There is something splendid about you

There is something splendid about you,
I can see it
In your brown eyes
And the way
You smile
At strangers,
I can see it
In the way
You lift your hands
To the sky
And the sun
Shines.

There is something splendid about you,
I can see it
When you sleep
And the moon
Lights
The silence,
I can hear it
In your stories
Weaved
In make-believe.

There is something splendid about you,
I can read it
When you write,
Because no matter
What you say
The words spell
Kindness
And loveliness
And I know this
Because it’s true.

(by Jean-MIchel K.)

I want to see you naked

I want to see you naked.
I want you to stand
In the centre of the room
While I stop and stare.

I want to see the curve
Of your breasts and
The colour of your skin,
And the way your hair falls
In dust beams and half-light.
I want you to keep still.

I want to watch you forever,
Silently suspended, over there.
I want to feel the brush stroke,
And smell the oil.
I want to imagine the taste of you
On my tongue.

For you I would go crazy.
I would drink whiskey till I drop.
I would piss in puddles on the floor.
I would cut off my ear.

(by Jean-Michel K.)

Elizabeth

Your name is wonderful,
Elizabeth.
Say it slowly …..
whisper it with mystery,
Elizabeth.
Let it fill your mouth
and roll across your tongue
like chocolate,
Elizabeth.
Feel it
           on your lips.
Let it flower in your mind
like daffodils,
beautiful,
like Elizabeth.
Elizabeth.

(by Jean-Michel K.)

The Seashell's Song

Tossed by the hand that turned the tide,
I, who was swept onto your shores,
Lay low under the sun soaked sky.

Furious waves raged against
The stone stubborn rock,
And you, who sat silent in
The moonless night
Pitch-black and star-struck,
Missed the moon to your night.

Soon shined the fiery sun
And you, who chased the wind
Down the sun-dappled path to
Where I lay low, listened to my song
Bringing day to my lightless night.

(by Jean-Michel K.)

Valhalla

Swallowed by an eternal sleep
I saw a Valkryie at my feet
With blazing eyes and fiery hair
She swept me up into the air

Far beyond the clouds we soared
Past the ancient stars that roared
We came upon the Northern Lights
In all the colours of the night

Throughout heaven she did wield
Flashing light from her golden shield
Emerald streams of orange green
Transformed into a yellow beam

Then under banners proudly arched
Maiden warriors and heroes marched
Across the Rainbow Bridge that lies
Before the gates of paradise

(by Jean-Michel K.)

Desolation Angels

I watched him die
Lying there on the bed
His great big human heart
Counting down the beats
Till the blood stopped
And life left his skin

She told me how they met
That summer in sixty-four
Barefoot on the beach
He always made her laugh she said
Right up to the end
Her tears had nowhere to hide now

The room is turning with the tide
Even the moon is drifting through the dark
Lost in space
Isn’t it beautiful?
Doesn’t it make you sad?

Sleep in my arms tonight
Let the world be still
This is all we have
The stars, they shine for no one
Dead men ache for dreams
And we are all alone in the end

(by Jean-Michel K.)

Evening Song

Enter the empty streets
Of the moonless night swept in
Screaming sheets of rain soaked air
In stairwell halls of ghost light lamps
Lit in haunted halls and houses warm
With fireside laughter and supper time
Magic breathing in the corridors of
Dish-washed kitchens packed with bodies
Bathed in oil and scent smelling incense
Turned in beds behind day tired doors
Shut to sleep with fairytales told
Of dragons dead in dreamtime bliss
Shut the book and give me a kiss

(by Jean-Michel K.)

Wage Peace

I came across this beautiful poem by Judyth Hill, written in commemoration for 9/11

Wage Peace

Wage peace with your breath.

Breathe in firemen and rubble,
breathe out whole buildings and flocks of red wing blackbirds.

Breathe in terrorists
and breathe out sleeping children and freshly mown fields.

Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.

Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.

Wage peace with your listening: hearing sirens, pray loud.

Remember your tools: flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.

Make soup.

Play music, learn the word for thank you in three languages.

Learn to knit, and make a hat.

Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,
imagine grief
as the outbreath of beauty or the gesture of fish.

Swim for the other side.

Wage peace.

Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious:

Have a cup of tea and rejoice.

Act as if armistice has already arrived.

Don't wait another minute.
Celebrate today.

Auld lang syne

Pack away the past

Shake off the mourning

Turn the page

Close the book

Forgive

Let go

Take the time to forget

It’s over now

Be free

Tomorrow

Is almost here

You can see it

In the distance

Where scattered trees

Draw silhouettes

In the sunset

(by Jean-Michel K.)

Marcel The Shell With Shoes On

This is the funniest thing I ever did see ....

MARCEL THE SHELL WITH SHOES ON from Dean Fleischer-Camp on Vimeo.

How to look good naked

I’m fascinated by this story written by Liz Jones, a well-known British fashion writer, about the beautiful actress Christina Hendricks of the TV series Mad Men, being unable to find a designer to lend her a dress for the Emmy awards because she’s too big.

My first thought was why doesn’t she just buy a dress? But this is not how the fashion world works when it comes to award ceremonies, super stars and tons of publicity. Top designers lend dresses to famous people for free publicity, which leads to higher sales. It’s a win win.

Despite the fashion industry’s good intentions to project a healthier image of the female form it appears that those in power seem reluctant to change their behaviour because it makes economical sense for them to design clothes to fit a size zero model. Most size zero models look skanky naked and the vast majority of guys, outside the fashion industry, prefer a healthier looking girl.

