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wolfshadowwhispers

'n venster na 'n ander wêreld

Maand

Maart 2016

Dreamstuff

dreamstuff

Walk into the mystic
Walk into the realm of dreams
Ride on the back of a wolf
Dance under the full moon with me
Befriend the Horse of dreams
Ride to a sacred place with him
Fill your heart with dreamstuff
Let the innerchild come in.
And if you carry burdens
Send them to the Mother Moon
Her magick will free you
And bring you serenity soon.
And when you awake
With dreamstuff in your heart
Share it with wisdom
And bring joy, in every soul a little part…

(C) 2013 Allen Simpson

Photo was taken at Kaapsehoop by Allen Simpson and Hanneliese Bredell

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Winter’s song

Oh hear me; oh hear me, oh silent sun
Winter is falling, the season has come
The voices of birds have begun to fade
The world is in its monochrome stage

And the wind, howlingly sings, bringing the news
It is cold, and feels old, and it’s a new age

Oh hear me; oh hear me, oh silent sun
Winter is falling, your heat is gone
Somewhere a bear dreams or warmer days
Of hunting for fish under your yellow rays

And the wind, howls and sings its lament
All is dry and feels cold and we’re chilled to the bone

Oh hear me; oh hear me, oh silent moon
Your light is dark and the clouds shroud your hue
Something is creeping from the dark of the night
Cast your light, cast your light, give me the power to fight

Still the wind, howls and sings us a dirge
As from the darkness, something unnatural stirs…

© 2016 Allen Simpson
Inspired by Game of Thrones… winter is coming

cliffs of remorse

Where does it end:
the world
the questions that burns like fire on the lips and hearts of men
when?
when does the world end?

when mankind stands on the cliffs of remorse…
who will catch us when we fall?

and will YOU be there…?

(C)2012 allen simpson

Photo: Allen SImpson and Hanneliese Bredell

Photo editing: Allen Simpson

Aspoestertjie woordekonomie

Soms wonder ek waar ons voorouers aan woorde soos “Raponsie’ en ‘Aspoestertjie’ gekom het. Om woorde direk uit ander tale te vertaal in jou eie taal is skreeu snaaks. En ‘Aspoestertjie’ klink baie verdag ook. Soos ‘n loslyf model in ‘n Arikaanse hygtydskrif… Continue reading “Aspoestertjie woordekonomie”

We are naked

Naked, we are pushed from the womb,
like blind cute little earthworms
pretty, pretty

what will we become
transformed like silkworms
we spin our cocoons
will we ascend to flutter by
butterfly
or like moths seek death at
the candle’s flame

we are lost in life
we are forgotten
we are forever touching blindly
until

we go naked into the great beyond.

(c) 2011 Allen Simpson

Photo Copyright: Allen Simpson and Hanneliese Bredell

Priester Wolfie

Ek hoor toe ‘n wyle terug dat mens kan registreer om ge’ordain’ te word as ‘n priester op die internet, dit net nadat ek in ‘n paar T.V. reekse daaroor  episodes gesien het. Toe gaan loop ek rond in die kuber ruimte en vind uit dat ja, ek kan ‘n priester word en dis ‘n wettige sertifikaat in vele lande.  Continue reading “Priester Wolfie”

Virtual Sublime

virual sublime

I

She touches me so gently,
her hands instruments of tortured bliss
(that kiss)
across my fevered soul.

Into the virtual sublime.

She yields me like a key to
gates of sanctity,
she takes me into a consciousness,
higher, higher than ecstasy.

Into virtual sublime.

Until we burned out,
husks empty of the act,
fade…

II

She is the honey in the beehive
she is so pure decadent
she is the sin of sweet tempattion
sublime, she is
virtually all I exist for

My key turns in the lock
the gates are open
into her deepest consciousness,
higher, higher than ecstasy.

we burned out,
we fade…
into virtual sublime

(c) 2016 Allen Simpson
Part 1 written in 2011, part 2 in 2016

Poet’s Note:

For two weeks we had no landline nor internet in our suburb and after more than 12 phone calls we finally have internet again. During the two weeks without internet I reworked this poem and created the art for the poem… I hope you like the end result because this was born from that lack of communication to the outside world.

I suppose one good thing came out of two frustrating weeks of no landlines and no internet

‘n knippie kaneel liefde

Buite is dit grys en nat en soms net soms, is daar die dreun van donder, wat speels kom hallo sê. Voor my lê ‘n half geknibbelde pannekoek, die smaak en geur van kaneel nog diep in my tong gestreel. En dit bring herhinneringe terug na een van my ou gedigte in my eerste bundel, Tales From The Flow. Continue reading “‘n knippie kaneel liefde”

reën op ys

buite stort die reën in grys perkussie
binne my loop die dam vol
want jy is weer in my gedagtes
soos ‘n storm…

en selfs in die na-reën in my hart
sal dit nog drup drup
my dam wil breek maar iewers in die middel
is dit verys…

jy is weg soos ‘n droom
‘n wasem, ‘n drogbeeld van stoom
eendag, eendag was jy gewees
net vir ‘n oomblik
‘n visie voor my
jy was soos ‘n wonder
jou aanraking was soos voetspore op die maan
ewig vasgevang
waar geen wind kan waai nie

en selfs in die ys van wat-gewees
waar alles stagneer
waar alles reflekteer
soos sneeu op ‘n wolklose winter
selfs daar
is jy net ‘n droom
wat ek nie van kan ontsnap nie…

jy is soos reën op ys
dis glad
en ek val ewig

nooit sal ek kan opstaan nie…

(c) 2016 allen simpson

Foto: Geneem te Waterval Boven deur Allen Simpson en Hanneliese Bredell

The Fates and the Fate

A single firefly whisks away,
like a will-o-the-wisp to stray,
the sky is ebony dark,
the moon, a pearl of light, and

they stand, three sisters at the cave,
and wait for a sign, save
when they sigh
and pass along a single eye,
to tell the hero what awaits,
live or die, and

prophecies are fragile things,
if the banshee sings,

and the cauldron of rebirth,
stir its tides,
the light grows dim, and

the fates, they hide.

The web is spun,
wyrd has sung…

(c) 2011 Allen Simpson

Photo by Allen Simpson and Hanneliese Bredell. Taken at Lone Creek Falls, Sabie

Watermerk

watermerk

‘kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truely endless’ Mother Theresa

elke mens los ‘n watermerk
op die papier van die siel
troos, liefde, trauma, wysheid, verniel
traanspore
of treinspore
van geluk of ongeluk
watter merke los ek of jy?

Keuse is ‘n kort woord
maar is soos ‘n klip
geslinger in ‘n dam
wat rippel…
Elke druppel dien ‘n doel
voel
voel met jou hart voor jy jou klip
in die sieldam gooi
jou watermerk is ewig…
Jy het meer mag as jy dink
gebruik jou krag reg

of…

En daar is altyd ‘n ‘of’…

(c) 2013 allen simpson

Foto deur Allen Wolfie Simpson en Hanneliese Bredell, geneem te Rietvleidam

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