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Picture

Mandi Engelbrecht
Poet, painter; skilder, digter.

Into your arms
             In reference to Nick Cave
  I wake up to the song of you
  And no, it’s not directing you into my arms
  I escaped to the dark wood's lonely embrace 
  And no, I don’t believe in love anymore, not after you...

  There will be no return, only a dark reflection
  Of how useless, how dull, how utterly broken I am. 
  Warmth of the sun is all I have left of you,
  it beckons me in and becomes an illusion of you.

  Even miss the passion of a fighting duel  
  and no, I don’t believe in God anymore;
  I left him there safely with you, the sinner that I am    
  falling from grace, falling out of space

  and the spaces between the pauses ... how carefully I tread.    
  To me you were just perfect; on this unrealistic pedestal
  I could never be that you see. I am all but composed
  and no, I don’t believe in you any more.

  I love too easily you said, take note, a luxury I could not afford.
  But with you? Could you not see that, in my eyes, broken by your words? 

 Passing through
 
I was not built for this world,
  just passing through.
  Some windows were dark,
  
some I could not understand, 
  so many things confused me

  but some things inspired me,
  lifted me to where I wanted to be.
  I was not built for this world;
  some paint would never dry
  in the pictures of my mind.

  Still the lonely dogs would cry,
  for they too came not from this world
  and all the lilies and lavenders
  could not bind me to the place.
 
Ruined
 You have ruined me for other men

  it is two years later and I am still
  as empty and lost as the last day.
  I still search for your face even though
  another lover lies beside me now.

  My dreams are still haunted by you,  
  I still taste your last kiss
  under this ever changing surface
 I long for the soft rain that brought you to me.

  This king size bed now consumes me,
  I rather love the ruffled sheets' hollow folds;
  I recently learned bed lice can’t live in these conditions.
  It’s like lovers that just woke up in passion.
  My bed is only made on days that the maid comes in
  to save me from my so-called life.

  I  like the window that leads my eyes outside
  to the garden you laid out so delicately.
  The morning glories have overgrown this planned event;    
  Tuscan round rose trees all grew out of shape, 
  nothing is organised any more.
    

  It is as wild as my heart.
  that will never love with the full measure again;
  as wild as someone always running from their past.
  This self destruction brings forth new life:
  it is the waste land between my reasoning.

  I no longer take the dogs for walks
  and I don’t plan any long road trips.
  Beneath my house foundations lies an old wooden floor;
  the lovely steel ceilings have been knocked down,
  the pebble road that led you to my door
  is overgrown with ivy leaves.
  This forest keeps me safe
  as it keeps everyone else out

  I no longer laugh or play anymore,
  tickled till your eyes cry with tiny lines; 
  it has overtaken my basic needs,
  driven me into meaningless relationships
  I vow to never reveal whole truths ever again
  since this is the weapon that destructs you at the end.
  To never be the one that is used for boarding and gain,   
  never be so vulnerable that your whole life collapses
  by the mere mentioning of his name.

  I vow to just find my soul purpose again
  and never be driven by loneliness
  but to embrace it and hold it close
  to thrive within solitude
  till the time for me is ripe
  and the love is ready to spill
  without relapses into the past
  without playing the measuring game
 and to make a real effort to love roses again



After they have killed their mother  
          
Avatar as inspiration
  One day when they live on a distant star
  trying to take over the universe
  after fleeing from their dead mother's bosom
  dried of the blade filled sword.
  Tar roads crossing her whole body
  e
nclosed in concrete walls
  grass covered with cement slabs
  no slimy snails or earthworms airing up the soil,
  all trees timbered and framed
  no more oxygen to give.

  One day after all her milk has been spilled
  in mines till the very last golden expensive drop
  cradled in greedy hands,
  and her tears washed away in rotten drains
  Tunneling down in man-made concrete rivers
  Browning out into the oceans.
  

  After all the red spoils have been washed out in waves

  the kill of the last whale and baby white seal,
  when vegetables only come in pill form
  and no more lab rabbits exist to test another basic face cream,      
 

  after the last bull has been speared in Spain
  and sound waves are no longer that of crickets and frogs
  but choppers, cranes and metal dreams
  when oil leaks are just one off those things
  the sky gray smoke screens.
  All dams, rivers dried up, desert flaky mud 
  after the ocean has tried to take back her stolen shores.
  When man has left this God-forsaken place
  and become God’s creators of death and destruction,
  spines up in rotten dreams and schemes,
  will He destroy it all in one breath 
  and leave?

For God’s sake 
 When he tells you he no longer loves you
  and that you have become everything he despised,
  when you no longer are his smile
  and your touch no longer brings relief,

  for God’s sake don’t cry in font of him;
  don’t break down in a pitiful heap
  and beg for one last kiss, one last embrace
  as if it could convert him, change his mind. 

  Don’t call him back in a whimper as he leaves
  for God's sake don’t phone him, don’t send messages,
  don’t hold on to something called hope
  for it is done, dear girl.

  T
he tap was turned off
  for love can no longer flow from a empty well,
  caresses can no longer be love
  if it is merely a shoulder to cry on.

