Norman's Gold

Norman's Gold

Words

are

cups –

you can't make

truth

with them,

only that

which might hold

gold -

just as

you can't make

wine

out of clay,

but only

goblets

to

drink

from.

Cape Rain on the Road

The red and brown summer fields
- dead from the drought they endured -
are dark

with wet -
as if they were blushing with
expectation.

Road vignette

The black trees
scorched last year
have paled into purple -

royaled into colour
burnt orange trunks
are livened

by coiling
ivy
green.

Untroubled - A widow's favourite recipe

The Only Altar - two launch readings coming up

Two significant events next week in the littleness of my days - a launch of The Only Altar in my old haunt, Murdoch Valley, in the very road I once lived for over 19 years; and in Fish Hoek, at Norman's publisher Jim Phelps' house, where Norman and I met for the first time. I could not look at Norman initially for the magnetic pull I felt coming from him, on account of which I imagined he would be huge in size. How surprised I was when he was at eye level to me!

The Fish Hoek launch is private, but there is still space for bums in Murdoch Valley. 

Wish

The shell is not washed smooth -
toothed ridges
still stand -

umber tips
dot an ochre body
I wish

I could put
into
your hand.

Gratitude

I've just written, and published, the words for the Gratitude page on my website ... that virtual house of mine still under construction - arguably the space given to gratitude constitutes the most important room in any building!

Click here to enter this room!