house slams closed, a branch taps lightly on the window announcing the inevitable arrival.

The stillness of the dark morning is broken by the surging wind,

The darkness of the still morning is shattered by a blaze of lightning.

The tension builds as the wind picks up, 

hot, silver flashes punctuate the darkness with regularity,

A thunderous roar reverberates through the very walls of the house, windows vibrating, curtains swaying. 

A distant rumble starts to build, 

At first it’s almost imagined, a plop against the pane, a splatter in the sand,

and then all too suddenly the distant rumble rolls in,

as the storm unleashes its soaking savagery. 

I walk onto the verandah, the cool air rushes to meet me,

the sky is ablaze, the atmosphere is electric, rain hammering down, thrashing all that it can reach. 

Trees straining, thunder deafening, wind gusting back and forth, reaching all that it can thrash. 

Slowly abating, a steadiness sets in, 

rain slowing down, wind dying off, a rhythm develops,

as if a truce between land and sky has been agreed.

Flashes of distancing lighting illuminate the turquoise dome of the minaret across the road, 

gently the sky starts to lighten as dawn begins to ease over the city.

A rooster hastens to welcome the lightening sky, as if caught unawares.

The gentle rhythm resonates all around, a soulful melody creating calm and peace.

The earth soaks up the rain, a peaceful calmness creating a melody for the soul. 

Dark Clouds Brewing as the wind blows in…

In the Beginning……

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, each land mass formed in uniqueness to the other, Gondwanaland to the one side, and Laurasia to the other. As these masses began to separate, a continental array began unfold. Antarctica began to slip to the far reaches of the globe, finally standing guard over the cold, frozen point know as South. Asia and Europe vying for domination in the north remained joined, their struggle throwing up and enviable display of mountainous glory.
The Americas broke away, as two lovers break from the clutches of over possessive families. They drifted west and finally met just north of the equator, forever linked through the slenderest of grasps . The one dominating the northern sphere and the other, the south, never more than arms reach from each other.
Australasia, with her untempered spirit yearning for the unknown, was not to be limited by the frigid southern pole and moved north to claim her own dominion.

Through all this upheaval and flux, the Jewel of Gods creation remained central and stoic. Metamorphosising and maturing, it’s borders being etched and cast in volcanic heat and explosive violence. And yet the final design being so exquisitely and finely crafted such that a goldsmith would struggle to recreate. She stands strong, constant and true a brazen tribute to her Master and Designer.
Spanning across the equatorial boundary her influence and allure sweeps through both hemispheres. Her core, rooted in the heated depths of the earth, drives her heart beat. The beat which can’t be altered nor extinguished, ignored or discarded.

Africa, remained.