Heart Of My People
Nici invited me to go walkabout and I collected a dry twig
just perfect to make a mobile, wild flowers and Japanese
vocabulary as she teaches me; affixed the twig - draped
with flowers - to a rail in the kitchen
Ate the dish prepared by Tiaan - perfectly succulent - and
Nici’s potato mix, life perfect when I can breathe, see and
hear the beauty of my kids, appreciate the new TV system
and rejoice about the tears I have shed about a text
Delineating Africa’s problems, breaking my heart before
setting me free knowing why we cannot progress when
those in charge refuse to comprehend why the heart of
my people won’t heal
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Beautiful Principles
We are poor examples of the beautiful
principles of life - physical manifestation
always falls short, yet the wonder of the
concept behind the attempt to illustrate
the idea is never diminished in any way
The dream remains intact and there will
forever be another chance to do it better,
therefore, never bewail failure, knowing
that the very next concretisation will
already be an improvement
A never-ending spiral evolution continuing
ad infinitum, the joy of new beginnings will
always be as beautiful and fresh as a new
bloom, as full as promise as a baby just
born – symbolism redeems everything
That has ever been…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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My Bad-Habit Past
Nothing blocks evil effect of fatty food
ate last night's dinner at work; voilà, a
big headache that stops my brain and
fills my mind with mist, thick and grey
I can't operate, clear thinking recedes
life turns into a faint mirage, all I know
is discomfort, pressure and pain - let
this be a lesson: no more fatty foods
that render me almost comatose and
cloud my thoughts until only one idea
remains: death seems to be the only
release - all for sausage and cheese
No more, I shall only feast on salads
and green vegetables - I refuse to be
a prisoner of my bad-habit past, new
routines will bring back my joy in life
[...] Read more
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Possible Future Torture
The Nutcracker has not arrived yet,
ordered Mikhail Baryshnikov on DVD
on October the tenth - still have not
received it for succour and support
in these terrible times
Now know I got ‘commencé' right in
our French test, vindicates my theory
beginning is good while endings are
bad, beginning to chase my ideal of
words like songs on my tongue
Ended in disaster, the term required
to say ‘Emergence' fell into the well
of stupidity to become ‘Foundation'
I surrender to my destiny, doing
neck exercises at work
Mentally preparing for possible future
torture instead of typing clever lines
[...] Read more
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Righteous Dustbins
Coffee break at ten, whirled through the
antichirst’s birth as retold by Neil Gaiman
and Terry Pratchett - the Spawn of Satan
without hoofikens, looking unlike his daddy-
waddykins as Sister Loquacious remarked
Brought to a Chattering Order where nuns
speak incessantly, however inconsequential,
in marvelous contrast with the usual nun’s
tale of silence broken by delightful renditions
of holy songs all jazzed-up; I laughed aloud
This day is blessed by this great piece of
irreverence, creating a context in which I
can read little documents, my mind held
in thrall by the righteous dustbins of this
saintly tale – thank you so much!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Wish For Release
Scared to return to the office to sit
in a chair that does not meet the
need for a correct sitting position
as the desk is too high for the office
chair I bought myself and the bar
stool I have is causing neck-ache
I don't know who to ask and where
to go to get my work station fixed
and raise the computer screen so
my head is not forced to hang down
and increase the pain in my neck,
I receive medication to force
my brain to ignore the pain
Will this help me to sit in the wrong
position until I am dead in my chair?
I ardently wish for release in what-
ever way if I cannot be freed from
the chair and the pain...
[...] Read more
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Cringing Nerve-Tingling Machine
Ultimate pain – a psychotic psychopath suffering
from hysteric neurosis, xenophobia and agora-
phobia, loaded Microsoft Outlook on Government
computers, now these hypersensitive machines
are plagued with morbid fear and anxiety disorder
The screen shudders every time I type, the whole
spiel shuts down at the least indication of hard-
ware malfunction, email unstable, telling us it is
connected and when we press send, informs us
with shuddering angst the connection was lost
I feel like running down the street screaming
No No No No! until I have expressed all the
self-destructive feelings registered by this
cringing nerve-tingling machine!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Run On Automatic
Mostly lots of action in my head, ideas fighting for
priority, a book to read, plans for borderline crime
or at least relatively interesting things – as empty
as a sieve today - all thoughts fall into a myriad
miniature black holes in my mind, nothing sticks
Nothing has meaning, annoying and boring, must
be the result of something I have eaten, the curry
last night, allergy rampant destroying everything
except the outline of my thoughts which run on
automatic, everything else lost, munching like
A worm, trying to minimize this effect though it
seems all attempts are worsening it, need sleep
to change personalities, escape the zombie state
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Swaying Then Dancing
Crushed under a grey day, reports of my
mother in pain, Carine weighed down by
four steel pegs and ten screws in her leg,
no escape from scrambled thoughts
Went out marching, swaying then dancing
to musical rhythms, becoming one with the
beat of the universe, not a care in the world
as velvet voices sing joy into my mind
“Let me whisper in your ear, say the words you
want to hear, I’m in love with you, just the two
of us, the only sound that you will hear is when
I whisper in your ear - I love you”
“All over the world people just like us are falling
in love …” and I feel people like me joyously
swaying in every possible universe
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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A Weird Little Person (Revised)
A weird little person with a mission to be
extrovertly extravagant - oh, so that's who
I am! I'm intrigued, I had always thought I
was supposed to be a self-pitying introvert
Yet you see me trying to be a recluse of fate
and divest me of my carefully constructed
illusions; such frank and open honesty, it
delights and amuses -
I always end up with goofballs, men of good
sense don't waste time talking to me, either
I'm totally ugly or my incomprehensibly
icy stare puts them off -
I may resemble Miss Marple, or worse due
to my masculine self-esteem, Hercule Poirot
with walrus moustaches, I have none on my
face as yet - but what of tomorrow...
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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