An Expressionist's Platform

Urban Scents

Last night i walked through a dingy alley

Where pungent odours of human waste forever linger;

And rabid scanty canines are perched behind night time shadows .

Last night i braved the odds, to test at will the strength i possess

Eventually a cold shudder suddenly gripped me with each step i took,

that the stillness in the air hung such as a heavy cloak-

For i came to realise that i was alone yet again.

Heavy breathing overcame me as i tasted the bitter,

Eerie dampened silence of a piercing night’s howl that had no quench

Then i fumbled in the darkness for some light to escape

Whilst i flipped the switch of life up and down

struggling to reach out into the many folds of an austere night clench

but through it all the echoing sounds of a nearby Speakeasy, perforate this ominous drape;

where do these folk find the muse to fuel a zealous today-i wondered

when i cannot even muster enough to journey home?

With every strut i took, a random city Mustang drove by in this backdrop

So i paused for a minute at my surroundings-gazing aimlessly, but

Still digging into empty pockets for a coin to flip and whip to the diminished hobo.

As i stood over this stranger, i envied his role-so blasé with an unkempt beard tangled

In follicles of ebony locks and a blatant mole on his ashen face.

One that is the epitome of hunger and sorrow;

where tattered clothes stick to his skin like narrowed death.

My coin made a clicker-ticker sound as it fell into his tub of life-

Filled with vast coins from others like myself who feed off that smile of elation.

As i continued my journey along this alley, all seemed not to matter.

The faint bullet shots which pierced the night air seemed fictitious;

Even the wails of the that newborn in agony on the third floor became sweet melodies

But still amidst the silent city chaos reality reminded my punctured heart,

Of a stagnant, pungent and unwavering loneliness ...

That is My tainted return home

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Children at Play

The streets have become sullen expanses tainted grey,
where the voices of young'uns once rang;
all that remains are barren playgrounds,
where blissful giggles sprung free on merry-go rounds.
The streets hath set a stage for these curious minds,
nourished their innocence with candyfloss, popsicles and trinkets of some kind.
Prospects aplenty beckoned yonder,
with hopeful beams surrounding their day.

But, that has withered away
like forlorn flora abandoned in wretched moors
....
you see, this is a lament for when children were at play.

Through the oculars of a little girl, i see a story of woe;
left to scavenge for remnants no matter their source,
her strife is yet to be told.
Even the rags which rest on her skin left perpetual footprints of point road's cold.
Now the scourge of H-I can i get a Vee-ctim plucks aways at dear one's longevity;
it travels like mumba up and down her veins, popping mucous as she spits its poisonous taste
A story of woe still to be told for this little one never got to play

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forged from society's demands

The great writers of yester year have said that forgiving and moving on is the best cure. It is not as easy as they make it out to be. All that bull about “this too shall pass” must be fed to the gullible beings that walk beside me every day, that medicine has not healed me one bit. The dating game, I have to come to see as an onerous facet of our existence in this day and age, the consequences of it can sometimes hand you the worst kinds of insult. Quite frankly, I think my resolution to remain alone without attachment is the best decision I have made since I travelled the birth canal. I realise that being intimately involved with someone is part of the order of procreation etc, I just do not think that tenet applies to me...seriously...no jokes.

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A downtrodden soul

The more and more i am exposed to the intolerbale cruelty and harsh conditions faced by beggars in RSA,
i am starting to see the bigger picture.
We are so quick to point out others' mistakes and in our hypocritical stance,we never take the time to hear their stories...

Today i was humbled and saddened to give a beggar five minutes of my time and what i heard appalled me greatly.

This white man (yes, i said it) was beyond down trodden. He was eloquent and even had manners far better than
most of my varsity collegeues. But, he was of another era (by that i mean he lived a lavish life before Democracy)
where fast cars and drugs ruled his existence. He had it all, a dream job as an exec and even got interviews with
the press every now and then. But in the wake of democracy where all the corrupt arms-dealing companies that had once
been the cornerstone of apartheid crumbled-people like Mr Schoeman also crumbled. No job, no money, no savings, no home,
never married and yes of course no more white dominance. He became a lost-cause; soup kitchens, shelters for the homeless
and the brutal force of Cape Town's windy nights contributed to his ailing health.

His appearance made me think about the amount of times i have looked down on people like him, blaming their current positions on their own choices.
Next time, maybe a R10 note could aid that helpless man on the street-oops aquafresh wouldn't hurt either.lol

adieu good people

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Joshua Bennett "Balaenoptera"

i heard this piece for the first time just the other day and it moved me immensely

he really has a

good way with imagery #realtalkInspiration

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