The Garden at Stone Cottage

“Life begins the day you start a garden”
                                           Chinese Proverb

The garden at Stone Cottage
Is such a magical place,
It wraps around our home
Like a scarf around a face.
Despite the heat and the dry
And the wind, it still thrives,
As it demands our attention
And helps shape our lives;
A true reflection of us,
Of our efforts and care,
So generous in returning
All the love that we share,
Teaching us about nature,
Of its fascinating ways,
Watching our garden evolve,
Surely the most special of days.

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But there’s so much more to the garden
Than just the plants and the trees
Its insects attract the birds,
Its flowers draw the bees,
So the garden is never still,
Always movement for the eye,
Whether a breeze rippling through,
A visiting bird or butterfly,
Or a bee hard at work
As it moves from flower to flower,
Mesmerising us
For hour after hour;
A world within a world,
Where from stress we are free,
Our garden at Stone Cottage,
There’s no better place to be.

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They’re Watching Me – But Who’s Watching Them?

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who’s watching me, who should I call?
Asked the government, but they refused to discuss.
Won’t say who watches the watchers who are watching us?

They’re watching me,
But who’s watching them?
The endless government surveillance
It’s time to stem,
What’s private to me
IS private to me,
And it’s not what I want
Some government employee to see.

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Conversations that I have
Why do they need to record?
Have they nothing better to do
Are they getting bored?
My e-mails and my texts
They also scan;
To take control my life,
Do they have a plan?

CCTV cameras watch me
Where ever I go;
Where ever I am
They seem desperate to know.
To help prevent crime,
Is the government’s claim,
But more police on the streets
Would achieve just the same.

So how do they process
Their information haul?
How do they catergorise my privacy
Through which they constantly trawl?
With all my private life stored
On some government file,
With my personal rights to freedom
How does that reconcile?

And all of this information,
Who controls how it’s used?
How do we know
It’s not being abused?
Perhaps it’s being collected
For some dubious intention,
That’s not on the list
That governments mention?

My personal freedom
No longer mine to enjoy,
As new methods to watch me
They continually employ.
It’s for national security,
That’s what they pretend,
Taking away the very rights
That they claim to defend;

Yet this desire to watch everyone,
To record everything,
Caused them to miss 9/11
And that terrorist ring.
If their fetish for spying
Had been less intense,
They would have been more effective
In that nation’s defence!

At the end of the day
Our apathy’s to blame,
We used to be fighters,
But now we are tame;
We’re just too accepting
We never demand why;
So when the government says jump,
All we can ask is “How high?”

 June 2015

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Why is the K Always Silent? – I Don’t K-now

Some couples can never find interesting things to talk about, not us, we talk about the silence of the k’s…..

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We were sitting around aimlessly talking last night,
The second glass of wine was tasting so good,
Just chatting about the quirks of our language,
You know, in the way that old couples should.

Now we all know that the English language
Is such an incredibly hard language to learn,
But last night, as we poured our third glass of wine,
We had only one pressing concern.

We asked ourselves why the k before an n
Is always kept silent, not usually heard.
And as we discussed this a conclusion was reached,
The English language was simply absurd.

On a silent night our silent knight,
Silently around the castle grounds walks.
And on silent nights they talk about our silent knight,
Saying he’s the knight who at night never talks.

But then is it night-night, that we say to our kids,
As off to bed they sleepily go?
Or is it knight-knight, or maybe night-knight?
It’s something we surely should know.

Which takes us to need, or maybe it’s knead?
Depends upon what you are doing;
Because if you need to knead the dough my friend,
A career as a baker you should be pursuing.

A knots not a knot if it’s not tied right,
As soon it will become undone.
But now how do you know that it is not the right knot?
This language game really is fun.

And if you knew it was new, then you couldn’t say
That you knew it was old, that’s a lie;
But what then if you knew that the new knot was not new,
What a tangle we’d have to untie.

The knell sounds for Nell, she was still in her prime,
Discovered a nit in her knitting and died.
Been out shopping that day, bought new knickers for a nicker,
But the knot in her new knickers won’t now ever be tied.

Now what about not knowing knowledge about a ledge?
No, surely that be must be a useful thing to know,
As armed with the knowledge that there was no ledge
Out of the window you just wouldn’t go!

We’re thinking of starting a world-wide campaign,
That the K should once again be spoken,
A knotty problem is it not, we know some will say no;
Perhaps another bottle of wine we should open!

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Breakfast With A View

Perhaps getting up every morning at sparrows fart, just so you can sit in seemingly endless queues of traffic isn’t the best way to start your day after all……..

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Imagine starting each day
In the way that we do,
Breakfast on a stoep
A great mountain view;
Sitting there chatting,
No need to be rushed,
The smell of fresh coffee,
As the plunger is pushed.
Fresh creamy yoghurt,
Nice and thick, not too runny
And drizzled all over,
With local raw honey.
Eggs sometimes scrambled,
As the routine gets changed,
With tomatoes and bacon
For the yoghurt exchanged.
Our day being planned,
Or then again not,
Discussing the weather,
Is it going to be hot?
Watching orioles and drongos
At the fountain drinking,
Planning garden improvements,
Gets the grey matter thinking.
Just chilling out
Before the day has begun,
As we sit on our stoep feeling
Life’s jackpot’s been won.

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A Snooze or a Brew….Which is Best?

Perhaps the top of the hill is the best place to be?

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I’m over the hill now,
Soon I should be picking up speed,
But a life somewhat faster
Is not something I need.
Most things are still working,
Have my own teeth, my own hair,
And at a finely turned ankle
I still like to stare.

I should really be grateful,
There’s no need to complain,
Old age has its benefits,
There’s so much that you gain;
If you sit there a minute,
Then I’ll write you a list;
But … perhaps a little snooze first,
They’re so hard to resist!

