Butterflies in the Breeze Read online

- 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