ALLAN KOLSKI HORWITZ
Three New Poems
Stilfontein
From the high mountains men come down to the tunnels
They come because the rumble in their stomachs is louder
Than the blasts clearing rock for the bullion hoarders
These thin men enticed by the sleek ones in power suits
Who glare with a coating of acid
The thin men labelled criminals for entering
The private property of public companies
Controlled by private individuals who have no public
Support for denying public interest in mining
Gold seams for private need
The waters of the stilled fountain run yellow
Not with gold but with pus
The sleek financiers in Sandton and Wall St
Wear yellow daffodils in their buttonholes
These glare with a coating of acid
Let them starve in the tunnels say the bureaucrats in Pretoria
Let them die for the plunder denied the plunderers
Foreigners will not reign in the land of the landless
Let them eat each other instead of the bread the gold will buy them
Foreigners be cursed with the curse of the moneymen
From the high mountains men come down to the tunnels
They come because the rumble in their stomachs is louder
Than the blasts clearing rock for the bullion hoarders
These thin men enticed by the sleek ones in power suits
Who glare with a coating of acid
AFRAID, don’t be afraid
today
waiting for my heart
to be repaired
i read your words:
‘’we are not afraid of tears
in this family in this family
we grieve and are not afraid’’
but i am afraid
afraid for the afraid:
whether at dusk or dawn
those without bread
those without shelter
afraid of the men and machines who
deny them
and i
near the end of my life
have little money for living
but much fear for my little boy
so bright-eyed so stubborn
so lovable
how can i provide bread and shelter
and hope
for my little boy
shield him
from the hurt of being born
as our eyes and minds
fill with sunlight and blast light and gaslight
today
waiting for my heart to be repaired
i am afraid
for those children under bombardment
the drunken mothers who make children
the chemicals gushing into rivers
the media anchors casting us adrift
on a tide of casual delusion
the surgeon whose scalpel
has been sharpened into a mugger’s blade
today
i am afraid to leave the sheltering roof
of my own mind
and open my eyes
to the blind sockets of my neighbours
wild children
pretending
to be parents and so
today
i am afraid
MORNING PRAYER
In the ward patients wait
For their operations
And every morning
The heavy-breasted nurses
Sing a hymn
They sing with eyes closed
Before God
Sway on their feet begging His favour
The full bosomed nurses
With hair braids made in China
Black buns rounding off straighteners
The nurses raise their voices
For the patients lying in their beds
Waiting for operations:
May they reach their destination
With God’s minions
Who will call on the guts
Of creation and restore
Dying cells blocking channels
Before these gaunt men die
The nurses pray every morning
And the gaunt men’s lips soften
As the bosoms bounce and hair pieces bob
It’s not every day the dying get a reminder
To remember to live