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April 2015

ALLEN EN HANNELIESE IN PARYS (DIE ANDER EEN) DEEL 3 : C’EST LA VIE

Bree straat lyk pragtig getooi in Herfsgeel
Bree straat lyk pragtig getooi in Herfsgeel

Hulle se Parys Frankryk is wonderlik maar Parys in die Vrystaat is fantasties. Regte C’est la vie soos my bonne amie Hanneliese sal getuig. Lees voort “ALLEN EN HANNELIESE IN PARYS (DIE ANDER EEN) DEEL 3 : C’EST LA VIE”

ALLEN EN HANNELIESE IN PARYS (DIE ANDER EEN) DEEL 2 : Stone Henge (Een van die ander)

Henge 8

Julle ken mos Stone Henge. Ek was ook by een met Hanneliese, maar nie die een in Engeland nie, nee, sommer by een van die ander. Lees voort “ALLEN EN HANNELIESE IN PARYS (DIE ANDER EEN) DEEL 2 : Stone Henge (Een van die ander)”

Allen en Hanneliese in Parys (Die ander een) Deel 1 : Kiki’s

Kiki's is magic!!!!!
Kiki’s is magic!!!!!

Ek en Hanneliese het Wes-Transvaal en ‘n stukkie Vrystaat plat gery en in Parys, in Bree Laan op ‘n pragtige Diamant van ‘n plek afgekom…. Lees voort “Allen en Hanneliese in Parys (Die ander een) Deel 1 : Kiki’s”

Jou inhoud…

elke siel is ‘n botteltjie
wat jy by jou dra
maar jy moet jouself vra…

“is my botteltjie liefde?
is my botteltjie gif?
klop my hart vol vrede?
of is hy vol gewig?”

“soos Ma’at harte weeg
in ou Egiptiese boeke te vertel
sal my hart ligter as ‘n veer weeg
of so swaar soos die gewig van hel”

is dit nie beter, om eerder
liefde as gif te deel
as om soos ‘n nare gifappelheks
geluk by almal te steel?

so suiwer die liefde
verander kwaad in goed
as ons onself net kans gee
om net die goeie in ons medemens te soek…

(c) 2012 allen simpson
geinspireer deur Ma’at en Anubis… En ‘n bietjie Jackie Chan… regtig!!!

My Inferno

soms is ek in die hel
vaar ek op die brandende boot
Charon grinnik vir my
en ek voel dis verby…
wanneer jy –
soos Hera jou woede op my ontluik
wat sal dit bereik…

dan maak ek my oë toe
skuil van jou medusa kyk
mompel ‘Wyk Satan Wyk’
verbeel jou slang hare
verander in ‘n Afro Pruik…

maar tog as jy word soos ‘n kalm see
my jou liefde gee
jou valkyrie uitrusting afhaal
jou metamorfose ‘n nimf word
deur jou lippe verslind word
jou tong in my lek kielie
my deur my laaste uithou biellie

dan word ek jou adonis
en jou venus-tastinge
blus my Inferno vlamme aan
en saam word ons fenikse
woede word wyn
wyn word oseane
en swiep ons op…

word weer kwaad my lief
ek wil myself verloor in jou inferno…

(c) 2012 allen simpson

Paganus Mater Caritas Est

dismal days will not take hold of me
and tenebrous hatred towards me will fade
because in my heart steadfast I believe
Paganus Mater Caritas Est

Isis Astaste Diana
I cling to the names with my heart
Hecate Demeter Kali
will always listen to the voice of my art

I bear no ill-will as harm none is my resolve
the bitterness of man is not mine to bear
I will take up my pentacle as my cross
and fear no heresy, self righteous ones, beware

I bow to all sacred corners not to the words of man
the Divine my staff and my cloak
I call on the Earth and the Moon in troubled times
Paganus Mater Caritas est

To all that hate my heart and my faith
Ego te absolvo
my salvation freed me now I free you from judgement’s curse

