Some More of my Work Published

Two of my poems have recently been published on Poetry Potion. Please go have a look. Rate my poems. Drop a comment.

Here are my two new poems:

http://poetrypotion.com/when-i-die-by-charl-landsberg/

http://poetrypotion.com/the-day-thieves-by-charl-landsberg/

And for some more of my poems on Poetry Potion have a look at my tab there at:

http://poetrypotion.com/tag/charl-landsberg/

All my love
Charl Landsberg

-o0o-

Dionysus

his priests at his feet
his vineyard replete
yet all I could see was his face
the frenzy begun
they chanted as one
and all were gathered in that place

they ranted and groaned
they orgied and moaned
but his eyes fell only on me
his enemies massed
as shield and sword clashed
but their will was never to be

they died mortal deaths
with transient breaths
and hand in hand we watched them go
old Bacchus and I
we sat in the sky
to talk of what only we know

he dies every year
that time's growing near
as he is reborn in the day
but I had him when
we were gods unto men
and no one can take that away

-o0o-
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Dorothy

yes, you may think I choose
but these are not red shoes
one's feet take on these hues
if Dorothy's your friend

no taking off the roux
so soap will scrub it through
can beat me black and blue
but Dorothy's my friend

there's magic in the flame
that permiates my frame
and Dorothy's her name
and she was my first friend

no socks can hide the glow
no act can stop the show
no lie from what I know
yes... Dorothy's my friend

though you walk every street
you might not ever meet
the painter of my feet
but Dorothy's my friend

though you search everywhere
for crimson knotted hair
you know that she is there
and Dorothy's my friend

-o0o-

I was inspired by this:

I don't know if it's true, still busy reading up on this.

Love

Charl :)

White Lies

there is something so sinister in that nostalgia
that keeps the villain alive
that thing that skulks like a frog under a rock
something of the stately old white man
baas op sy plaas
sitting in his rocking chair
he messages his culpability into the oxen shit veranda
that was polished  dusky red
by the blood of the old cleaning woman

can you see him stuff his pipe?
with the leathery skin of the old field worker
preening in his white shirt bleached
with the crushed bones of the washer woman

indignant
he denies it all
as he puffs and blows out their last breaths

"I'm not to blame"
he snaps

"it's all over now"
he gesticulates

"besides"
he smiles

"weren't those days grand?"

Mind

With hope and fear the brick and mortar
Thoughts upholster every quarter
Dreams flood the rooms like boundless water
A swirling phantom sea

This world is made of tiny spaces
Interlocking hollow places
Tied together with shoe laces
The world inside of me
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Mortal

This is my poem which appeared in Poetry Potion's "Being Human" published 23 March 2013.

"Mortal"

Make all the most of this, my friend
For all you know will pass
Your kith, your kin and even you
Will sink beneath the grass

Your hopes, your dreams, are meaningless
When death knocks at your door
And all you've made will fade to dust
And scatter on the floor

So make this world your opus, friend
And shape things for the best
And bring your matters to a close
When you're put down to rest

Make sure that when you're dead and gone
You've done all you could do
For those that did not have the chance
That you've stumbled onto

-o0o-
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Out of Bounds

Brief moment
Desiring to reach out
To you in your sorrow
And me with my hunger
To the forbidden you
Where you sat, distressed
Within reach of my desires
Outside of my rights as a good person

-o0o-

That

Bleed for me once
So I know that you live
Show me you care
Show me your wounds
Prove that you're not just
That
Disembodied automata
The hungry vessel
That eats, that takes
That absorbs, that gorges
Show me that you are more
Show me your humanity
Let me believe for once
That I left an imprint
And you're not just
That

-o0o-

Buttons

He likes to hide away at night, in places they can't see
When they're at home, his home becomes an awful place to be
They often drink, they often fight, they often scream throughout the night
And he can't leave this house of his, this penitentiary

His mommy doesn't cook for him, since she can't see him there
His daddy has no time for him, he doesn't seem to care
So every day alone he stays in the dark shadows where he plays
He knows he's stuck, he'll never leave, his corpse has tied him there