Ultimately the real power here rests with consumers, particularly female consumers who are probably not size zero models. So it seems to me that women are their own worst enemies. If women want the fashion industry to change and start portraying healthier women - stop buying their products, stop buying their clothes and stop buying their magazines!

If you hurt their wallet they will change overnight.

Goodnight

It’s night time now

and I can see shadows

swirling through

the concrete walls

everywhere.

I can feel my toes

against the sheets

and the blanket

on my chest

and the cool night air

creeping through

the open window

by my head.

I can hear a truck

changing gears

down the road

maybe the driver

is listening

to the late show

on Capital Radio

and thinking

about his girlfriend

and his little boy

back home.

I can hear you

sleeping

next to me

and realise

there is

nowhere else

I’d rather be.

That’s how

lucky

I am.

(by Jean-Michel K.)

You rock my socks and paint my skies with rainbows

I don’t know what words to write

that would make you mine

or how many ways I can say

I love you.

I don’t know any secret spells

or magic incantations

that would make you turn around

and fall in love with me.

I don’t know to what foreign gods

I should pray

or where to put the lucky charms

and talismans.

I don’t know where to hang the mistletoe

to trap you with a kiss

but all I know is how

you rock my socks and paint my skies with rainbows.

(by Jean-Michel K.)

I have fallen in love with a ghost

I have fallen in love with a ghost
Not just any ghost
You see
But the most beautiful ghost

She has my heart and I have hers
And when the night comes
I see her
Through my words

I am in love with a ghost
Who knows
What I think
Of her porcelain skin

And her gentle eyes
That watch me all the time

I have fallen in love with a ghost
Whose transparent heart
Sees no end to her love
And devotion

I am haunted by a ghost
Not just any ghost
You see
But the sweetest ghost

I light candles for her
And she whispers to me

(by Jean-Michel K.)

The Skin Map

So Stephen Lawhead has released his 24th book The Skin Map; A BRIGHT EMPIRES novel. Not only is Stephen Lawhead a great writer, but he's also a damn fine human being and for this reason alone it’s okay to steal money from street kids to buy this book.

I first met Stephen Lawhead and his lovely wife, and slightly less lovely sons, when I was working as a volunteer for Schloss Mittersill, a castle high on the hills in the snow-capped mountains of Austria. Unfortunately, I was not the king but the kitchen help and used to spend the most part of my waking days washing dishes. One night during the Christmas party, faced with a trillion dishes to wash, Stephen Lawhead came into the kitchen and helped me wash the dishes so that I could join the party.

Can you believe that? Either you have to be really, really crazy or really, really kind and Stephen Lawhead definitely isn’t crazy.

The writer Stephen Lawhead & I

Shine

Do you wonder where I am when you watch
the stars perform their midnight mass?
Do your eyes reflect Sirius, the Dog Star,
shining by Orion?

Do you wonder what I’m doing
in the silence of the space between us?
Do you wish on falling stars while supernovas
drift by wandering suns in halos of golden light?

Are you lonely when you look at the moon?
Is your heart empty inside?
Can you see the nebula clouds glittering with stardust
while Alpha Centauri stands guard at heaven’s gate?

Do you wonder what I’m thinking
right here right now?
Jupiter serenades its spinning moons,
but all I can do is write a message for you:
The stars don’t love you.
I do.

(by Jean-Michel K.)

Abracadabra

Here I give you this-
a starry night,
seven moons and a castle,
mountains wrapped in snow.

Here I give you a story-
a swinging lantern,
an urgent secret,
a hero in great danger.

Here I give you a blazing sun,
empty beaches
and a turquoise sea.
A shipwreck. Sunken treasure.
A survivor.

Here I give you rivers
flowing through your front door,
rainbows in your living room,
the plumber a prince,
a kiss, a fairytale wedding.

Here I give you this-
a poem.
May the words put a spell on you.

(by Jean-Michel K.)

Evaporation

Okay, so my last blog died after a mysterious earthquake hit the online world and now that the dust has settled I’ve decided to get back at it. It’s going to be like it was before only a little different. I thought about starting over on tumblr (what with new friends and all) but all those flashing lights and links left me so confused I could barely login, so this will have to do for now.

So my blog has moved and in real life I’ve moved too; from Sea Point to Sunnydale, a suburb even more boring than Fish Hoek if such a thing is possible (but the beaches are better). My neighbour, on the other side of the electric fence, likes cars. I mean he really, really likes cars and his driveway has a number of them in various stages of decomposition. At night he listens to music with a lot of base in it. It’s hard not to notice when I’m lying on my coach with a copy of Allen Ginsberg’s Selected Poems and I’m wondering why the walls are shaking.

I forgot to ask the landlady about the neighbours. She said everyone’s pretty friendly (on the inside perimeter of the electric fence) and that having a cat is not such a good idea, especially if it’s prone to climbing fences. Everything’s changed. Again.

My love affair with poetry continues and so I wanted to start this season with one of my favourite poets, Lisa Zaran. Look what she says in only 6 sentences…

Evaporation

I've left pens in a red rush behind me, full of words I meant to write.
Scars on the soft edge of nouns, verbs I meant to give life to and forgot.
Stories, once started, lost reason, as adjectives fell left and right.
There were times I believed, I'm a thin woman now, my children stand
on a dusty road, their witness-mouths twisted shut. Every night, I wish on a star.
Oftentimes, the desert sky is dead in all its eloquence. I still whisper.