Dancers on a rooftop
Sirens in flight, light feet
And white – if only you were
Less bright, I, the messenger
Sin sight could dream your great height
But I deem myself far removed
From white-light.
Henceforth I simply evaporate
Butterflies
They break upon us unrelenting
As the dawn breaks like a rainbow
Refracting our dewdrop-eyes
That settle at once upon our love
Like condescending dust confounded
In beauty that fuels these monarchs that flit
As thoughts between sun and shade
Gathering potency
Love is
Love is fury, strife above
The din of battles it refused
To fight in a war it has already won
Do not present love to me
As a meek, tenderly little thing:
It is both the iron against which
The world crashes and cracks
And the forge that so tempers
Observations in a park at summertime
Is it not a beautiful sight: the bees
Fly in perfect synchrony within reach
So bright and lush that a summer’s day should blush and diminish?
Equally I admire grains of sand who rise from the soil
As men once rose from dust, to draw ragged breaths bearing
On their backs their teeming black thoughts.
I observe. Within me stir deep appreciation
And envy for their buzzing, their beating
Beneath my grasp grows frantic and bulges
Transforming, transcending and slips
On the soft summer breeze away.
On an unknown road just before dark
The sun runs off the page
As if to hasten its turn
But I know the rules:
I close my eyes for five beats
At six I listen for the direction of his footfalls
At seven I breathe trying to catch his summersweet scent
At eight I tap my foot impatiently
At nine I doubt myself and all his faculties
And ten: I stand
Alone. On an unknown road.
It’s already dark.
Andre Swanepoel seeks to convey his unique take on life and literature through his poetry, often inspired and built on the foundation of his experiences in the medical field where he works as a doctor in semi-rural South Africa. The belief that words can heal all wounds is one that is dear to his heart.
