found in Cape Town, . She is wily, but nice. If  you buy her sushi, she will tell you a story.

She's dismal at parking and decent at flowers. She likes to wear yellow and devise secret powers. She's feisty, it's true, she can take on a fight. And dance low like Beyonce through the dark hues of night. 

The Creative Who Sold

The Creative Who Sold

Creative 1.jpg

As a creative individual I often find myself frustrated with my work, as if it is not making the impact I wish it would. I think perhaps a large part of this frustration found in the creative life is the cocoon of comfort we envelop around our everyday. We go to work, complain about the rain and come home to our snug apartments. Day after day, after day. I wrote this poem as a challenge to myself and everyone else because we were born to make art which matters. For me, I’ve found when I live life in its gutters, when I’m unafraid of different and when I say “yes, why not?” inspiration finds me like a tired homing pigeon fluttering home. I thought I would try something different and write a poem. I’ll let it talk to you for itself. I know, even though I compose with intent the words will choose their own message in your mind. And I can not stop it.

The Creative Who Sold

The carpets are thick in the apartment on old
the kitchen has magnets and photos I’m told.
A man sits at a table varnished brown with a bright
he stares at his paper which burns winsome white.

The man picks up his coffee
wriggles his toes on the rug
the inspiration he seeks gives a half hearted shrug.

He looks out of his window
taps his pen on the page
A word please, dear God,
I ask “just a phrase!”

The man stares out the window
through the blinds that sag down
On the pavement below creeks a jostling town
It runs and it ravages and it reeks of revenge
but the man doesn’t know that, it’s silent his end.

He stands in a hurry, gets a blanket, “I’m cold,”
He stomps to the fridge His cheese, it has mould.

Three months and a quarter his apartment is sold
We don’t want your work he heard publishers scold
You’re too bland, you’re not bold.

And the man then he knew his apartment on old was too cosy and careful and certifiably old.
So he sold up carpets and coffee and gold
Now he roams on the street where heavy stories unfold.

I made the first move

I made the first move

Things you should know about dating in Cape Town.

Things you should know about dating in Cape Town.

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