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L O V E N O T L O V E


Love is patient, Love is kind....
Love shakes you by the hair and screws with your mind.

Love is giving , Love is sweet...
Love robs you of your innocence and leaves you incomplete.

Love is true and Love takes time...
Love's falsehood has you screaming and committing a crime.

Make Love, they say, Love, not War...
Only till he goes psycho and has to settle the score.

Then it is backbiting and bitching and breaking of hearts
and name calling and cursing and throwing of tarts.
And hissing and hating and having hysterics;
no more "honey", and  "hotstuff" and seeing of clerics;
to exchange sacred vows in front of family and friends
Love not so unconditional now, and it all depends...

Eternity was promised and invitation were mailed
But that was before love was so intentionally derailed.

love is broken, love is lost
love can be fixed, but what a cost!
keep your promises of love, offer me only lust
and play me with passion, till love turns to dust.

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Right here, Right now.

The wind whistles & howls, shaking up Cape Town ; waking her weary chidren.

Dazed I wake up for a second time, opening heavy lids to find that Monday had dawned softly. Ribbons of red are slowly beginning to caress the darkness as I stretch out lazy like a cat, lying in the middle of the kingsize bed, my thick winter frame engulfed by fleecy bedding the colour of candy floss.
"Sweet!" I utter out loud to an already empty house as soft light filters in through aluminium blinds making stripes like tattoos on my pale skin.
I should get up, but I am perplexed by the day which stretches ahead of me demanding nothing!
I'm at odds, not used to so much time on my hands, "busy" being my usual setting.

I'm beginning to like this new reality.
The ticking clock by my bedside sets a steady rhythm, as all around me the world is on the go, moving in circles. It's as if the world's forgotten about this one, tiny space. In my cocoon I groggily sit up, twisting m…

Storylines

Furrows deep and pronounced line my brow. I contemplate them,  willing them away, stroking them gently, each stroke meant to iron them out. I am their canvas, they are my storylines.

I seize my ironing, and listen to their tales.
I feel the cold to my bones!

Not the usual Cape Town cold I grew up with in the Southern Suburbs, but an iciness matching any day spent in Tewkesbury more than a decade ago in the UK.  The kind of cold that requires down feather jackets and knee-high fake fur boots.  The kind of cold that leaves sleet on windshields, and soup pots full.
Central heating!Pah! Our homes in Cape Town are ill-equipped for this kinda torture!
I hug my hot water bottle to me like a long lost lover, it's squishy, and pot-bellied and jiggles when I squeeze it. Raising the white mug to my lips, I slurp the almost scalding coffee quickly. My fifth cuppa and it's only 10:42am. Two bars glow bright orange at me. Mikey hogs the heater, and Georgie sits on top of the TV cabinet like a …

Jack of All

My professional life is marred by the ordinary.
By the humdrum thank you ma'am.

It remains puzzling, even in my semi-retirement phase.
I am not someone with an aversion to "success" or money.
I was raised to have a strong work ethic and I tend to show up, and I’m 100% tied-in to my endeavors. I've been at the receiving end of accolades and positive performance appraisals,  and I have over time broadened my scope of learning and my skillset, and I have tried to keep up with the times and technology.

Still...
Always in circles.
Round  & round.
Forward; then back to square 1.
Everywhere, but up.
Lateral moves and Plan B’s.

Hmmm…
Maybe I am a dreamer?
Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest sibling, the other one?
It could be because I’m fickle?
Or easily bored?
Or difficult?
Too demanding? Not demanding enough?
Too nice? Not ruthless in the least.

Yikes, maybe I think too much?
Maybe I should think some more!
Or deeper?
I could go back and make like Freud and delve into…