Willful catastrophes

We had a lot of rain last night

And now the moldy drywall ceiling

Lies upon the roof of my blue car

Curse you, Ceiling Cat!

Why did you will that?


stinking hellebore

leather petals taste ginger?

winter’s quiet love child

Maybe, maybe spring is in the air.

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