In Memoriam

In memory of my uncle MJ Jonker, the original legend of Christiana. May your life be remembered for what it was, a glorious storm accompanied by a good bottle of whisky.

World better blind.

Is this world not better blind? A darkened place where there be no colour left to find, where we are unable to judge by face or skin, would this not end all the damned wars and hates that race and creed did begin?

Forget what my fathers did for yours have done as much. Say not that you deserve nor use history as your crutch.  Stand upon your own two feet and meet the day with pride, the time is done when behind bygones you might hide.

Raise your own voice and see with your own eyes. Sever now all the past and its pointless ties. I have wrought no harm upon you so cease your empty lies.
When the world be dumb and blind, that be the day when hatred dies.

Little Deck of Cards

Little deck of crumpled cards, I feel and caress, ponder my quandry and stress.

I cut and and cut and fold, can you reveal what fate might hold? Dare I ask?  Am I so bold?

Pretty pictures in the wavering candle light, show me truth I pray and steer me right, grant me now once and true the gypsy sight.

Major, minor, cups and kings, reveal to me what my future brings! Am I the black haired man, holding wand aloft? Am I the fool that merrily towards his doom does waft? An’ who be the queen with starry eyes so soft?

I tremble as I watch the tower fall, and hope as I watch the sun rise tall. I can so nearly hear the song of fate sound clear or is it the tolling of the raven bell as death draws near?

The Lion

Lion of the greenest eyes,
Lay thee within the earth or o’er us in glittering starry skies?

Whither does thy roar resound that great men seek, yet none hath found?

Thy mane of glittering, taunting gold, an’ pelt of silver that neigh perfection doth enfold.

Mercury runs from thy fanged maw, to call, a trail, a path to draw.

Out from dust and unto the sun an’ by the circle moon tis begun.

Whither now? Which the way?

Onward and unto perfection, so tempting the soul’s defection.

Slumber yet, great and lordly host, thy touch is yet unsuited for all and most.

Song for a Lady

I see you there, I see you clear
What have I to love but you my darling dear?

Your empty mask, your hard set eyes, your raven cloak so full of lies.
Your barest whisper a gale wind’s force, I hear you coming astride the reaper’s moonwhite horse.
Your sharpened blade upon my skin, your mask is blank but i feel your grin.

I hold the power of all the world yet it crumbles before what you’ve unfurled.
A tapestry of wit and spite, glittering with all of your mesmeric might.

The granite stones  set within my hardest bones shatter as you move before my gaze, binding me for all my living days.

The endless waters of
my eternity dry to dust even as I fear that you will leave me with your mocking waves, mad with lust.

The air within my lungs turns to blackest smoke as I hear you laugh and my frail form chokes an’ my cheeks remember your unkind strokes.

The fires in the secret chamber of my heart are quenched before our fated battle can even start, your every rebuke still fresh and smart.

The strength of my spirit is nought but feed unto the crows as the truth of my denied humanity finally shows.

Know me for I know you well, as I have laboured under your yoke and dredged you up from burning hell.

I hate you and love you oh so well, you crush me and raise me to heaven’s tolling bells.

I know your name my darling dear, I know it well tis writ upon the blade that ever my heart hath speared.

Your name my lady, is Fear.


In shadows found and well for you we never meet, long this road hath trod my weary feet.
Watchers wary in the dark hear my song and well do hark, i have no time for rest and wine for ever into shadow the road does twine.
O’er hill and dell, past purest well and unto grave mound fell. Fearless sure but heartless too. Tis my fate, i shall not rue.
Whither hence i cannot say, i shall not know nor rest until my final day, when i shall lay my weary head down by the dusty way.
To seek the sleep of ages past a new crumbling road to find and walk at last, again and again and ever onward into yawning dark.