OK…. I’m back again,
Just a short power nap,
Too much thinking these days
Makes the energy sap;
Now something about a list?
First …. give me a minute or two,
I think I’ll just put the kettle on,
It must be time for a brew!

OK that’s better!
Now what were we saying?
(Memory’s not at its best,
At the edges it’s fraying.)
You were going to give me a list
Of what I would need
If I wanted to go faster,
If I wanted to speed?

No…. that won’t be necessary,
This slow life is fine,
I’ve found the top of the hill
To be a good finishing line;
So I think I’ll just stay here,
Not go over the crest.
Now …. a snooze or a brew?
Which do you think is best?

 

One Day As A Tiger

The world is full of sheep.

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Better one day as a tiger
Than a hundred years as a sheep;
A promise I made
That I try keep.
True to myself,
Not following the crowd;
An independence of thought,
Of which I am proud.

Our freedom of speech
Is under attack,
Our own fault really,
Reflects the courage we lack.
Hard earned freedoms
Simply being taken away,
Be careful what you think,
Be careful what you say.

From history we should learn,
But not anymore;
The lessons of history
We choose to ignore.
Less well informed,
But with more information,
There’s no power in knowledge
For this generation.

I’m probably being targeted
In my poet’s role;
Not conforming to the narrative,
Not under control.
With my freedom of speech
Not politically corrected,
On the government’s radar
I’ll soon be detected.

They might try to isolate me
For the things that I write,
But I won’t be intimidated,
I won’t give up my fight.
Not an activist really,
Just exercising free thought,
In mainstream media’s web
I refuse to be caught.

Say what they want to hear,
Don’t dare speak the truth,
Don’t argue their reasoning,
Don’t dare ask for proof.
Free thought and opinions
A threat to the nation.
However did we end up
In this sad situation?

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Apathy – A Story About Today

“Apathy is the glove into which evil slips its hand” 
Bodie Thoene

It’s the story of our apathy,
That I watch unfold,
I’ve written it in rhyme,
That’s how my stories are told;
It’s a story of how
We succumb to pretence,
And how fear and ignorance
Defeats common sense.

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A story about how privacy
And freedom of speech,
Will soon be just memories,
Taken out of our reach;
Of how with indifference
We are now so infected,
And of how we’ve become
So politically corrected.

A story of children
Being schooled, not educated,
Caught when they’re young,
Their minds impregnated;
A story of democracy
Brought to its knees,
Being ruled by world bodies,
Governed by appointees.

A story of falsehoods,
By politicians conceived;
Like man-made global warming,
How is that ever believed?
Brainwashed by propaganda,
The lack of understanding shows,
So many now spellbound
By the emperor’s new clothes.

An Orwellian future
Brought on by this apathy;
Our governments not controlled
In the way they should be.
Increasingly we’re indoctrinated
Into a minority’s way of thinking,
The foundations of our culture
Into the mire slowly sinking.

A reflection of our time
Of achievements reversed,
How by our ambivalence
We seemed to be cursed,
Our liberty just grains of sand,
Through careless hands poured,
We’ve abandoned life’s anchors,
So how are we secured?

To many out there
My story just won’t appeal,
Dumbed down and confused,
Can’t tell the false from the real;
But my story’s no fiction,
It grieves me to say,
It’s the story of our apathy,
It’s “A Story About Today”.

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Can My Poetry Save the World?

“Two things are infinite – the Universe and human stupidity and I’m not sure about the Universe”
Albert Einstein

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Can my poetry save the world?
Can it drag it back from the brink?
By using common sense and logic,
Encourage people to think.

Stop reality being replaced
By what they want us to believe;
The dumbing down of a generation,
Now so gullible, so naïve.

Where facts from emotions
Are no longer separated,
And with the most irrational of fears
Millions are so easily indoctrinated.

Critical thinking by rhetoric
Is now being replaced,
And those who try to reason
With so many challenges are faced,

Finding debate and discussion
Is no longer being used,
 The group think must be worshipped,
Or they will be abused.

Teaching what to, not how to,
Educators being tasked,
An enquiring mind’s questions
Can no longer be asked.

So will reading my verse
Make people stop and reflect?
Refocus their minds,
Maybe make them suspect
That through relentless propaganda
It’s a new world order some seek;
Forcing their dangerous ideology
Onto the uninformed and the weak.

Priceless

Some things you just can’t put a price on….

It’s not just the plants that give me such pleasure,
Deep in my garden lies its real hidden treasure.

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I use my garden to grow my soul,
To anchor my roots, to make me whole;
To understand how good it can feel
To weed out life’s trivia, to nurture what’s real;
To connect with nature, finding peace in its earth,
So how can I value what my garden is worth?

 

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Days End

There is something quite magical about sitting and just watching the sun go down….

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The sun starts to set,
The air slowly cools,
The fierce daytime heat
Now no longer rules.
On the stoep we have gathered
For our usual observance
Of the end of the day,
The sun’s disappearance.

The dog has been walked,
The wine has been poured,
The stoep lamps are burning,
Against insects secured;
The last of the daylight
Lingers far out to the West,
It’s awesome changing vistas,
Stirring senses from rest.

And as night supplants day
The twilight is crowned
By animals orchestrating
That African sound.
Guinea fowl roosting,
Chattering away,
Crickets endless chirping,
Owls having their say.

Haunting sounds
As the day’s put to rest,
Another Karoo wonder
By which we are blessed.
And as the stoep lamps flicker
And we watch the flames dance,
The moths come to join us
On their nightly advance.

Finally by the darkness
We’re completely surrounded,
Our mind, soul and body
Now totally grounded.
Of all of life’s crops
Surely this is the cream,
Sitting here on the stoep,
Living our dream.

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