They took photographs of you. Might as well been from dawn to dark photographs. In pictures, in films, the light certainly never left your eyes. Your...
Before 39 I think of my wife Diana. Diana the paramedic with the reading hands, the quiet smile that plays on her lips while she eats...
Life is like that. Fixing pain is the inert language of blood. All of life is a tree. There is a process to it. The possession,...
It is raining in Port Elizabeth as I write this. The room is cold and has a pond life of its own. If I am not...
With her lotus feet. Milk, and rain clouds gathering is a vision in her indelible psyche. She is barefoot sowed to the shoreline in Port Elizabeth....
For a long time I thought my writing was primitive. In the sense that I was not gaining the recognition that I wanted (which every writer...
I think of you all the time, with love, with respect, with admiration. Why am I so sad? I lost the love my life again. It...
Guess at the intensity behind my words. ‘Give me a place to stand,’ said Archimedes, ‘and I will move the world.’ After all that is said...
She wants diamonds, to live in a mansion (she thinks that’s the perfect life), to be the hostess of parties, to run her pale king’s life....
There is my reflection in the window. She dances. She dances. She dances. Look at me, Master. I am wearing my dancing shoes. I am dancing....