'n venster na 'n ander wêreld


November 2013


her amaranthine lips
in eluctable invitation
an illecebrous intoxication
she bites her lip ever slightly

we circle each other
at first,
we are moons in retrograde
until drawing closer
to blissful oblivion

the psithurism of our inhalation
that very breath before the kiss
then dark lustful fire
and we,
the slaves that feed it


(c) 2013 allen simpson

someone requested the meanings of certain words. Here they are:

amaranthine – deep purple-red
ineluctable – inescapable, irresistable
illecebrous – alluring, attractive, enticing
psithurism – the sound of the wind through the trees

Spiral games

There is a downwards spiral,
from which it is difficult to escape,
it is journey with no end
no hidden doors

no rope to pull you to safety
a downwards spiral with many names
but it is known as DEPRESSION
It feeds you pain

it feeds from yours
it feeds you nails
and you feel it stabbing from the inside
a downwards spiral that plays many games
and the loser ends with a knife wound to the wrist
or empty pill bottles lying about

it loves to tell you stories
and if you believe them
your heart slowly dies

but, there are also a power you have
if you see the candle, little moth
stay away from the flames
find ways to smile
find ways to find joy
grab it
embrace it

and the spiral will loose it’s beauty
and you will learn to float



up towards

the azure sky…

(c) 2013 allen simpson

Drained, pale and falling through the cracks (we all fall alone)

Sour laments on city walls
No heads or tails
when the coin falls
emptied will in lucid dreams
the pale end as it seems

and is it easier to fall
the cracks are open on the floor
and is it so difficult to call
when your voice is a locked door

when angered minds are so shallow
why do we drown in the flow?
When Icarus wings can’t save us,
we all fall alone…

we all fall alone…

(C) 2012 allen simpson
inspired by the music of Diorama

The human condition: lost in thought.

The human condition: lost in thought..

wees jouself

As mens jouself verander vir ander mense, hoeveel van die prag van jou wese verraai jy? Mens moet jouself net verander vir jouself. As mense jou nie wil aanvaar net omdat jy nie dieselfde Godsdiens as hulle is nie, hoekom moet jy jou God verloon en maak asof jy in hulle geloof is en sielsongelukkig wees.

Wees jouself.

As mense jou veroordeel want jy dra ‘n hemp met ‘n kopbeen op, hoekom moet jy die hemp weggooi? Jy sin van kleredrag maak jou uniek, vriend. Moenie jou mooi prysgee vir ‘n idoot nie.

Wees jouself.

Wees jouself – of huil in die donker van die nag… wanneer jy werklik besef hoe alleen jy is, want jy het jou beste vriend weggegooi…. Want jy is jou beste vriend.

(c) 2013 allen simpson

Die Meganiese Afrikaner

die klokwerk kort olie
die skaniere gedaan
sy stoomenjin het gaan staan
sy parte drup olie
in die son sal hy vergaan
sy paaiemente is agter
sy sein is foutief
sy hy is vol duike
sy programmering is foutief

vergaan is die nuwe inding
soos prada in milan
die volk sing al eulogies
en die prediker huil met elke gesang
klippe is op gebloei
en siele is vol stof

meneer help asseblief
vra hy
maar die goewerment is net vol grief
en behandel sy volk net stief

wit en bruin Afrikaners in ‘n ry
meganies blink gevryf
hulle gaan nie lê nie
al maak die roes hul styf

(c) 2013 allen simpson

geinspireer deur ‘n die ‘steampunk’ genre

When the walls ooze ghosts…

Thought for though, I say

Met net 'n brood.

 Made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic

Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts.

Do you agree? Please leave a comment and tell me a little about your interpretation of this quote by Italo.

My piece on this topic will follow after your feedback 🙂

View original post


Die volgende is geinspireer deur ‘n blog wat ek gelees het.

Mis is die alleenste woord in Afrikaans. Mis beteken nie net diere-ontlasting nie, of daardie pragtige laag wolke wat Magoebaskloof laat lyk soos ‘n sprokie paradys nie… mis is ‘n gevoel, ‘n leemte… alleen-kol in die siel…

Dit is soms soos ‘n seer tand waarmee jy met jou tong speel en as die tand getrek word speel jy met die gat waar die tand was en mis die pyn… Mis is ‘n genade en genadedood…

Dit vertel jou soms wat jy verloor het waarvoor jy lief was, of wat jy nog altyd wou hê en droom… Mis is ‘n monster, ‘n ou vriend… almal ken hom… wees eerlik…

(c) 2013 Allen simpson


A single stone
imperfect, cracked, dirt dusted
in flight
flung from clumsy hands
hurls toward the water
the impact looms
the rock strikes
and for a brief moment
a perfect lotus flower
forms from water
only to die
and leave ripples in its wake…

