African Dream by Wayne Visser

AFRICAN DREAM
By Wayne Visser

My Africa!

As white-hot skies give way to bloodshot red
I breathe a sigh and rest my laden head
As dark descends and blinking stars pierce through
I close my weary eyes and dream of you

I dream a dream of genesis
Of teeming wildlife on the plains
I hear a tale of Eden’s bliss
Of sparks of knowledge fanned to flames

I dream a dream of beating drums
Of painted caves and hunters’ bow
I hear the voice of ancient ones
Who weave the web of what we know

I dream a dream of exodus
Of journeys over land and sea
I hear the song of restlessness
That swells with longing to be free

I run with cheetahs, graze with deer
I hunt with lions, know no fear
I soar with eagles, hide in dales
I swim with dolphins, sing with whales

I throb with music in the air
I see the swirl of rainbow flair
I feel the stomp of dancing feet
I sweat with fever’s tropic heat

I gaze into the firelight
I sit in silence, pure delight
I listen to the elders’ words
I rise upon the wings of birds

The rivers are flowing
The brown dust turned to green
The harvests are growing
In my African dream

The fathers are yearning
The mothers’ love redeems
The children are learning
In my African dream

The peace-buds are blooming
The hope-streets freshly clean
The love-stalls are booming
In my African dream

As visions fade, all blurred and bled
My world unwinds like loosened thread
As daylight breaks and jet sky turns to blue
I wake refreshed with glorious dreams of you

My Africa!

woke up today

‘The arrivals’ portal codes have been over ridden,
Here’s to my super connection nodes in the stamp of life from which they rendered sober vision…’

Lone-gone-cold-turkey-‘quick-snaps’ clear stand the crackling fire,
Best beat the hearts heartbeat and blow this breath through a longhorn-horn to warn you few and upon call your messiah, chayote grown version of a tame Tarzan stands the harsh outback and sends his cackling laughter… ‘Casual-counters’ consider him a coot brute of no use for he wont save their virgin born captive

‘Woke up today and saw how it comes, it creeps.
It comes in a bottle or can,
To poison the remnants of suns as the children of forgotten man…
Tames the women wild, hearts and all,
And takes rule of the palm of my hand’

A portion of hell took loose late after a ‘so tired’ unsuspecting mother discovered her hard earned papers’ worth in proper possessions was in sorts of stunning waste… the mother stood to momentarily marvel, murmuring moods at the maddening mess in a stupendous and angered state, shelved her marvel in silence, shrugged, muttered a stutter and surely shuddered…

‘I now know who my Mother is, that is; I’ve come to know her person.
I am my Queens physical memory and the blood of my King,
If I come to forget why I’m alive in this vision, and where from my soul has been,
Her struggles strife would surely worsen.’

From this then stuck his hand into one of the sporadically timed spontaneous wormholes to retrieve this tired soul, grounded solid, bound earthly, the tamed Tarzan retired bound for dimensions beyond the minds perceive…

‘She goes by name of Woman, Queen whose Son’s by Fire-hidden,
She goes by name of Daughter and Flame,
She paints her face in Green, Red and Golden stripes…
She calls them Art of Woman.
I heard…
She wakes to cry then blinks to see the thief we eye,
Then wipes her face with black again, to call this Art by Woman.’

Surly some sprites sprout to the amusement of my eyes reflection,
So as to see the bridge of the nose that boards this pass to the grass,
But not what sees the slightly pronounced bridge of their noise soaked thick by the hardness glass hustle, and the illusion that then cracks when they pass…

‘I’ve seen the sky for what it is from where it lies in the west and kept to the rising sun,
Looked in the mirror to see if we were really there, truly here in fear…
Looked if we wished to see, then they looked now you neither see nor hear…’

So after realising his opponents’ move, he reversed time to counter his opponents’ move, only to reverse time again to counter his opponents next revised move without his points convincing prove…

‘Now what’s your perception? Your meaning in Africa that is, not the land I hope… she is a people, those that first came with the memory of God and is by them close to the name of God and that’s the point she proves…’

