Seperated

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Spiritual but not religious

That’s what she wrote on her profile page

She was pretty

Thin in the saddle,  but enough meat on the hinges

Perky nipples turned up to the moon

And so they are

A hundred million beautifull stars

And a Million miles away

Like

Rory Gallagher

Of recent edit, the ‘about  part of the page read different

Some added information

Now we read  ‘  Separated but not divorced’

Like so many of mankind She was possible also now

All dressed up with nowhere

To go

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Righteousness

We argued about trivial bullshit

The lot of us

Who stole the statue of the Horse?!

We forgot the Sea breeze, and those the beauty of the white dunes

Our lives there in Jeffreysbay

Instead our kickers got twisted

And wrung out

By bitterness

We fought through the last days

We left angry

and days sped past

We forgot to go see our old Aunt,

And our Lonely Uncle

All tied up in Our own Righteousness

 

“Container” Rot(rat)

 

jou piel hang by jou broek uit

jy pis teen jou been af

middernag

as jou drome jou verraai

jy sien jou pens indie spieel ,waar daar eens n sixpack was

hare op jou rug

en bitter min juice in jou zippo

lus is verloor

liefde ook lankall versmoor

drome weg

soos die more mis in November

nou is dit net die storm wind en stink Suid Ooster

en die job

under paid. over worked

en niemand wat n effort maak

jy raak al hoe minder werd

laat mens dink

 

Thing

They picked me up from the Airport,

And I looked at the girl in the bus next to me

That was 2006 around July

But i was stricken before that

I prayed for one

one of my own

One with passion, and madness

one that smelled of wild flowers, and liked the Ocean as much as i did

one who who were naturally crazy about me, and one that would stay the course

even through the storms

That I were to bring

and am

But alas

it was not to be

Off course if we have to be honest, very few find that

Thing

white trash beautiful

Maybe because you weren’t really all that …

You try to be?

A tough guy

Or an artist

Selling the audience, and the spectators

The reality is most fly economy class, if they fly at all

The foot soldier, do the dirty, and boring  work,

And percentage wise most end up as that, or less

And we as people give too little credit to the grunt

Too much credit to the vain and selfish

We worship celebrities, and actors

Whilst forgetting what is really ‘true

W have forgotten the diamonds in the rough

we have fallen

we have been conned

by the bling bling

 

 

 

zoo

We are born into a loosing struggle . The kind are over run by the wicked. The strong are made weak by all the political correctness we have to not only endure, but become, so that we do not offend those that won’t extend the courtesy. People are blind to their own failures. Instead selling you recipes . Feel good chocolate box rubbish, and self promoting Vanity, whilst the pseudo warriors don’t want the sun to shine on the neighbors. The young waste time on all the wrong things, and the old have little time left , Nor energy to do what they should have ten years ago, just when we should have gained some wisdom to do some things right, the time has run out …Those that don’t smoke die of cancer. The dishonest claim to hear from God. People are offended by honesty. Pretense is dressed as good manners , and going along with whoever is in power is how you ‘succeed’ or at least keeping the job … Climbing on board of the latest trend, then using cliches to sound ‘with it ‘ …. what a circus

SF

When you’r Infantry the corporal tell you when and where,

When your a diver, you’re a pressure head
When you’re a medic you can inject
When you’r airforce you smell the diesel fumes
And get weekend pass to have bacon and eggs
Saturday at the Wimpy

Me?
I wanted to be special
So i ran on the beach with boots
Whilst the bathers pointed and laughed
I had blisters
Bruce Gold came and sat, and asked
” hows the spoonies(girls)”
Not that I would have known
Anyhow

I were no smooth operator
I got stuck in the ‘haakensteek’
Got a branch in the right eye, the one night
A thorn through the sole of the left boot
Another night

When the elephant almost trampled me to death
I froze like an Ice-cream truck
Funny enough that’s what saved me
(not running away, but facing the elephant bull… was apparently the way to go)

I chased ‘special’
And ended in a container
Broke the sharp pentzil
Into bits
An hated the
Crayons