har de har har

Ek lag my slap.

Don't go and read it if you are easily offended by jokes about religion.

God Trumps

"Its good clean fun and of course not to be taken seriously at all. Just like religion really."

my rainbow

Your rainbow is shaded green.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What is says about you: You are an intelligent person. You feel strong ties to nature and your mood changes with its cycles. Those around you admire your fresh outlook and vitality.

Find the colors of your rainbow at spacefem.com.

“The Fist”

“The Fist”
Derek Walcott

The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved

past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.

Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

inspirasie

Beide CJL en JAC het my vanoggend verras met gedigte. Kyk net.

Sommer

‘n Paar keer sê Ma “sommer”

en ek sê,

“Sommer is nie ‘n rede nie, want

skilpaaie het nie vere nie.”

Maar hoekom moet mens sê

Hulle het nie vere nie?

Ek sê,

“Sommer is nie ‘n rede nie, want

skilpaaie het nie vlêrre nie.”

Nonnie

Kolhond, ou hond

Op strepiesmat.

Nou en dan kom druk sy haar kop in my hand.

Meestal slaap en slaap oulyfhond,

maar die ogies leef.

Comments moderation

Out of the blue I'm starting to get spamming in my comments. Not that I get many comments, but I changed my settings to moderate any comments first.

FWIW

I HATE SPAMMERS.

Vampire hunt

Vampire hunt
by L Adlem

The red susurration under your tender skin,
the warm wet pulse
beguiles me.
I would lick out with my forked tongue
and pierce you,
dribble out and I will lick you up.

Woorde Spel

Woorde Spel
L Adlem

Die rooi potte in Charl se tuin
glimmer blink in
die November reën wat
hard sag hard val
en die reghoek plat water optrek in kegels.

Ons woorde styg saam met die sigaretrook, wyn en klaviernote op
om ongesiens rond te bons teen die plafon.

Later, na ons weg is, vloei hulle saam in silwer druppels
wat spelerig oor die dak skarrel en by die deur afdrup om met
sagte tone op die houtvloer te land.

Hulle hardloop uitgelate oor die baksteen paadjies in die donker,
speel wegkruipertjie in die geheime plekke onder plante
en sypel by die boekwinkel in.

Die murmelende binnegesprek van baie boeke
lok die silweres aan.

Boeke ontbloot bladsykomberse,
ons woorde versmelt
en word weer deel van die lettersee
onder die grys oë van monochroom skrywers teen die dak.