(c) 2012 allen simpson

Whisky is beautiful

Picture this: a glass with ice cubes in and slowly you pour in the whisky, some of the ice rattle with excitement and the whisky makes the ice even more translucent, giving shapes amidst the amber whisky. That is not the beautiful part. Gently you lift the glass and sniff and get the smell of oak and rye and it is almost as if you can stretch you hand and feel the rye in die field brushing you hand. That is not the beauty. You take a sip and an explosion hits your mouth, your palate soar, you see visions of jesus, Allah and Buddha waving, that is not the beautiful part. You swallow and sigh and the world feels as if it exhales a sigh. That is the beautiful part. Whisky is beautiful…

(C) 2013 allen simpson

The Turmoil of Acceptance (a Wolfskin Mary Story)

She slips from the bed quietly , as not to disturb him , tenderness shines in her eyes along with deep pain and yearning , to hide her other self becomes harder and harder to do. She crouches in the corner as he sleeps, and wraps her arms tightly about her trembling self , the tears fall silently as she sinks her nails into her own back and teeth into her knee the sobs want to come , but she mustn’t let them, her other self whimpers and struggles against the restraints that have bond her for to long.

Glimpses of her other self have broke through , and she knows by his reactions , he is not the one to weather that part of her , and the need grows to set her free .damn why must she feel so much , why can’t the side everyone sees be her only side? The darkness wants free , the beast needs fed and yet , will there ever be someone else that can accept and understand these needs again ??. She shivers , for she has a special love for he who sleeps in her bed so peacefully , but needs more than his strength can offer , and yet she wishes to hold on to him, but why? Is healing half of the need enough? She knows the answer and it hurts , love is love so many forms it has and yet , her other self screams in agony , the sound tears thru her head and soul .

She curls on the floor in the fetal position , as she has so many times before trying to comfort the whole of herself once again . The emotions swirl inside her ripping and tearing her apart once again. Numbness once again settles in , the rage must stay hidden, the need to deliver and receive that animalistic aggression ,pain ,and the release that comes with it has to be contained , but that need is always growing at some point it will break free in full force , and the repercussions terrify her .

He will not understand or withstand this part of her , this is a painful fact, why can’t she turn off feelings and just be reckless and wild , not caring? Because even with her two natures , everything she is is about feeling , therefore she is the damned , creature of pure love along with an animalistic lust , one whom needs both to survive and remain whole , with not much hope of finding again another like her , insanity will come soon as she starts shutting down and pushing away again . She gets up and silently crawls back into bed with him tears still running down her cheeks , loving as she does is going to destroy her this she knows but….she curls into him for that bit of comfort and softly kisses his shoulder wishing she could be his answer, knowing she’s not. The pain slices like a blade , yet she doesn’t want to let go . His warmth , smell and feel are never going to be enough sadly and she knows she is just a momentary comfort for him , a option , a buffer from loneliness but yet she cares deeply , too deeply not to be hurt , and this is why she builds walls ,everything will cause pain in the end . She snuggles right against him hoping someday he will find all that he needs , was she wrong letting him in? Knowing it would be fleeting? She thinks not and accepts the fresh ache of knowing this , and the letting go will come soon, and she knows she can’t close her heart , or build strong enough walls to keep others out , but will she ever find all that she needs? She rolls over and again wraps herself in that fetal ball of pain and hopeless . And prays to the gods and goddesses that the pain she feels is not in vain. She knows soon he will roll into her and realize she is once again in that place he can’t conceive ,and she knows he will gently unfold her into him and wrap himself about her to try and comfort her thru something he will never understand ,and she will accept this , and take what she can , to find a bit of peace for the moment as the beast struggles to break free . Utter loneliness will come again soon so she desperately clings to what she can , storing the pain in a special sweet place just for him , broken and shattered once again , she picks up the pieces and rearranges them again , she will hide again for awhile , and someone will again touch her soul , the fight will lose and the search will begin again with no real hope of finding all she needs , but if she can offer a touch of love to another broken soul she will this she knows and at her own cost for , gentle or beastly this is her nature to love and nurture the broken , even if it hurts .

“It offers me that small glimmer of peace even as it rips me apart . I am me no more no less , maybe someday all of me will be accepted , and set free. And my heart and mind are always asking , as the the song goes , is there anyone out there strong enough to be my man ? We may see someday , but my hope is low , my mind and heart can’t conceive that there may be one that will fight for and with me , and make me whole again .”

(c) 2013 Wolfskin Mary

Wolfskin Mary is a dear beloved wolfsister of mine and brought this true story or turmoil to me. She is my first guest artist on my new categoryImage on my blog… Musings from other wolves

Powered by

Up ↑