by James Forson
- flashing images
a time before
decisions made
a door closed
other decisions
made today
will lead to new paths
new places
a fitting end
Mindtalk
water
rolling down
stream
mountain
altering course
moving away
unnatural
fill another valley
feed another pool
new life in a new stream
different
starting over
Bessie
cold. winter. night
a strange town. unfriendly faces
finding a face to sleep
knocking on doors
shaking heads. eyes avoiding eyes
desperate. rejected
turn and walk away
fear rising in the heart. threatening to the soul
and then a welcoming door
warm words. friendly faces
soft bed
safe, thankful sleep
Owned by the Bank
Work work work
Day day every day
Always for tomorrow
Never have enough
They tell us: too little set aside
Balance risk equity performance
Always for tomorrow
Never for today
Put away and save and stinge
So one day all is yours
Always for tomorrow
Sacrifice the now
But when we get to that point then…
We will not have today.
In saving for tomorrow
We lost our day today
kantoordoedie
daar kom die grys karretjie
om die hoek
ons glimlag beide breed
ek klim in
ons praat oor ditjies en datjies
gemaklik
sy raak by die dag mooier.
gou gou
is ons
op kantoor
Crow
The crow roosts in the palm tree
Raucous squawk to no one
Discordant note in the morning
The Memory
The smell of coffee at breakfast time brings back stark memories
A green kitchen with a worn green linoleum table top
Hasty, desperate search for precious lost long, long ago
Heart-pain runs into darkened mind caves
A drawing book lies open with a half-completed sketch
The corridors of my mind fill with flickering memory
Load Shed
the power goes off
load shedding
yet again
the neighbour tries to start his generator
with the electric start
whining
complaining - but no kicking to life
in my head
I see his angry face
as he grabs the pull start
three pulls
then throbbing roaring life
the disturbance beats time with the anger in my head
Day Dream
sitting
in the garden
under the white stinkwood
dog chews a twig
out of
boredom
leaving me
with
myself
Gautrain 1
I walk
through the turnstile
platform on the other side of the tracks
girl with short skirt
and honey legs
opposite me
too soon in Hatfield
she is gone in the crowd
forever
Gautrain 2
little blue capsules
with space around me
invisible barriers
not to be crossed
knees tight together
trying not to overlap
to the next seat
eyes cannot meet because of the threat
Gautrain 3
Gliding through the Highveld morning
I look out of the window
And see other people’s lives
People in cars
Hard faces
Tight mouths
Going to work is a burden
Dream Remember’d
dark large room
windows without views
I must get out
but how
I move
the room is different
I am on the other side
looking back
what was has gone away
I fumble for the door
it is futile
Taken Aback
I wonder why she was so angry
My love warmly given
caring
gentle
running against a rampart
of angry soul
deep anger
from long ago
buried deep
brought out
and served at me
News
her young body
hurt and broken
why
A Girl
her soft blonde hair
hangs to her shoulders
I look into her eyes
she is so beautiful
The Airfield
the concrete plain shimmers into the far-off heat
here and there plovers squawk and swoop
a big wide open space
waiting
for an aeroplane to land
The Darkness
one eye on the darkness ahead
when the door closes
and I am not there
all those I loved, and tasks achieved
lost in the ever flowing stream
lost for all time.
Residue
I have this sad thought
what have I done with my life
without being famous or doing something remarkable
looking back
what is there
looking forward
when will it be over
Sunday Morning
lying in bed on a Sunday morning
I should get up
but I’m not getting up
Lie here and think
about nothing
people eating egg breakfast
in coffee shop
I lie here in bed
what to do with the day
Dog
Dog appears at the end of my bed
My mind still in sleep land
Dark imploring eyes
Walk
Heart wrenched apart
Who can do this to a dog?
I get up to find the lead
Who is on the choke chain?
Passenger
she is next to me
warm and close
Angry Man
Anger
hot unrefined anger
washing and pushing gentleness
away
it cuts to heart like rocks on tin roof in dead of night
resentful anger
wanting to hurt and main
and words not taken back
My Love
I wonder why she was so angry
my love
warmly given
caring gentle
floundering against a rampart of angry soul
deep anger
from long ago
buried deep
brought out
and served to me
The Broom Salesman
he stands with his worried heart on his face at the roadside
his bicycle festive with garden brooms and dusters
waiting, hoping
that someone buys something today
to feed his family
Enigma
/>
Dark pools of water
Ever widening
What has happened here?
Secret Pleasures
the silent anticipation
waiting for it to be served at the table
white plate
cake fork
paper napkin
sensual chocolate cake
Car Park
rows and rows of cars
neat muffins newly baked
waiting for their owners
to come back
and return home
to their families
The Nursery School
children sitting under the tree
in the garden
of the nursery school
how will they fuck up their lives
Hidden Message
sidewalk café with tables
and leafy trees
waiters with long black aprons
I walk past
why is it so desirable?
