reflecting – Page 3

Have You Killed a Rhino Today?

The slaughter of rhinos in South Africa carries on unabated.
When poachers or traffickers are caught they should get the same treatment,
but no doubt somebody will bang on about their human rights……

The world is obsessed with human rights,
But don’t rhinos have their rights too?
And shouldn’t some people lose their human rights,
By the things that they choose to do?

tpotg-rhino-01

So tell me have you killed a rhino today,
Have you added to the score?
Have you hacked off its horn with a machete blade,
And are now hiding from the law?

Have you left a rhino to bleed in the dust,
Lying helpless and all alone,
Ensuring it has the most painful of deaths,
Just so its horn you are able to own?

Have you made plenty plenty dollars today,
By killing this magnificent beast?
Have you sold its horn to black marketers,
And on blood money been able to feast?

What will you do when you’ve killed the last one?
Exterminated by your human greed;
So for your human rights why should we give a damn?
I know all the justice you need.

If you’ve been responsible in anyway
For a rhino being brutally slaughtered,
Then in a less “civilised” world we would find you a tree,
Where you could be hung, then drawn, then quartered.

Then you would know just what it was like
To suffer great pain as you die.
So I’ll ask again if you’ve killed a rhino today,
If you have, can you please tell me why?

Jasmine

I am so lucky that I can now smell the jasmine.

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It’s the start of my day,
With my dog at my side,
As I walk through the garden
There’s a smile I can’t hide
As I’m wrapped in the smell,
As I pass through my gate,
Of the jasmine’s perfume,
That lies there in wait
To attract me and the bees,
So we can both take our pleasure,
The bees hard at work,
Me, hard at leisure.

The scent heavy in the air,
As night becomes day,
Before the morning breeze
Carries the fragrance away.
And as I pause by the gate,
Close by where the jasmine rest,
Indulging myself
In what nature does best,
I think of earlier times,
Of how my days used to begin,
And why I had no time then
To smell the jasmine.

Maybe Tomorrow the Rain Will Come

And still no sign of the rain that we desperately need…..

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Maybe tomorrow the rain will come,
Maybe tomorrow we’ll hear the drops drum
On the tin roofs, so tortured by heat
And so desperate to feel those rain drops beat.

Maybe tomorrow we will feel on our face
Those long cooling drops falling from space,
Soaking the ground as well as our clothes,
Maybe tomorrow, but who really knows.

Maybe tomorrow the farmers can smile,
As the rain comes after such a long while;
Stock they can’t feed, crops wilt and die.
They say rain tomorrow, but is it a lie?

Maybe tomorrow, the forecasters say,
But with our emotions they must never play,
For once they just need to get their facts straight,
As for the rain we all anxiously wait.

Maybe tomorrow we’ll wake up to feel
The cooler weather as the dark clouds steal
Across the blue sky, promising us that rain,
Maybe tomorrow, but are we hoping in vain?

Heavy Weather

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The weather’s heavy today,
Think I’ll stay indoors;
Don’t get on with heavy weather
So I’ll put my day on pause.
Grey and oppressive,
Thick humid air,
Hopefully bringing rain,
But I don’t know from where.
A warm night in prospect
If we don’t get a breeze,
A stoep sitting night
Downing a few long iced teas
And hoping that tomorrow
Freshness returns once more,
Until then this heavy weather
Is such a pain to endure.

Clouds at Sunset

Sunsets are just so magical….

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Clouds at sunset
In a settled sky,
No longer drifting,
Just happy to lie
And melt into the sunset
With subtle changes of hue;
A landscape of delights,
A mesmerising view.

Morning Walk

I take Jess, my border collie, for an early morning walk every day.. it’s a treat for both of us.

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Its six in the morning,
Bedford’s still sleeping,
The new day’s sun
Over the mountain just peeping;
The air still fresh
From its night time chilling,
A sense of utter peace,
Both eerie and thrilling.
A clear blue sky,
No clouds detected,
No sign of any breeze,
The stillness perfected.
And as Jess and I walk
The quiet, empty streets
I try to digest
All of the new day’s treats.
The best time of the day,
Of that there’s no doubt,
And we have it to ourselves,
No one else is about.
It’s like a gift we’ve been given,
Our own special prize,
Jess and I walking
Just after sunrise.

A Life More Simple

Moving to the Karoo has made me realise the joy there is to be found in a more simple lifesyle.

tpotg-simple-life-01 A life more simple
Is what I used to crave,
If I distanced life’s stresses
Perhaps I’d distance the grave.
Getting closer to nature,
Less controlled by man-made;
The colour of my life
Needed a much softer shade.
I needed to learn more
About what’s important to me
And from life’s false pretensions
I had to break free.

So the move was made,
The bullet was bitten,
And by the much simpler life
I’ve truly been smitten.
A shift in my focus,
On what gets my attention,
My old corporate days
Now don’t get a mention.
And as I make friends with nature,
In her various disguises,
I’ve discovered another world,
A world full of surprises.

Now I can just sit on my stoep,
Engaged in idle chatter,
Not worrying about the time
Because time doesn’t matter.
Listening to the birds singing,
Quietly observing them drink,
Seeing clouds kiss the mountains,
Watching their shadows shrink,
Awed by the Karoo landscape
By its harsh rugged charm,
As the buck roam freely
Across our neighbour’s farm,

And as the day ends
And dusk slowly nears,
The kaleidoscope of colours
As the sun disappears;
Then that magical joy
Of a star filled sky;
That’s the life more simple,
Why not give it a try?

How I Wish I Could Paint

Is a writer an artist? I like to think so, but every once in a while I wish for a more physical artistic skill, sometimes I just wish I could paint…

How I wish I could paint, how I wish I could capture
On canvas those sights that fill me with rapture.
Such wonders that have the power to evoke,
If I could record them with an artist’s brushstroke.

TPOTG Artist Frame 1

Oh! how I wish I could hue, from some solid rock,
A statue of a goddess, to which crowds would flock,
And marvel at my sculpture, how proud I would be,
There for all time, a reminder of me.

I wish I could turn on a potter’s wheel,
A lump of wet clay, crafting purely by feel,
Then firing that clay, creating fine pottery.
How I wish I could do that, how I wish that was me.

I wish I could shape glass held over a fire,
Using a skill of which I’d never tire.
Creating fine glassware with an artist’s touch,
I know I would like that so very much

I wish I could sit down in front of the keys
And play a piano with consummate ease.
Maybe some jazz, or maybe some blues,
Now that is an art I would certainly choose

I wish I could sing, a voice full of emotion,
Have sell out world tours, cross every ocean.
A voice to be savoured by all different ages;
And in the music press filling so many pages.

But I have been blessed with a much different skill,
No concert hall or gallery will I ever fill;
It’s a vivid imagination, at work all the time,
Composing my verse, rhyme after rhyme.

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