Monday, 14 December 2015

the always unknown




the grey the grey
sky grey mind grey
why fight
the creeping mist
the underneath of anger
sink into the place
the place where no questions ask
of yes and no
or even maybe
fall into the cloud
of no answers required
heavy heavy heavy
bound to the unquiet of my mind
lose myself there
free of responsibility
cast away
the anchor of decisions
float free within the turgid waters flow
until another time another place
exist
not live
waiting for what for who
the new tomorrow …
the always unknown


Copyright © 2015 by Eryll Oellermann

Friday, 29 May 2015

The sleeper



sleep dances
elusive in the moonlight
just beyond my reach
while a hundred small aches
remind me of the passing years
frustration drives me from my bed
padding barefoot
through the moonlit house
in search of anything
to break the turning tossing pattern
of my nights
the perfect sleeper
sleeps no more

Copyright © 2015 by Eryll Oellermann

Copyright © 2014 by Eryll Oellermann


rails








rails” she said, “write of rails”
hand rails, towel rails, stair rails
railway rails
tracks coming to and from
my first love
well, not the first
but teenage love, heart bursting kisses
strong arms to experience
male hands teaching touch
train cars swaying
twin rails merge and disappear
in the distance
lost in a mirage of heat
from bloemfontein to capetown
clickety clack clickety clack
hot hot days
riding on the rails
coal driven steam powered
open windows and bread and butter
soot decorated
the endless karoo, desert flat
in the empty land of dry
trees line the long rail
peach pits carelessly tossed
from carriage windows
taken root and grown against the odds
blue, blue eyes and flashing smile
charm without effort
young love's come true dream
a forever fairytale
grown dusty in time




Copyright © 2014 by Eryll Oellermann


No more than a dream

No more than a dream

Is the darkness of night
caused by absence of light
is the world turning reason
for changes of season
does the rising sun mean
that the dark hours have been
devoured and rejected
and daylight respected
do we dance on our toes
singing praises in prose
will we live till we die
will this day laugh or cry

do these words carry thought
or more casually wrought
no secrets lie hidden
scant sweet love is bidden
we grow old and falter
youth no more our alter
and yet we still follow
thoughts vacant and hollow
the touch of a hand
draw a heart in the sand
as long as we breathe
we continue to weave

sad tales of failure the search for our soul
childhood remembering the death of a mole
barefoot and heat waves tumultuous storms
the gushing down water the great white ant swarms
the roar of the free way the sound of the sea
the buzz of mosquitoes a'feasting on me
my head on your shoulder for comfort and care
no reason was needed for me to rest there
a hot day a cold drink a run through the rain
a cricket sings solo there's the rain bird again
storm lilies will blossom the hot earth will steam
the land of my birth is no more than a dream



Copyright © 2015 by Eryll Oellermann





Tuesday, 26 May 2015

curse the summer


weeds grow so much faster
would I pump and poison
would I slash and mow
by choice
do bowling green lawns
and pristine borders
mean more to me
than life
were I to rebel
disregard the social mores
desist and watch
a meadow grow in natural chaos
where once the discipline
of cut and rake and dig
held sway
would I congratulate myself
or curse the summer
of unstoppable growth


Copyright © 2015 by Eryll Oellermann

Thursday, 13 November 2014

the watcher



I am not quite become
a twitcher of curtains
that favourite sport of ladies
alone and lonely
preying on the small excitements
of others
from behind
slyly lifted net curtains
I do not twitch
but boldly stand and stare
at the unfolding story
of my valley
high I live
perched on the side of the hill
too many steps
leaving my tobacco besmirched lungs
breathless at the ascent
yet more to climb
to reach the place of looking
to seek and know
perhaps become without care
the lazy glide of heron
wings spread, riding the air
homeward bound
I know the hiding place
of gold
the sacred secret
of where the rainbow ends
perhaps in youth
I might have gasped
donned walking boots
and stretched my legs
to stand within the myriad light reflecting
motes of magic
wiser now
my eyes have learned to watch
and hold within
the short lived endurance
of nature and her dancing light
no gold to grasp with greedy hands
but a moment in time
made beautiful
by the relentless march of days
expended in the living

Copyright © 2014 by Eryll Oellermann




4



Wednesday, 5 November 2014

winter

winter

Frost on the windscreen
toe curling cold
socks which are damp
from shoes way too old

the sun is bright shining
low temperature day
no clouds which will keep
the cold weather at bay

the long nights are with us
the short days unfold
to dark leafless trees
which were once burnished gold

Copyright © 2014 by Eryll Oellermann