We are the Captain on the ship of our lives. Set sail with a goal in mind, a destination in sight. Chart your course of life, don’t create a map, you’ll only experience frustration.

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There has been a three day battle, or war, part of an ongoing war, a period in Somali, where people have been dying like flies, and it will soon be tucked away, in the writings of time, perhaps brought to surface now and then down the road of life, but for the most part forgotten. Eighty-nine-people died, and over two hundred wounded: mostly civilians, body parts stinking up the city’s streets.

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The poem was inspired during experiences of nature gained from a trip to Pemberton, Western Australia, on 19 May, 2008, as part of my first Wedding anniversary. Creation is so beautiful; it’s more than we can ever take in… And it’s always been here, from the beginning. The “song” goes on.

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Divine coincidences. Breathe and believe. Believe and receive. Pray and obey. Not just a cute cliche. Miracles happen everyday. Put feet to your faith today!

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Just because an unruly child cries; doesn’t mean you have to yield, nor give in to their every whim. Just because a woman is beautiful, doesn’t mean she’s pure within. Just because a lady has pretty lips, doesn’t mean she will speak graciously. Just because a person is frustrated, doesn’t mean they must respond angrily.

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Love in all of its splendor and beauty is magnificent, is wonder is agape, is delight does not manipulate or seek for its right. Love is a song, a beautiful melody, breath and symphony, dance and delicious, taste and create, more to the heart and never goes away.

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Getting old is not only natural but also a blessing from God. It is an opportunity to rejuvenate oneself by re-living with hope in life.

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This is a short poem about some of the shortfalls in our society mainly due to bad decisions and bad leadership. How we are taught to fight among ourselves by our society’s leaders.

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Should we feel compassion or any sense of empathy for beggars? Each person that is on the street, for whatever reason, has a facial expression that tells a story. In South African cities there are many different cultures. In each culture and in every language, there is poverty: someone is suffering; someone is asking; someone is begging. And the poet sees them all … as he walks on by.

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Poetry is as alive as it ever was although its modern form seems a world away from its traditional arrangement of close rhyme and tightly rhythmic verse. With the general tendency towards shortened English (eg textspeak) in common use and with the perceived (although not by all of us) reduced importance in grammar, it is not immediately obvious why anyone would want to keep alive a form of our language which is by definition circuitous.

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