Coincidence.

 You hate what I love.

You hate what I eat.

You hate what I read.

You hate what I do.

You hate music I like.

You hate movies I watch.

You hate what I...

It's so specific... isn't it?

It can't be coincidence,

that you just so happen to hate

everything about me,

if you don't actually hate me?

After a while I can't help but think.

It it the food or the books?

Or is it just me?

Do you hate me?

And hey, that's fine.

After all this time,

and the way you behave,

I'm neither here nor there,

as far as you're concerned.

But at least be honest.

-o0o-

Cry, Boy, Cry

I wasn't expecting them to publish this poem. So I took it down from here and you can read it over at Poetry Potion

Me and my body

the people who are the most loud

about me and my body

the people who are most critical

of me and my body

the people who tell me to be ashamed

of me and my body

the people who deny me autonomy

of my and my body

are always the same people who want access

to me and my body without my consent

-o0o-

Polyhymnia would be so proud

It took one tragedy too many,

to rob me of poetry,

It was the final stone in my windshield,

that left me in pieces so many;

strewn across four years of asphalt,

that I have to walk back on,

and pick up the words as I go.

I've left a few words along the way,

"Sorry,

I got in the way of you hurting me."

"Sorry,

I'm not who you want me to be."

"Sorry,

I didn't accept your hate."

"Sorry,

I was so angry at your nonsense."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

I left that word behind and

picked up a few old golden nuggets.

"Fuck off" is a choice phrase that I found,

re-entering my everyday lexicon.

Sometimes spoken.

Sometimes just a thought behind a smile.

-o0o-

The Gossip Starts

Devil Devil. I saw him slither;

smiling in my coffee froth.

Halfmoon broken smile, sack cloth,

sixpence silver eyes - warning, mocking.

No the worst of omens.

But it begs the question now,

to alert (or not) our dear Romans?

...begging to make good,

on an unfulfilled vow.

Devil Devil so scintillating smiling soon;

gone with your neap-tide moon.

Gossip tongue to a jubilant tune;

Devil Devil, you speak too innocently.

Snatched stories from saucer and pot,

make me accomplice to your plot?

With one mouth serve,

with one ear take,

with one word shake,

with one fist break.

I'd leave such sincere song and sacrament to priests,

for my own heart's sake.

-o0o-

Stars

 The stars have haloes.

They've seen and now tell,

stories like rings,

a woven text on the sky.

"It comes," they cry,

"The future foreseen."

"And tonight is the first of the signs."

The stars have haloes.

The moon clad with blood.

The sun beset by two dogs.

Ring the earth in warning.

The starry crowns shine through,

through cloud and doubt,

the stars have haloes.

The singing begins.

The forgotten have begun their march.

The book closes.

-o0o-

Up and Down

Wither, wither, the flesh and bone,

and found his grace atop that hill.

Such winds that beat the rounded stone;

to see him tumble laughing still.

Our emblem, he, Ephyra's king,

for all his sins he might repent;

his hollow cough's and laughter's ring.

Must we so think the king content?

-o0o-

A Poem for the Antivaxxers:

After taking the vaccine,

my heart nearly exploded.

I shat my bowels clean.

It's still better than Covid.

as i might

 try as i might

i cannot blame the new pain on the old

the old pain is a long since forgotten boyfriend

someone i dated in high school

the new pain is entirely my own

and of my own making

at least I could walk away from a man

there is no door leading away from this

-o0o-

Mountain

I let you set me up with false praise.

Loose promises in my ears.

I was so gullible.

I would rise with you, you said,

only to find that when we reached the top,

you never even took a single step.

I was alone,

thinking you were beside me all of the way,

when you had never moved,

praising at my back all the way up,

and now unable to come down,

I'm so painfully aware,

that I am afraid of heights.

-o0o-

Bless Tomorrow

 

Bless Tomorrow

by Charl Landsberg

Just for now, to catch your breath slowly;

I wish for you a better tomorrow morning.

An easy sunrise for you to dawn lazily,

from small dreams a peaceful awakening. 

A warm cup of coffee or tea;

before setting out to do your thing.

-o0o-

Off with the Pigs

A fleeting bite, insulting slight, to justice,

love, and reason,

did little right when old men, so white, prefer,

the lure of treason. 
Were you there when Hero's prayer in death,

soothed Claudio's tantrum?

When three to a man did Caliban assault,

his slaver's sanctum?

You speak returns and big concerns for old ways,

imagined past.

But a verdict's deign doesn't raise the slain where ground

with blood is cast.

Justice is needed. Justice deserved.

Justice is more than this platitude served.

Justice is here. Justice is now.

The pigs need to be sent home to the sow.

-o0o-

Aurora Redux

Whoo, that fairy gave everone a terrible fright.

Throwing curses born of hatred and spite.

That curse is gone, unsewn, a seed that will never find root,

I unknit her weave, and cast it to the wind, broken, moot.

But what of gifts, this is a celebration, yes?

So I give you a gift to uplift and bless.

The most simple of spells, a cantrip of light,

you can call upon when sad or in the dark of the night.

