Poetry

By

Don Beukes

The Sign

It does not need words,

The sign,

Symbols are all that’s needed,

The sign,

No words need to be spoken

a bond unbroken,

Souls connected,

Both protected,

The sign,

Your own design,

The sign,

It speaks

it dreams

it sees,

There forever,

The sign.

The Architect (Ode to an orange cement mixer)

Ideas become reality in your belly,

Raw ingredients are added for effect,

Laboured limbs inject liquid food,

It begins, sounds signal transformation,

A cacophony of notes orchestrate

a fusion of materials cleverly made,

Atoms collide as water subsides

dry mixture almost expertly tied,

Your creation up to imagination

never the master of your own destiny,

Your loins rhythmic to the fixation

of another genius creating beautifully,

A mansion, castle or glorified shed

all born from your glowing womb,

Expectations destroyed and met,

Artistic design from your living tomb.

Don Beukes

I am currently writing poetry and intend to venture into songwriting and short story writing. I am a retired teacher and have taught English Literature and Geography for 20 years in South Africa and England. I was born and educated in Cape Town, South Africa and grew up in the last two decades of apartheid. I am passionate about SA politics and global issues affecting our global village. My hope is for the human race to use our God-given moral compass to support, inspire and protect each other in any way possible. CARPE DIEM