She struts draped in crimson velvet
and fragrance she wears give rise to
a sense of awe enticing with promises.
Symphonic femininity, though prickly
by nature, turns heads; envy obvious
as suitors and bards compete in verse
for she takes only one lover at a time.
Ravishing Rose herself, declares love.
The Family Heirloom
“Why words, when they’re so slippery?”
Whisperings find me standing
At the bridge —
Squinting through light and darkness
To see what’s left to hold as traditions change
My people forgotten or modified.
Fog lifts and I focus at double suspicion
Deity with claims to present balance
Between opposing forces.
Is he a trickster or a faithful?
For I was left with nothing but words
An oral tradition; love gently carried
From generation to generation.
Without a written word —
Will evidence perish? I fear.
Thus, with song and dance I join a world
Where the dead, living and unborn coexist
In harmony through continuity of words.
I stand at the bridge —
Not as a vessel of stories nor a praise singer
But to honour love and accept the family heirloom.
process note: I might have taken up creative writing late in life, but I come from a tradition of oral storytellers (Xhosa people), where blurred lines between history and myth exist yet feed imagination. I’ve always loved words, whether written, spoken or sung. The joy I experience when I’m writing is indescribable.
Autumnal Mood
There is a harmony in autumn, and a lustre in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!” ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley
There’s deep serene perched on clear blue skies of an autumn day. The kind of calm with an aura of authority, even the hurried and flustered lower the pace. Lake clasps the moment and welcomes the sun to shine. Peace and solitude occupy space, not only by the lakeside but in every breath taken and released.
Earthy and fresh, nature puts on a spectacular display. Red and gold leaves; a majestic fall. How can a warbler ask for a poem, when it already knows the song in my heart? How can it ask, for every autumn leaf falling is poetry!
A smile glows; a heart filled with gratitude for Autumn and I have a mutual understanding. Ours was an obscure relationship at first, for Summer led me believe I was her baby. Because down south, October is one of those simmering months; spring overlapping with summer.
But, October loved me before I was born. Now Autumn, generous, opens her arms and calls a name. It is to this silence and peace, I respond.
process note: As I celebrate another birthday, I take a closer look at how nature continues to inspire and help me put things into perspective. And I can’t help but be grateful.