Thursday, March 29, 2012

Acacia Memories

Remember the things that bring you out singing, the infatuation of youth, wonder of childhood. Say not if only I could; would have and have not are the same and different if you stand on any line. Say I can and when my will moves me, I shall and so do and have; a word, smile, frown the faces of surprise, a thing, something, rather than should have.

Remember the days when we walked the streets singing ‘Billy Jean’, licking ice cream. The days we trawled the hills for a stream, gleam, of warm sunshine off the black tint, shades and Grace.

Waste not the gifts of youth, the fleeting and eternal, weigh as much as the scale can measure and learn how to see it from the other side. Sometimes rubble on this side of the wall is gold on the other.

Remember mothers, ones you have had, dreams you have found and a measure of life. The fathers you have and ones you have sought, weigh to your heart’s content for peace is a feather, on a platter when the men sit for a natter.

Weigh it in your own measure, the peace you seek. Be not content with the scales of others for it bothers to know not but from another. That which you learn from within is seldom forsaken and never forgotten.

Delight in the memory of childhood, lost, found, never around, remember still the desire for it. The flying of a kite, whirl of windmills in the night, oh what a fright, only an owl in sight, the hill sits still, across, thrills, screams and glee. Days like these.

Take a chance. Take a fuckin chance for you will never know at a glance til you change your stance and dance. Life is music and within is a melody; even when there is the sound of nobody, it is okay to sit still and dance.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012


I am number 87, I swear, 76 nicked my fatigues.

2160 kisses with Mary Jane, or thereabouts. Still sane, boringly so.
1 person. To count on. You.
7 billion souls. Fireside company.
Enough $. Unknown number.
2 dreams. Life and death.
1 kiss. Brighter day.
32 years. Still young.

∞ hope. Alive.
0. The end.
1. begin again
2. You and I
3. family
4. brothers and friends
5. human too
6. love
7. delight
8. joy
9. sorrow
10. grief
11. despair
12. don't pull out your hair
13. knowledge
14. understanding
15. peace
16. desire
17. sabali
18. diligence
19. spirit
20. honour
21. stand in bold colour, even in the corner
22. fade to the back
23. skiff, man and sea
24. bliss
25. doubt
26. abandon
27. step out the door
28. ask of yourself a little bit more
29. forlorn and fearless
30. drops of wisdom
31. center


I’ve been asking myself questions, like, what does it mean to be kind? Can you measure it? Is it right to attempt to do so? I don’t know, but I have come to believe without reservation that it is important for my wellbeing, mental and physical, to be. But how can you be something you don’t know how to measure, how can you know with any degree of certainty that you’re attaining this state? I don’t know that either.

What is the purpose of life? Not just human life, but all life, what does it seek? Why does the tree in the open field stretch its branches to the sky, spread roots deep into the earth? Burrowing in the hot desert sand, what seeks the scorpion? The cactus, flower, bee, all the life that is, why is it that it bleeds?

I am expected to know by now what I want from life but I feel inadequate in the face of this question. Years gone by I would have desired nothing more than warm embraces and kind eyes, arms to hold and a few pieces of gold. Now it all seems childish, games played by toddlers in the sandpits, mine, yours, a little bit selfish. So what is left to desire if not you, the things you brew or what you approve?

Say I was a tree, out in the open field I live, brown limbs and green hands outstretched and open, knobbly feet planted in the earth. I would seek no more than the warm sunshine on my face, gentle wind on my skin whispering tales from across the hills and a drink of cool waters from the streams beneath my feet. The company of birds, beasts and bees I would keep in waking moments and sleep but would I want for a forest wherein to be a tree?

If one day the man came, wielding the steel, would I quiver in my last moments as it cut the flesh? The tree dies, one day. It is here now and then it is gone, so many years, a history mankind cannot measure, hewed, withered, dry, the spirit is gone. I become the chair, the stick, bridge the miles between, the life you seek and what is just for I can measure, a foot, yard, space to fill, door, beneath the floor, where does the spirit go? I do not know.

