The Stuck-up Cloud


Of Mice and Manes

Of Mice and Manes

The lioness looked anxious;

she still had her cub spots.

She was grooming herself

with a long pink tongue.

The older maned one, clearly aroused

in the long grass beside her.

Slyly, she evaded his desires

by padding in circles,

aided by the human interference

of our four-wheeled drive.

When he roared in frustration,

and stormed the game vehicle;

we all gasped in consternation:

Irresponsible guide! complained

one kaki-clad tourist,

visibly excited.

Why did she egg him on?

asked a pith-helmeted lady.

#InMice I mumbled

as we trundled on.

credit: JdVP

Flaked Fuselage


You suffered from psoriasis

And tried so many fruitless remedies

No dairy, no meat, no fish, lots of greens

My pantry was choc-a-bloc

With the remnants

Of one trial effort:

Accusing rows of canned baked beans.

It only took one drunk driver

And death fulfilled your wish

I still recall lying on the beige broadloom

Of our small ‘guest room’

Remembering an afternoon’s rough play

Observing in silent horror

My face wet with tears

Little skin flakes in the weave

My throat still goes into lockdown

I yearn for this itch to also leave.

Fowl Play

A Guinea for my Thoughts

I did not renege

on my commitment;

I wrote a poem today.

However, it will only go

into the final confusion:

Some things are too dear.

Cheap-cheap; I fear.

Credit: JdVP

Origins (Daai Orige Sprong)

first, some potassium

Just like potassium

The poet

A sponge of mental pictures

(Not the princess of Picts?)

that chain-melts

into words

A plasma of all our senses

Leaking verse

in phrase changes

Depending on existential temperatures

and pressures

Sometimes degenerate

It matters not.

May the poeforce of phraseology

be with you


Die springbok pronk

Hy lyk effe dronk

En ontlont ‘n bietjie


Askies vir die flou, faux tiek

Genetiese genies, geen lig-truuk

Maar darem slim genoeg

Om te kan spoeg

Okay, origins:

I come from nowhere

(behold, your DNA spit test says otherwise!)

I’m going nowhere

(maybe I’ll give this other cheek swab one a try’s)

Take your pick

(it’s kind of like astrology)

The bitter blue berries

(and now a thousand new relatives follow me!)

Make good gin

Or not; not without truth tonic

Don’t confuse your diary

With a dairy; your cans and cants

(Oh, captain, my captain

Wash your own underpants)

One is full of cheese

The other lack-toes intolerants

[Ma se kind

Punt innie wind

Is jou basies goedgesind?

Bobbejaan se kind

Die eintlike probleem

My boerneef, my vrind ]

h/t: Confirmed: New phase of matter is solid and liquid at the same time

tip of the mitten: Holy Schmoly