Mine are the dark eyes (a poem)

Mine are the dark eyes that will be passed on for centuries  telling of my sadness for a hundred generations. This one act of domination will repercuss through the millenia in lives untouched, but knowing. Inheriting the shame  but not able to utter its name.  Look into the blackness  and condemn your blood to endless…

Why blog? 

My blog is a work in progress and what I post is mainly unfinished work.  I write because no one sees and yet I want to be seen.  I don’t know what I want to say and yet I have a wish/need to write. There is something I want to say.  It is there like an itch,  I can’t reach,…

a small poem

I HIDE MY ANGER BEHIND SHADES I KEEP MY LOVE IN A SAFE I MEASURE TIME IN MY WRINKLES I TIE MY MEMORIES WITH RIBBON   I FEED MY DISAPPOINTMENTS WITH SUGAR I DROWN MY SHYNESS WITH PEOPLE I FILL EACH ANXIETY WITH FOOD I STILL MY THOUGHTS WITH SLEEP  

I want to be in love again

I want to be in love again Like I’m young and feel No guilt or shame I want to be in love again Yet love is so far behind I no longer know its language Its looks or signs I want to be in love again Again, I say, like I’ve known it before Or was…

Invisible

They say that women of a certain age become invisible.  It’s true, but what if you have felt invisible ALL your life?  Throughout your ‘beautiful youth’.  I write this not to elicit cries of protest from my friends or to be told how amazing , beautiful, wonderful I am.  I don’t want that.. really!!!  I…

I remember….a poem by me

I remember the smell of those days, Bobotie* thick with foreignness, Janet and John books, so alien in their Englishness. Isolation, separation,others. Trusting no one in this strange land. Assimilation came through friends and boyfriends Their parents not knowing what to make of this strange, “pretty” olive girl. And me not knowing what to make…

 Taking mum’s ashes home

I never thought I’d get to see South Africa.  As a child and young adult I somehow accepted the tacit message that it was not my right to visit. My mother and father had a self-imposed exile.  I could say a ‘political exile’, but it wasn’t as virtuous as that.  They left in 1953 to…

Gonna take a sentimental journey

On Wednesday evening I will set off on my journey to South Africa.  A country I feel connected to and yet have never seen.  I expect to experience an instant recognition of my parents’ hometown, partly from inherited memories, imprinted on my DNA ( I do believe in this no matter how fanciful it might seem to others) and partly…