I will ask, all the days of my life, till as the tree, I cease to be in the spirit, only an idea, a memory of a place where we used to live, the hills.

I have been searching for some peace of mind though, something to let me be at peace with everything in my world, perhaps knowledge of the why, the motive, can be enough but I have my doubts about that for there are questions, whys, that I cannot know. It is futile to keep asking when there is only silence. 

How is it that the tree stands in the night, out in the field, at peace? How can I be the tree? 

Amidst all the questions I have found a strange calm peace in the knowledge that it cannot all ever be known, at least by me at any one point in time, there is too much to weigh, the mind baulks. I have stopped short of measuring certain things because measured against the knowledge I possess, I know I would never return clean across that line and yet there are the lines I have not seen, the ones I have traversed without a raised eyebrow, the ones I ran down screaming, flaming torch raised high, dancing to the moonlight. What do I make of these?

So I have stumbled on, trying to put the picture together. Of my life? The world? Humanity? Life? I don’t know. I have learnt though how to be patient for there is what you seek and that which you need and sometimes lost in the noise of rushing winds, you might miss the falling leaves, yet you must never fear to reach for what you dream for in the dreaming dwells delight and the seeking will teach you how to measure a cup of joy enough for a day.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

On the bus

I met a girl on the bus today, she smiled and said hi. Okay, it was a taxi but we got buses here recently and I've always wanted to say it like that. I was sweating after having walked less than half a klik to the stage. I am unfit. My resolution to exercise more often is not going very well. I think I should restart my year but then again what would be the point? I'll just go on with it.

I had met her last a couple of months ago, in the traffic on her way home, me on my aimless way somewhere important I'm sure. She was stuck in traffic and as I crossed the road I heard someone call out my name. It was late in the evening, getting dark so I couldn't clearly see who was calling my name. I stood across the road looked around and then heard it again. "Raymond." I walked back into the middle of the road and stood next to the grey automobile. 'My gods ye girl! Many a season done gone past ere lay I eyes on thee?"

It was brief and I moved on, chance meeting, nothing much more than that.

I met her in A'level, back in the days when I was still a hopeful romantic, screaming from the MEG classroom, "Martha, Martha please don't leave me because I will not make it home without you." Sheesh! Of course I always made it home with or without Martha, being young is sometimes fun. Anyway, her name's not Martha but I had a thing for her back then and she was a little bit shy and I guess innocent and after a few attempts to munch some lips and whatnot, I gave up and let life go on. Horny little boys have little patience or tact for that matter.

So here I am, wondering if I should do some follow up. I know I wouldn't mind looking at that dark ebony face, those slanting eyes and ooooh, the dimples! I am in trouble I think but I shall go without any expectations but for a good story, and maybe a kiss. Hmmmm.

Air Hostess

Thank you very much for being an air hostess
We love your boots, your hair and your short blue dress
Thank you very much for being an air hostess
We love your boots, your hair and your short blue dress

Eyoeyoeyowouwou x4

Thank you very much for being a policeman
We love your baton, your smile and your black handgun
Thank you very much for being a policeman
We love your baton, your smile and your black handgun, handgun

Eyoeyoeyowouwou x4

Thank you very much for being a street cleaner
We love your brush, your charm and your blood pressure
Thank you very much for being a street cleaner
We love your brush, your charm and your blood pressure, blood pressure

Thank you very much for being a bricklayer, a bricklayer, a soothsayer, a car cleaner, a schoolteacher

Thank you very much for being a gold miner, a tooth filler, a street preacher, a game ranger, a bus driver, a witch doctor, a sangoma, nogababasha filler, a town mayor, a bank roller, a groovy trainer, a ........ blaster..........., a good sailor, a good waiter...ha ha ha ha.

Eyoeyoeyowouwou x4

Thank you very much being an air hostess, an air hostess, an air hostess

....................... Freshlyground ( Ma' Cheri)