Poem: Wild Love, by Wayne Visser

WILD LOVE

For some, love is tame

It is cute and cuddly

Like an adorable pet

Tail-waggingly happy

Purringly content

I have known this tame love

It did not last

Now, I know a different kind of love

A love that is wild

That is nervous and ferocious

Skittish and temperamental

One moment, it trusts enough to approach

The next, it bites the hand that feeds it

Such wild love can never be tamed

To cage it is to kill it

Any attempt at domestication

Denies its true nature

Wild love is sometimes fierce

And sometimes it is shy

Yet always it returns

Again and again

Seeking acceptance

Each time a little less afraid

A little less aggressive

Wild love always hurts

But the wounds it inflicts

The pierce of fangs

And the rake of claws

Are nothing but self-defence

For wildness is never malicious

This love comes from the shadows

It is born in the wilderness

It hunts in jungle and canyon

Prowls across desert and plain

Soars over ocean and peak

It is ever vigilant

And breathlessly alive

Wild love can never be conquered

It cannot be bought or won

Only earned, with patience

Patience that teaches understanding

Understanding that builds trust

Trust that creates safety

So that love’s caring instincts can take over

In love’s wild embrace

Defence gives way to protection

Aggression turns into passion

Fighting becomes playful

Wounds have a chance to heal

Even so, love is never subdued

To love is to risk injury

Flesh wounds are part of living

Bleeding is part of loving

And loving without restraint

Or fear of consequences

Is the way of the wild

Creative Commons 2010

Waiting for the Drums

I’m still waiting for the fanfare
And the drums
For the banners and the sparklers
For the road signs
And the markers
Still waiting for the pricking of my thumbs

I’m still waiting for the bugles
And the bells
For that raucous benediction
That will justify my fiction
How much time I’ve wasted
Waiting for the drums

Fiona Jamieson 2003

Poetry Meets Digital Art

I was honoured to be recently contacted by Tina Quatroni, a New York photographer and digital artist. This is what she said:

"I was surfing the internet on this snow day and came across your poem Life in Pieces ....you had my breath! I read it and reread it..and became completely inspired to do an abstract digital art piece. That is mainly how I create..something must bring me a muse."

Tina also did a second piece of art:

"I have been creative today..been snowed in here in NY so see one more I did to your poem Empty Spaces! It is a little on the dark side..but I really felt it captured an emotion that I felt when reading that poem.

I must say, I like both pieces. Life in Pieces is about things falling apart and the rediscovery of purpose. Empty Spaces was written for a friend who had lost someone close to them.

I also like the idea of different kinds of art inspiring one another. For example, I find painting extremely inspiring (galleries are among my favourite places in the world), but I probably express myself better in words than on the canvass.

This is one of the reasons why my poems are all published under a Creative Commons License, rather than Copyrighted. That allows great artists like Tina to spark off of my creativity, and vice versa.

Thanks Tina, keep answering the muse!

Life's A Gamble by Wayne Visser

LIFE'S A GAMBLE?

By Wayne Visser

Some say that life’s a gamble

In which you win or lose

You deal the deck

You place your bets

You hold your breath

And then collect your dues

But life is not all chance

Nor game of fight or flight

Sometimes the dice is blank

Sometimes the cards are white

Some say that life’s a classroom

In which you live and learn

You make mistakes

You take your breaks

You grow your soul

And so the wheel turns

But life is not all graft

Nor school of tests and grades

Sometimes there are no lessons learned

Sometimes there are no accolades

Some say that life’s a journey

In which you wend your way

You choose a path

You make your hearth

You walk your talk

And rise to meet the day

But life is not all quest

Nor march from A to B

Sometimes you move in circles

Sometimes you only dream

Creative Commons 2010

http://waynevisser.com/poem_lifes_gamble.htm

Romanian translations of Wayne Visser's Africa poems

The following Romanian translations of my Africa poems were recently published in CH Magazine. Translation was by Mădălina Gane.

AFRICA MĂ CHEAMĂ

(AFRICA CALLS TO ME)

Africa mă cheamă

cu bătăile tobelor ei, ce-mi marchează zilele

şi cu vorbele poeţilor ei, ce-mi îndrumă căile,

cu exploziile valurilor, ce-i îmbrăţişează malurile

şi cu ropotele ploilor, ce-i îmbibă tărâmurile.

Africa mă cheamă

cu lacrimile mamelor, ce-i pătează solul

şi cu râsetele copiiilor, ce-i îmblânzesc chinul,

cu şuieratul gloanţelor, ce-i perturbă calmul

şi cu zarva străzilor, ce-i cântă psalmul.

Africa mă cheamă.

Sunetele Africii

sunt plânsetele pruncului uitat de lume,

care ne readuc în pântecul creaţiei

Sunetele Africii

sunt cântecele sălbăticiei neîmblânzite ale lumii,

care ne inundă urechile cu imnurile jertfei.

Sunetele Africii

sunt ţipetele temerilor agitate ale lumii,

ce ne imploră să acceptăm transformarea.

Sunetele Africii

sunt cuvintele profeţilor ignoraţi ai lumii,

ce ne arată că-n stea e salvarea.

