Some days are harder than others. Or that’s how it is for me.
Truly, I wish I were one of those remarkably consistent people. Especially since I work with young people, consistency would have been not just handy, but logical and just. Alas, I don’t possess it.
A letter to the missing piece.
The first version of this poem was written when I was fifteen. Regrettably, it still applies.
This has nothing to do with politics or blasphemy. The time has come to speak harsh words about the murders of those who produce our food.
Sometimes reality is dubious to me.
Hennie Aucamp has a beautiful poem called ‘n Buurman Digteby (a close neighbour). The poem describes the presence of a ghost, presumably the awareness of death by whom we are all followed throughout life.
At times I’ve wondered if that ghost always stays in its place.