Topless Dancer

A word of advice before I go
Beware of sycophants bowing low
Their loyalties are quick to fade
And then they’ll twist their sharpened blade
A yes-man poses far more danger
Then those who question and are quick to anger
Their only thoughts are for themselves
They’ll see you burn in the fires of hell
And they’ll laugh and say they knew it all along
Be careful it’s not you dancing to their twisted little song

Seven years

Seven years I’ve bled for you

To satisfy your hunger

Seven years I’ve wept for you

To quench your thirst

Seven years I’ve sweated for you

To meet your desire

Seven years I’ve fought for you

To win your futile war

Seven years and I’ve got from you

Betrayal.

But no more

Curse

May your words come back to haunt you

In the places where you dream

May I have the ultimate pleasure

Of listening to your screams

And mingled with their echoes

Will be the sound of laughter

As I watch your house of cards

Flame up into the rafters

Gold plated silence

Back stabbing

Duplicitous

Gold plated silence

Hide a layer of lies

Behind saccharine smiles

Freedom at a fingertip

Shift the goal posts

New game play

I don’t play by the rules

Not your rules anyway

Got brand new pair of boots

And walking out of you

NASA Communication 101

Deadline

Pitch night

Last Days

Fractured shards

Upon the floor

Turn the other cheek

Beg silently for more

Give me that cleansing pain

That slice through skin

That sharp stiletto blade

Sharp word-honed razor thin

Give me that purity of pleasure

The waves from oceans deep

Born in dark hidden places

Where stolen secrets sleep

Bahrain

A flash of blue

Lightning in your eye

Another day gone

Closer to goodbye

A land awaits

Beyond your dreams

Of desert oases

And fragrant streams

I'll be there too

A shadow by your side

Once a maiden

Always a bride

I want to dance

On the head of a pin

Dizzy spinning adrenaline

 

I want to fly

On angels wings

Melodies of the songs she sings

 

I want to sleep

Perchance to dream

Of strawberries and clotted cream

 

Atlas

Atlas shrugged

And the world slipped

Off balance

 

Without the weight

He stood up tall and proud

Free at last

To follow his own path

 

Random thoughts

Piled in disarray

Neural pathway overload

 

Something surreal

About not knowing

Why and what and wherefore

 

 

Rats

The captain left the ship

Stranded on the bank

He watched from afar

As his vessel sank

The rats began to squeak

Amongst themselves

Of how to escape the drenching

Of the giant swells

As the ship begins to list

The crew still persist

In believing the craft is sailing

In this regards they are

Most definitely failing

This rat is jumping overboard

Into the swollen sea

Perhaps a life raft will come past

And rescue little old me

Marais's Countdown

Stiletto

Stiletto teeter totter

Celeb wanna-be spotter

Open arms of Mother City

All dressed up very pretty

All hot air and fragile ego

Amass. Amok. Ergo.

We came. We saw. We wept.

We walked. We danced. We slept.

A pretty bird please come to me

I will open the cage and set you free

Just sing your pretty song to me

 

 

The fall

A fleeting sense of grace

Discontinued

In the fall

 

A thousand silent voices

Disembodied

Still call

 

Echoes of a heartbeat

Pulsing

In the night

 

Shadows on the wall

Dancing

With the light

 

A melody that lingers

Poignant

In the air

 

Traces of a woman's scent

Tantalising

Prayer

 

 

Pre-recognition

It’s early in the morning
There’s a pounding in my head
It’s a tactical warning
That it’s time to leave my bed
I’d rather stay and bury myself deep in a down duvet
Than get up and face the dawning of another bloody day

I’m not mathematically gifted
I’m more right brain inclined
So I don’t know how many brain cells
Have died inside my mind
As I’ve sat here in the traffic trying hard to stay on track
When every self survival instinct is telling me to attack

I’m reached my final limit
The straw that broke the camel’s back
I’m ready to up and quit
So cut me a bit of slack
I’m fed up with earning less peanuts than the elephant at the zoo
And if I have to work the overtime than buddy so do you

I’ve been informed politely
Of my working hours
By management decree
And the higher powers
So bugger if I’m working one second more of overtime
And that hour between 1 and 2 is definitely mine

I was not born a sycophant
Don’t ask me to pucker up
I’m sorry I just can’t
Drink from that tainted cup
While I admire your ability to switch sides at the speed of light
Forgive me if I find your sincerity more than a little trite

Our company policy
Is to weed out the bad seeds
I have a funny feeling
That that applies to me
As Shakespeare’s villain smiles and pretty words flip off the tongue
I think it is past time that I made a freedom run

Itchy trigger finger

So you know that sinking feeling
When you know shit is going down
And there’s nowhere you can hide
When the storm hits this town
Forget the Blue Monday misnomer
Call it Pink Slip day instead
I’m sure that you’ll concur
That I should’ve spent today in bed
I’ve worked my fingers to the bone
Dug a grave that’s six feet deep
My shot at freedom blown
Oh I wish I’d stayed asleep
Their weapons at the ready
The soldiers stand behind
Their trigger fingers steady
Their manners quite refined
Some will fire bullets
Some will fire blanks
Some will call it quits
But it still smells pretty rank

An open letter to Virgin Mobile

For the last three years I’ve been a Virgin
But much to my increasing chagrin
The service is awful, the reception is poor
Dick, my dear, this relationship is o’er
No you can’t have me back
Not after 2 hours of bad musaq

Sweetheart, I don’t want to migrate to a better plan
I don’t care if you mother named you Stan
I don’t want to be spoken to like a New York Rapper
With the IQ of a streetside slapper
I don’t want to drown in a sea of benefits
I want service that is not the pits

I don’t want you to call me and butter me up
I want to take my SIM card and cut it up
It’s easier to get a divorce,
Easier to bet on a winning race horse
Than leave the clutches of Virgin Mobile
I might just throw the damn thing in the garbage pile

Witness

Bear witness to my pain
The bleak existence of a slave to brand liberation
Hours dedicated to an erroneous brief
Rewrite, rethink and retch
Tomorrow afternoon a psychedelic foray
Beyond the boerewors curtain
Oh woe is me
Rob is yet to call
Marthinus silent as the grave beyond
The days stretch on and on and on