Sun-Kissed Mist
This morning is like a beautiful woman
wearing soft, sun-kissed mist, luminescent
pearls adorning her bejewelled wrists, as I
drive along I listen to my inner voice raised
in jubilant song…
As I sat on mother’s bed in Oliver Tambo
Memorial Hospital, Matron Margaret Mbatha
queried me – What are you writing? – I replied:
A song to the beauty of the morning, asking –
May I dedicate it to you
So when you Google yourself you would find
your name quoted in my poem? - Her sweet
face broke into a smile - Yes you may, but
you must go home, we’ll take care of your
mother – yet I stayed because
I have not been with my mother for a long time,
she cries in pain from time to time, I break all the
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Ice-cold Eyes (Revised)
A hostile and vitriolic atmosphere where
whatever is said is rejected with complete
and utter rancour – every opinion refuted,
dark suspicion, hatred and bitterness seek
eager company together
All optimism, expressions of benevolence
and uplifting interpretations evoke odium
of ice-cold eyes – sorry, I cannot agree to
such dour camaraderie, my dream-time
space is always sweet
I base my life on knowledge that human
consciousness changes what it sees while
it is changed by what is seen, I have tried
to keep my eyes focused only on things
that will fill me with hope
Things that create a world of love – while
I respect your right to be angry and bitter
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Erased Without A Sound
Oh, woe is me, let all lament terrible destiny,
the awful fate encountered as I was doing my
duty: A sudden dropp in blood sugar levels and
I cannot carry on with my lovely document, a
real challenge for innovation and wit, digging
into the past to find its equivalent - applying
it without forgetting to change pronouns and
verbs, past and present continuous tense
All things that my supervisor will check with
a terrible painstakingly scourging eye, but I
have to run - buy chocolate to lift me out of
this blood sugar slump, when there is work
I can do and this evil animal gets me in its
grip it is clear that life is not fair - yet who
wants it to be, being fair might just mean
all little people like me would be erased
Without a sound in the end - no, let me get
at a chocolate and be glad for all the undue
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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State Of Utter Bliss
Had a lovely time wolfing down a waffle, talking to the marvellous
manager of our local restaurant, my storybook hugely entertaining,
laughing unrestrainedly while swirling in whirl of social schedules
then wafting everywhere enveloped in an atmosphere of good-will
Breaking the evil spell laid upon me by a horrible text, when typing
lower-case the computer changed typescript into capitals, setting
fireworks off in my head, a red mist covered my eyes destroying
my comprehension till only my inner Mr Hyde was left, Dr Jekyll
Left in a huff; I researched equivalent English terms - but nothing
made sense and in the end there was no progress, I was wasting
my time being miserable to no effect - I stopped throwing good
money after bad, feasted my eyes on the book I love
Then proceeded to eat and read myself into a state of utter bliss…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Still Right For Me
Facing painful truths without getting
upset: we are taught youth should
last forever, an ideal to be achieved
through botox, hormone replacement
therapy and plastic surgery; but just
as I never succumbed to make-up,
I‘m failing in my duty to stay young
It is your right to be angry with me
for not being younger in an age of
increasing sex appeal, we're taught
to believe in physical performance
only, females are expected to fulfil
male fantasies based on artificial
acting in adult movies - therefore
You're right to blame me for being
a failure; I never became the siren
you were taught to dream of - BUT
I am joyful knowing you were just
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Understand What I Mean
The wind keeps the air crystal clear - the
antique glass lamp with shiny reflections
the brightness lifts up my heart and
keeps it there
Lying in the sun dreaming, a dream that
carries me through everything, making it
enjoyable to be alive - I told my beloved
of my dream
He said the dream was me; a delightful
reply, I slyly laughed - I did not tell him
everything - too much vanity cannot be
confessed, but
With a dream in my heart life seems
beautiful, without dreams I am dead
inside without power to smile - so
please forgive me
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Requirements Set By Advertisements
I live a life that is not mine, sitting in
one place for hours on end without
a wonderful book offering mental
challenges or great adventures
to stimulate the mind
Stuck with dead words, no meaning,
metre or rhythm - no music therein -
cold lines indicting people for being
human - imprisoning them for living
the adventures & dreams
Held up to them in advertisements -
brainwashing everyone to believe
real happiness resides in owning
wealth- living pampered lives-so-
impossible to feel guilt
For taking what is rightfully theirs:
happiness - if they were not born
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Giving Up Life
Every year when we do Assessment with a
custom-made Assessment Instrument and I
have to explain why I have not changed into
a machine as yet
When I have to hide my fear of turning into a
robot and secretly rejoice that I have not lost
my feelings as yet - and everybody despises
me as a low achiever
And I receive a low mark for not being competent,
at all - I go through agony, I would LOVE to fit in -
would LOVE to turn into a machine if it could bring
me a feeling of safety
But I cannot kill my soul, stifle my spirit and destroy
my feelings, I don't know how to rejoice at the pros-
pect of killing myself, while I abhor being the most
lowly official alive
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Status Quo [Revised]
Reaction to a snack of substances my digestion
rejects as banned has me staring at this screen
in stupefaction - unable to interpret anything
Floating in an emotional void, clinging to the fact
I’m in an office, trying to read and react to texts
that remain mysterious to me, at least this way
The world will still be a mystery; I cannot achieve
mastery of anything while consciousness flickers
on and off, caught in the wild fire of interrupted
Brain circuitry & gyrating synapses, dark spots
in front of my eyes weakening my sight, desperately
trying to do research till I give up, sit back in defeat,
Power spent, admit the day is lost, cannot find the
beginning of a line of thought, cannot follow a single
argument, even pictures dance away from me,
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Nineteen Years Is Long Enough (Revised)
For the first time in nineteen years I'm planning
Christmas with my parents, to be with them as
one singing Carols, preparing delicacies to eat -
but particularly singing songs mother wrote,
presenting the play she designed for us ages
ago when we twins were just six years old
Back then my brothers and dad spoiled things -
but this time we can present mother's songs less
their interference, and afterwards I can go for a
spin on brother-in-law's motorbike, making up
for events we missed when small - yes, this
Christmas will be a grand reunion ball
For the first time in nineteen years I shan't be
home; it's either or, never parents and hubby
together, and though he was angry hearing
my plans - after nineteen years he cannot
really complain - it is the first time I shall be
with them - I think it is fair,
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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