Lit Windows
Chilly evening walk
Dark streets
Leaves blown about
I look through windows
Beautiful wooden windows with leaded lights
Why will I never be inside?
The Wind Chime
the wind chime trembles
making the air irregular
to the end
a random note
hangs in the air
Having
having to have
the pretty things of modern consumption
does fulfilment come from owning?
it is so desirable?
and in the moment of possession
it no longer fulfils
Dark Rule
the dark rule
where is it
hard to find
deep inside, hidden
glimmers and shapes
what hides
within?
Tea Parties
the slices lie amid the crumbs
on the white china plate
rich with butter
a thousand childhood memories
tea parties
conversations
cherry tea cake
Creativity
Find the anger
Find it
Find it now
Find the spark
Reach deep down
Within
Under many layers hiding
Buried
Safe from eyes and heart and soul
Forcefully forgotten
But now
Find the anger
Bring it to the light
Feed on it
The tinder-spark of creation
The Calling
Push them out of the way
Nagging thoughts
Holding back
Reach out
Grab
Walk the tightrope
Abandon
So many changes within
Art
grasp the drawing
follow the light
see the curve
images form
slowly
within the mind
dark corners turn up their treasures
what lies buried beneath?
Heidi
We met on an arid day in Windhoek
Young and free and searching for romance
How we enjoyed our time together
Two beings sharing themselves
We parted
The years went by
The newspaper
You had been murdered in your flat
I grieved for you
MCG
We were not meant for each other
Our needs were different
Trying to use each other to get to a different place
Some place
A place other than here
The parting came
We knew it was right
Different ways
Different lives
The Olive Thrush
the olive thrush
sat on the branch
picking at the orange berries
and then
it flew away
Depression
a dark deep hole
unfeelings
walking on the bottom of the ocean
unfamiliar
disconnected
the past slams into the dead end of the present
alone
wanting to be alone
and then the slow agonising
hard
incredibly hard
shuffle towards the light
The Bookshop
The rows of books look at me
I see names and titles tempting me
So many worlds to conquer.
Who will Know?
Cars roll out of the car park
All urgent
Time so short
Full of must’s and have to’s
Must be done
Now
Worshiping the god
At the end of this century
Who will know?
Who will care?
Birds
Little birds perch on twigs over the tinkling fountain
Chirping and calling
A world away from the patio where I sit
A Fragment in Time
The man pulls a hosepipe across the lawn
Calls to a friend I cannot see
He seems happy
I envy him
My Moment
Meeting a friend for lunch
He is late
Outdoor terrace
Bird flutter around a feeding tray
A gift of stillness
To myself
The End of the Day
warm sun in the afternoon
the end of the day brings
a closing roundness all too soon.
the last sunlight clings
to the white underside of the clouds
i push my cares aside
not to fret about the “should have done”
The Car
The dusty car moves along the drive
And heads towards the gate
Going somewhere
Lunch Time
People
Running into the shop
Emerging with plastic bags
Filled with polystyrene shells
The glamour of the lunchtime takeaway
Fragrance
It lingers in the air
Comes at me with teasing wafts
Memories explode in my mind
I am back at that time
That place
Then
Then
The wind shifts
It is gone.
And I am back in the now.
Loss
I wept for the moon
shining brightly above the Sea Point pavilion
all those many, many years ago
my ball
taken from me
I cried
deep wrenching loss
never recovered
A Winter Visit to the East Rand
the risen sun warms the inside of the car bringing deceptive warmth to the countryside.
squalid. poor. dry. winter is not gentle. life is hard.
here and there a fenceless house; gutted for window frames and roofsheets.
a warehouse. high walls. barbed wire. crooked gates.
plastic bags tumble in the chilly air.
warnings of hi-jackers and accidents: unfriendly place.
scarred earth. rusty roofs. broken roads.
a place between somewhere and there.
the crumpled residue of a time that has passed.
and yet….
people live here. this is their home.
My Way 1
life not in story books
stand on the edge of the earth
the crisis comes
but life continues
inward
different
the realness of living
My Way 2
take the path
stick to the road
that’s what I told myself
let others chase their gods
let me be what I am
too much the sameness of material glee
softly messages within
there is no path
but courage walk alone
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
James Forson spends a great deal of time near the centre of an intricate Venn diagram where management consulting, fiction writing, business writing, education governance, organic vegetables and procrastination meet.
He was born in Worcester, South Africa in 1955. His early work experience was in the mining, steel, pharmaceutical and banking industries. For the past 23 years he has worked as an independent management consultant. He is married to Merle. They have an adult son, Tim. They live in Johannesburg.
He likes to say that he knows very little about a great many things.
Find out more at jamesforsonwriter.wordpress.com