Africa-mi vorbeşte

prin briza murmurului din bazaruri

şi prin bocetul telalilor atât de oropsiţi,

prin pânzele umflate ale pescarilor de pe mări

şi prin vuietul taxiurilor din amurg şi din zori.

Africa-mi vorbeşte

prin răgetele leilor tolăniţi de după-masă

şi prin râsetele hienelor din noapte,

prin a elefanţilor gălăgie armonioasă

şi prin agitaţia gorilelor nevăzute.

Africa-mi vorbeşte

Sunetele Africii

sunt biciurile sclavilor, ce-i bântuie trecutul

şi cântecele despre victorie ale celor liberi.

Sunetele Africii

sunt fărămiţarea celor ce nu pot dăinui

şi speranţele în noi posibilităţi.

Sunetele Africii

sunt şoaptele din zarva disperării

şi sunetele din labirintul celor pierduţi şi găsiţi.

Sunetele Africii

sunt notele simfoniei pe care-o împărtăşim

şi bucuria din tărâmul luminii şi al suntelui.

Africa mă cheamă

cu ţipetele vulturilor ce-mi eliberează sufletul,

cu tăcerea dunelor ce-mi linişteşte mintea

şi cu cântecul greierului, ce estompează timpul.

Africa mă cheamă

cu trosniturile focurilor, ce-i luminează cerul

şi cu freamătul frunzelor, ce-i foșnăie suspinul,

cu melodiile cântecelor ei, ce picioarele-mi saltă

şi cu pulsul inimii ei, ce-o face şi pe-a mea să bată

Africa mă cheamă.

See original English version

AFRICA DE SUD:

POVESTEA UNUI DRAGON

(SOUTH AFRICA:
A DRAGON'S TALE)

Scoate fum, dragonul se trezeşte

Cască foc şi oftează cutremure,

Clipeşte furtuni din ochii lucitori

Scuipându-şi lava în potopuri.

Are spate arcuit din scoarţe schimbătoare

Şi labe cu gheare, falange din marne,

Are pielea graben din şisturi de bazalt

Şi încruntarea-i o crevasă din gheţar dezgheţat.

Pieptu-i cu ierburi mici şi cu ierburi înalte

Şi cu Marea Coastă ce se ridică de pe torace.

Cu un apetit cât Kalahari

Muntele Regat se înalţă în depărtări.

El cutreieră câmpii flancate de mare

Visând la comorile pe care la are

Cu aurul şi cu diamantele în tolbe

Bubuiturile bincuvântate pot să tune.

See original English version

SUNT UN AFRICAN

(I AM AN AFRICAN)

Sunt un african

Nu pentru că m-am născut aici

Ci pentru că inima-mi bate cu cea a Africii.

Sunt un african

Nu pentru că am pielea neagră

Ci pentru că mintea mi-e unită cu Africa.

Sunt un african

Nu pentru că trăiesc pe acest pământ

Ci pentru că sufletu-mi îşi are căminul în Africa.

Când Africa îşi plânge copiii,

Pomeţii-mi sunt udaţi de lacrimi.

Când Africa îşi onorează vârstnicii,

Capul mi se pleacă în semn de respect.

Când Africa îşi plânge victimele,

Mâinile mi se împreunează în rugăciune.

Când Africa îşi celebrează victoriile,

Picioarele-mi prind viaţă în dans.

Sunt un african

Pentru că cerul ei albastru îmi taie respiraţia

Şi pot spera într-un viitor mai luminos.

Sunt un african

Pentru că oamenii ei mă primesc ca pe unul de-ai lor

Şi mă învaţă ce înseamnă o comunitate.

Sunt un african

Pentru că sălbăticia ei îmi potoleşte sufletul

Şi mă apropie de esenţa vieţii.

Când muzica Africii se aude în vânt,

Sângele-mi pulsează în ritmul ei

Şi devin sunet pur.

Când culorile Africii strălucesc în soare,

Simţurile mi se îmbată din curcubeu

Şi devin paleta de culori a naturii.

Când poveştiile Africii răsună în jurul focului,

Picioarele mele păşesc pe aceleaşi căi

Şi mă transform în amprentele istoriei.

Sunt un african

Pentru că ea este leagănul în care ne-am născut

Şi pentru că păstrează o înţelepciune străveche.

Sunt un african

Pentru că ea trăieşte în umbra lumii

Şi pentru că emană o izbucnire de lumină.

Sunt un african

Pentru că ea e pământul de mâine

Şi-i consider darurile ca fiind sacre.

See original English version