(c) allen simpson
Translation notes:
Paganus Mater Caritas est loosely translates to ‘the Pagan Mother is Love’
Ego te absolvo is a term used by Catholic priests to forgive the sins of people that confess their sins to them. It means ‘I absolve thee’

Reclusive Heart

life has become a curse for society
half drink away their sobriety
work your fingers until the skeletal bone is all that remains
work work work but see no money, we have so much to pay

we can’t stand still to appreciate the blossoms of spring
we can’t stand still to see the magic that a new dusk or dawn brings
we can’t even afford a bread but work ourselves to death
yet we pop out offspring like it’s an impervious blessing

with fear we look at the beggers in the street
knowing there is a fine line to that destiny that might await us

the bills are mountains at the end of the month
the electricity we pay for are often denied us
we are in shackles of misery
and some even take the gun to the head
forgetting the cost is more to those left behind.

there are children hungry in the streets
walking dead zombies scrounging like dogs for a morsel to eat
there are more tears at night as we cry ourselves to sleep
we all keep it inside to afraid to state the obvious
we become reclusive hearts, shadows hiding in the light.

(c) 2015 allen simpson

dogma stigmata

the sober curse of twisted misconception
that lingering taste of rancour beliefs
that bleeds through the stigmata of unanswered questions
I see mankind as he mourns and grieves

this bitter cup, my angel
I pass from my lips to yours
a communion of sorts, my stranger
that mankind’s austerity have wrought

clench the sour grapes then
let them fill the cup
I witness in aghast petrification
how eagerly they sip

we do not need blame a god’s demons
mankind’s deviltry is enough
it filled the tomes of history
to make psychotic children lust
for bitter ends…

we have given the hitlers in our midst too much power
and wash our hands like that yellow-livered emperor aeons ago
we hide behind acts of kindness and sell the tickets to the show

we go on knees and selfishly pray for blessings
poison dripping from our lips
we never selflessly love our neighbor
and wish him in some apocalyptic abyss

we reach our hands in faith to the mountains
the gods shake their heads
we forgot the rudiments of their teachings
for our lusts and own selfish bliss

we do not need blame a god’s demons
mankind’s deviltry is enough
it filled the tomes of history
to make psychotic children lust
for bitter ends…

(c) 2015 allen simpson

chronicle of a rusted blade

tempered in fire, cast from steel
times erosion leaves is marks
forged with hammers on anvils of iron
even I, the weapon can kneel

I have pierced many foes
in battles for my soul
yet rusted and broken
all swords will eventually end

there have been promised
there have been assurances
yet all sword must go back to the earth from whence they came

there is not bitterness I have done my best
to fight in the battles for times of peace to come
as I now lie here I give my final glimmer
in the unreachable sun

this is the end a legend must die
for a new legend to be born
a new legend to grow majestic wings
and soar to it’s own sky

I have pierced many foes
in battles for my soul
yet rusted and broken
all swords will eventually end
even the new legends will rust away

(c) 2015 allen simpson

jong wolfie

jong wolfie sou ‘n wêreld verken
‘n verskil maak
ou wolf kyk terug
sien sy spore en wonder soms,,,

jong wolfie het droombeelde gehad
ou wolf droom nog
sommige droombeelde het vere in die wind geword
sommige het drome geword en wag
swanger…

drome word waar of
drome word swaar
drome word wolke
en wolkbreuke
bring soms die reën

(c) 2015 allen simpson

sense and insensability

I cannot divine
I cannot scry
finding the answer is a far cry
but the question quivers on thirsty lips
but all the why questions
seem lost
seem wrong to be uttered verbally

there is a sense of loss
even if they said they are found
there is proof that they are
drowning on dry land

I cannot divine
I cannot scry
just pray at night to say goodbye
one more miserable time

there is a sense of wonder
even in the misery
of not knowing
of not finding
the answer….

‘who ate my cookies….?’

(c) 2015 allen simpson

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