And I gift to you wisdom of heart of self and kin,

a compassion that sees to without and within,

a knowing love, a kind love, that doesn't lose sight,

of what's good in the world, what's true, what's right.

And the call is the third gift, a beckon to me,

that if you are in danger or sad or lonely,

say my name three times, give my ear a bend,

I'll be there as teacher, a confidant, friend.

-o0o-

Tonguetell

Image Transcription: 

Tonguetell 

by Charl Landsberg

There is a candle of a lie that illuminates:

told by the mouth of the wicked man,

in sly attempt to shadow his crime,

that only survivors of said crime recognise;

instantly.

When you overhear that wicked man,

who speaks his little occulting spell,

and he knows by the flash in your eyes,

that he made such a crucial mistake -

and now two share his dirty little secret.

-o0o-

The Problem with Anger

 

transcription of image: the problem with anger by charl landsberg

let the steam out bit by bit

anger is like a pressure pot

it can do so many wonderful things

cook food, cut steel, slay enemies, the lot

but seal it up and never let it out

boom - rain like red sleet

friends and foes and strangers alike

scattered about your naked feet

Originally published 29 March 2021

-o0o-

The Different Stories

Your friends and family speak of you in hushed tones.

You were such a good boy. Never did anything bad.

You were a model student and example to your peers.

That sort of shit.

I irritate them when I speak of you.

Because I knew you.

We met on Kwazulu Natal copper autumn leaves.

We met behind festival tents and market stalls.

We met behind the YMCA where we started fires and shot off crackers.

We met behind the Musica where we stole CDs and snorted cocaine.

You were such a good boy.

The terrible things we did.

And Sundays we would go to our respective churches,

And take the holy bread and wine…

only to receive forgiveness in each other’s arms later that night.

The subtle prayers that only lovers know.

I could shout it to the world.

The truth of you.

The beauty of you.

Not a small boy with auntie pinched red apple cheeks,

But a young man face flushed as he ran naked into a midnight Midmar Dam.

A young man who stuck his arms out sideways and twirled till he fell.

A young man who sang along to Alanis Morrissette very badly.

A young man stolen from us far too quickly.

They don’t remember you the way I do.

They remember you behaving.

I remember you smiling.

-o0o-

Whoa Nelly!

(aka, the poem in which I lose my damn temper)

I am done with men fucking up after everything I say,
and going ahead with it anyway and then being so fucking surprised:
“I'm surprised! Are you surprised? I was so fucking surprised!”
Oh, you're his friend, are you?
No, I don't know where he went.
Maybe he's down at the store having spent,
his last silver dime on buying back the time he wasted;
or a balm for the consequences he wrought;
or a sense of responsibility; or... I dunno, some fucking shame.
Who knows? Maybe he's dead.
Is it my problem? Stop asking.
Is there something you'd rather have me do instead?
Like, sweety, I'd love to go headhunting with you,
but that boy's gotta make his bed some day.
So, I'm sorry, not my problem, he knew the rules, he knew the cost.
He came in guns blazing; to hell with the consequences,
and got his ass knocked two feet sideways from Tuesday.
Not my circus. Not my monkeys.
If you're through, are we done please?
I'm not particularly busy today, but this is not what I had planned,
but if you're laying claim to that trash,
I can offer you a broom and the door.

-o0o-

Approaching Beltane

So bring a tiny pitcher,

fill it up with milk.

Come set it on the grass,

and wrap it up with silk.

Boil an urn of water.

Sprinkle in some tea.

Pour yourself a cup,

and sit here next to me.

Bring your pewter whistle,

and I'll bring my guitar.

You sing songs for the moon,

and I'll sing songs for a star.

Then wrap ourselves in blankets,

with a fire made of sticks.

I wake up in your arms.

We leave at half past six.

-o0o-

I cannot wait to die

CW: little bit suicidal

I cannot wait to die,

to be so insubstantial as to have never existed.

I would never be fat again, hated for my body,

I would be so thin you'd never see me.

I would never be transgender again,

an inconvenient patch of grass,

that you can pave over with whatever story you like.

You can call me 'he' and 'him' till the cows come home,

and I will not be there to take it anymore.

To be the skinny man I never was in your imagination.

To be the stranger I never was living in your disappointment.

I cannot wait to die,

so everyone else could experience that absence of being,

as I lived a ghost in my own life,

as if I had this invisible twin brother everyone spoke to,

instead of me.

Maybe when I die I'll meet him, finally, and kill him too.

-o0o-

Love: A Dictionary Definition

 Love is a noun and a verb

Love is the tongue and the fist

Love is the threat and the delivery

Love is tragic and heartbreaking

Love is the cruelty of cis men

Love is being disappointed with cis men

Love is the unexpected wonder of cis men

Love is transformative

Love is being reminded that history is a circle

Love is being reminded that this doesn’t last

Love is loss and doing it again for the hell of it

Love is beautiful

Love is loneliness in the following years

Love is memory and far too many hours

Love is seeing your face in dream

Love is never being alone

-o0o-