  Wrapped up with “I’m sorry”
  clever supporters saying “you will find  love again”
  how love’s eye’s now burn
  with empty pity.

  No lady luck, lift your chin up high,
  say with a steadfast voice to him,
  “it is the best way forward;
  this love is no longer burning”

  and for God’s sake break eye contact,
  don’t drown it in the vacant pool of his eyes,
  don’t search for something that once existed,
  look long and hard in the distant sky.

  Twist a fake smile and say,
  “Now the charade is over and we can move on.”
  say it in a low husky voice as if relieved;
  play it well, leave tears, empty dark rooms.

  Burn all the letters, poems, especially the photos,
  bury the ashes under  a pot plant
  preferably one with white daisies
  and give it water only once, drown it with love.

  Do it in the wintertime when there is no rain,
  put it outside in the cold, see it wither and die;
  in this slow deliberate death
  find in that your healing and strength.

  

  Grow strong as white daisies turn pale
  as they hung their heads in shame
  vow to never be vulnerable again;  
  daisies are much too kind.

  Anything to just let it go,
  do it dramatically well,
  this is your swan song to his love, 
  sit on the frond porch and embrace a sunset.

  Find that butterfly
  that just broke out of its winter cocoon,
  the one that has not been helped,
  whose wings are now strong.

  Explore your garden, make it a labyrinth to your heart,
  pack all his garden pixies in a box , give it to a lonely child
  for you have now outgrown them,
  your eyes are much too old.

  A new wind chime sings its low song in the wind,
  the garden grows up in towers,
  beckoning mist raises up
  to meet a new dawn kiss.

  For God’s sake, woman, smile,  
  for I have not, and learned.
 2010

 
Father?

 Sometimes I’m afar, wandering in the cosmos 
  Sometimes a river, full of plastic pollution
  Sometimes a pebble, shaped though time
  But always, always I am Your child
  A dear Father You have been to me
        
  Sometimes I listen to the billowing wind
  Seeking out Your turbulence for guidance
  A soft wind whispers in the hanging branches
  You become the willow, a sadness so courageous
  As we trespass daily seeking other worlds
  After destroying our own

  I feel Your tears in the rain
  Your shocked heartbeat in the thunder
  Terrified I wait for the final stillness
  Wondering when You’ll say ‘Stop!’
  Will it be after the last bloody experiment on a rabbit?
  Or another giant tree that falls for this mere paper?
  Or just before another abortion?

Words
  You are too close to me
  and I am too real for you.
  Words, all these words
  that brought us together
  yet keep us sailing
  in very different seas

  Are they the compass
  that keeps us true?
  or the lingering sea birds
  that lead us astray?

  Words, nothing more than words
  hunt this restless night down
  when I slowly turn a page
  of a book never written in
  blank pages of a love
  never felt by you
    

  Closer we bond
  and play with these words
  you ever so skillful,
  me always learning to be.


Oblivious lover 
 Ek word wakker in jou arms
                  sukkel onwillig om los te kom
  wonder of ek die knus oomblik wil opgee
                  wat vir jou ‘n totale blank sal wees
  want jy weet,  dit is half sad
                  dat die oggend mens tot ontnugtering  ruk  
  want ons lê soos twee ou ‘lovers’
                  maar ons is dit nie
  en ek wonder of dit
                  enigsins normal is
  of  ons bene wat onwetend koeksister speel
                  gebalsem kan word in tyd

en ek wou,  wou jou sagte mond
                  skaam tot siens kus
  tot jou poeierblou oë
                  lomerig oop gaan
  en jy ordentlik van my
                   kan afskeid neem
    maar die ogendlug het my heimlik ingesluk
                  die warm kus in my hals is afgewas
  want ons moet vergeet
                  dat sagte hande troos kan bring
  dat my sad klavier note
                  jou kan roep in die wind
                   2004-04-16


        Speel vir tyd 
 Sy trek lang rokke aan
  bid haar hare sal weer groei
  sy kyk die wêreld skugter in die oë
  soek die alleenheid van haar binnekamer op
    (haar hart is stukkend … dis in flarde
  sy praat nie meer met haar God nie)

Sy staar net na haar Bybel
  te bang om die boek oop te maak
  sy lewe nou kuis, amper nonlik
  haar kamer ken net een persoon
    (want haar hart is stukkend … dis in flarde
  sy praat nie meer met mans nie)

Sy soek nie … haar oë gly net oor geboue
  in die bus raak gesigte net geluide
  sy is klaar weg, vlug na haar utopië
  sy is lank nie meer van hier nie
  (haar  hart is stukkend … dis in flarde
  sy praat nie meer met mense nie)

Haar oë tel herfsblare op
  maar sy bly ‘n koue winterskind,
  lente en somer is van haar vervreem
  haar hande is fairy like en speel vir tyd
  (haar hart is stukkend … dis in flarde
  haar mooiwees het een donker nag verander)

speel met kwasse en kitaarsnare
  meng diep kleure en sing vir bome
  sy hou ‘n aarde in haar fyn hande
  soek die waarde van al die groene
  (want haar hart is stukkend ... dis in flarde
  sy praat net met haarself).

                                                2004-5-14


 

 



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