At night his mommy cries a lot, she often says his name
His daddy doesn't give a damn, since he's the one to blame
And mommy hid what daddy did to their young boy, that little kid
They both give into drink and shout, to cauterise the shame

-o0o-

Moon

I love the moon and how it hides
behind the mist and clouds above
with its white obfuscated eyes
staring down at us all, plotting
waiting to make that silent move
the quiet plotting orb up high
its silver hands brushing the earth
a faded light that casts no shades
a cold desperation that lies
in wait for a new hand to shake
for a new friendly face to greet
the autumn face of the Lune
how it smiles, cold, calculating
waning on the knife's edge of night
enticing it's bacchanine flock
to go forth, feasting and drinking
fighting and fucking, loud and bright
ahead of their master, old moon
who hangs back and watches its pawns
from its seat behind cloudy skies

-o0o-

Escapism

Tip the bowl
clop, clop
on the wooden table
swish, swish
race the last drop
round, round
like a race car
up and down
in the empty circuit
clap, clap
the crowds cheer
clop, clop
to sooth the empty stomach
clop, clop
"stop playing with your food"
but there isn't any left

-o0o-

Psychopath on the Hunt

It's been years
     since I've seen it done this well
     the old face of the psychopath
     hunting for prey
     the same old moves
Artistically performed
     so suave and savagely saccharine
     sophisticated sophistry's serenade
     subtle sympathectomy of my soul
     such syzygetic seduction
Charm leaking from you
     flitting between people and conversations
     like a honey bee
     from this flower to that flower
     testing the harvest, testing it's fruit
Spreading your pearliest smile
     a tight grip on my shoulder
     that old touch I remember well
     the uninvited but warm touch
     for one so young, you are well practiced
"I know you," I think to myself
     I've felt this before in another life
     so sweet you are, your trap so alluring
     kind and measured, clockwork words
     the snake charming the fakir
For all your intentions
     I won't relapse into your trap
     nor be taken in by your enticement
     that kiss that predates the bite
     prelude of pain that inevitably inundates
I'm not that stupid
     to fall back into that touch again
     that snaps shut when I'm not looking
     find your morbid supply elsewhere
     I'm craving enough on my own as it is

-o0o-

Middle Class Empire

Boxed up dream
     wishes in a packet
     production-line style

Shoved into a box
     by those hollow eyes
     that can't afford to dream

Wrapped with cellophane
     with those little pink polystyrene puffs
     for only nine-ninety-nine
   
At a convenience store near you
     call now
     while stocks last

Be the envy of your friends
     this season's dream
     a middle class must-have

-o0o-

Naked Soul

I had not forgotten your hungry stare
Your every move that laid my soul to bare
In those cold nights looking at me
Carving flesh from my bone with your cruelty
I had not forgotten, I had not, nor
Relinquished myself to your so-called plot
I am not the expectation of your goal

I am not stock in your trade of the soul

-o0o-

Under the category of "to bare all". Poem featured in Poetry Potion. Please go have a look at http://poetrypotion.com/poem-of-the-day-naked-soul-by-charl-landsberg/

Egg

I am broken on you
Eggshell cracked on your heart
With my soul pouring out
My juices sweet and tart

The rest abandoned there
On the floor by my bed
My hips, lips, toes, and skin
Fingers, shoulders, and head

While I'm mixed into you
Baked hotly in your arms
My mind dumb at your touch
Enchanted by your charms

To wake up when you leave
To grieve the closing door
When I must pick things up
And be that egg once more

-o0o-

Countenance

A friend remarked
On what I had thought
I had kept well hidden
All these years

He said that
I wore my past
Upon my face
So evidently

As to make me frightful
When I was angry
And dreadful
When I was sad

He asked whether I suffer
And I said no
But it lingers in the mind
From day to day

He asked me if I regret it
And I said
I would not exchange my lot
For any other

-o0o-

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