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-

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-

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-

First and Last Rites

You were my first, you know,

but I wasn't good enough.

You went out looking for yourself:

travelled the world, came back,

...changed...

said how much you hated me...

because I have changed?

How clever you are:

gone digging in other folks' gardens,

just to find my grave.

Sorry I don't have a body or

something for you to bury.

But you've gotten so clever,

finding things that don't belong to you.

Religions. Cultures.

Other men's husbands.

Maybe if you go away,

you can find something,

to put in that grave you found,

or up your ass.

-o0o-

Dispelled

And how is it that you unstitch me so,

with one kiss, my every front unseated?

As glamours break you watch them go,

while I sit here, helplessly defeated.

Your soft smile serving a gentle glow,

asking if your spell might be repeated.

-o0o-

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Oranges (Video)

I miss you today dear lover,

How you’ve out-aged me in death.

Immortally young. Ancient in memory.

Ageless Apollo.

Are there still oranges where you are?

Do the copper leaves still fall about your feet?

And is death kind in your defeat?

I miss you today dear lover,

Your apple-grin smile that ensnares me,

Your brassy laugh that knocks air into the soul,

and makes the windows rattle.

I miss you today dear lover,

On a far-away coast,

So far from your grave,

I don’t know these winds,

The sky isn’t vital with that screaming thunder,

And your voice is still,

Even in memory.

I miss you wry humour,

Your simple kindness.

I miss your singular determination,

Your childlike ability to get lost in wonder.

I am sad to say that today was a good day:

Anniversaries being what they are.

And I have no desire to join you,

So I beg you to be patient.

Time will have us all in the end,

And there are oranges enough for now.

-o0o-

Ricky Man

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

I knew him when the Earth was flat.

I knew him when the moon was holy.

...when Coca Cola was cheap;

when he sat slumped,

face down, drunk,

cooking his brain in some second hand philosophy book,

college of life burning late on his alchemical tank,

and adding fuel in small white powder sniffs.

-Breaking into one of his familiar tiffs with the tiny bar lady,

the one he swears he fucked.

..but I knew he was as gay as a seven rand note.

And he smiled at me with his knowing eyes,

the only times I swear he saw the world soberly.

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

Ricky Man smoked a pipe.

A glass pipe.

Called it his caterpillar stick.

And he told stories like a magician.

His teeth clinking on glass,

like a groom calling his audience to class,

and we small children sat at his feet,

in a long forgotten street,

and listened to spinning stories:

of long ago alleyways, brothels,

and that one cop that owed him one.

He curled over the edge of his table,

and drummed the story into the wood,

with the ball of his palm,

stuttering through the haze of drink,

and the jagged segues of coca daze,

his haphazard bedtime mazelike stories,

that twisted around you,

like carousels of living horses.

We didn’t believe a word he’d say,

but it was all about the way he'd said it.

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

His foot sticking out this way,

fingers pointing accusingly at every audience member:

till one by one we were shot down,

one drunk,

one coked up,

one just tired from a long day.

Us, just as hazy as he was,

boiled out by the familiar heat of a small town sun.

And he’d finally fizz out and pass out,

kicked out for sleeping,

or puking on himself,

he just needed to get up.

He just needed to find his feet.

One last person to greet.

...and as he crossed the street.

...well.

He didn’t see the car coming.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

I knew Ricky Man with his soda ash coat.

I knew Ricky Man with his blood libation to mother night.

I knew Ricky Man before we spoke of him in backwards facing sentences.

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

-o0o-

She of the Winter Sun

The spirit of the Winter sun,
is sitting on my back door.
She’s singing in a language,
I thought only I could speak.
She told me things I never knew before:
things about me and you,
things about you,
things about you...
For a moment I thought I could peek into her mind,
seek out the little things we left behind,
but she smiled and stepped lightly from off my back door,
her feet landing nimbly on the terra cotta floor,
kissed me so gently,
like a memory of you,
like a memory of you...
I gave her a twig of dandelion,
a handful of crushed nutmeg,
and off she flew,
Back into the winter sky,
singing of you,
singing of you...

-o0o-

Scatterplot Boy

Scatterplot boy with a numerical heart:

worried, anxious, and bent out of joint;

lost the plot and ripped apart.

Where do you rest your head tonight?

Your constant concern and anxious mind;

worried the world might leave you behind.

Graphing the world point-by-point.

Where do you rest your head tonight?

Heavy soul, take small respite.

Allow your bones a restful night.

Lay your head down upon my chest.

Give in to sleep and take some rest.

What lays beyond my hearth but spite?

Where do you rest your head tonight?

-o0o-

At the place where you left me

You say you’re back:
gone to the place where you left me,
and now you’re upset?
Finding my usual spot vacant,
as if I should sit around all day;
waiting for your ass.

Even the stones have changed their names,
but you expect me to be the same;
that same 19 year-old child,
with a wide smile,
ingénue to your violent fist,
gifting cocaine or punches.

You say you’re back:
gone to the place where you left me,
and you’ve been sobbing up a storm,
telling your friends how wronged you are.
How dare I not forgive you?
I don’t even know you.

-o0o-

Barbican Boy

Barbican boy with his arms folded:

he’s angry for having been scolded,

and now just sitting there.

Hunched over with his face scrunched up,

like a crushed polystyrene cup,

with his eyes behind his hair.

And now, my barbican one?

Do you withdraw till the day is done?

With your heart’s aimless scorn.

Portcullis shut, curtains drawn.

You’d swear I was your prosecution.

Though for all my part I know just this;

of my dark powers and magical kiss,

that could make for fine restitution.

-o0o-

Vessel

I would gladly hold you
for tonight
be keeper of your sorrow
hold your tears till tomorrow
guard you against the bitter night
that would have us

Just for now
to hold
to warm us from the cold
to love
a tryst for the evening
something simple

I'll be your vessel
for tonight
whisper in your ear
tell you stories of tomorrow
and the good times
and the summer sun

-o0o-

Abyss

I wrote a thousand names on your skin
each a praise worthy of gods
I crowned you lord and saviour
with words older than either of us
but you didn't understand
so the words faded on your skin
like scars
and my words were a forgotten breath
and I was forgotten
an old relic in the mouth of the abyss

-o0o-

Falling in Love

people write songs about love

happy love, sweet love, warm love

distilled love, kosher love, two percent with added calcium love

dove love, above love, I can't believe this isn't butter love

love that comes from Hallmark cards

and saccharine aphorisms of affection

that often miss the point entirely

sweethearts wreathed with roses

holding hands on a bench

where holding hands is just that

a mutual gesture in sticky solemnity

that risks nothing but intimacy

but I've never experienced love like that

my love was harsh and loud, bold and proud

eager to hide, eager to show

here and there, ebb and flow

entirely too quick and entirely too slow

far more stark than the Valentine's pink glow

passionate and deep, creeping at times

and at times vaulting at you head on

to find body and soul bruised and sated

to find yourself beached like a whale

on the shores of your desires

entirely fed, entirely stranded

and still

even years later

wondering

what the fuck happened?

-o0o-

I Worry about my Dogs

I worry about my dogs

as if they would starve

when I was away

so I leave an extra handfull of food

just in case I didn't come back

just in case they needed an extra mouthful

waiting for the kind soul that would fetch them

if I never did

-o0o-

Birdsong

she had turned sixteen
when she got her first broom
a witch she was, through-and-through
with herbs growing outside her room
and the birds would come whispering
loving letters in her ears
from her long lost love who drowned
beneath the lake of tears

-o0o-

Forced You?

forced you?

to date me?

made you love me?

did I?

it didn't bother me

till I heard a friend say it too

then it bothered me for days

I forced you?

to commit to a relationship?

when I asked you daily

if this is what you wanted

when I told you

that you had a way out

daily

when you took from me

when you took sex

when you took companionship

when you took trust

when you needed a shoulder to cry on

and made me feel ashamed
you'd rather fuck in a car
in the bushes
in the dark
because gods forbid we get discovered in a bed

because I'm not worth committing to?

because I'm good for a fuck

but fuck me if I'm good enough to love

you wanted all the merchandise

but none of the bills

you wanted all the glory

but none of the work

when I asked you to love me

when I asked you commit

and you agreed

and I still told you

there is a way out?

and I asked you daily

if this is what you wanted?

I let you fuck other men

because I was afraid

if I held on too tightly

you'd go away

and I really did love you

and I really did say

that you had a way out

and I asked you each time

if this is what you wanted?

but I forced you?

that's some

patriarchal

sexist

bullshit

I will not accept

you do not get to use me that way

you do not get to use me sexually

you do not get to use me emotionally

and then turn around

and complain that I forced you

to love me

if you ever did love me

believe it or not

I don't have that kind of power

men think this way

that they are owed sex for free

that there is no cost for what they do

that when they make lofty promises

that when they make commitments

that all of that will just blow away

I didn't do anything wrong

in asking you to commit

I didn't do anything wrong

in asking you to be true to me

I didn't do anything wrong

and I gave you the choice

and I do not possess the power

to make people commit against their will

no

I didn't "force" you to date me

I didn't "force" you to love me

you did that all on your own

you are not the wronged party

in the failure of our relationship
I owe you a lot of things
but I never forced you into anything

-o0o-

Persist

I guess I've fallen in love with the break
zipped down my body and soul in zigged cracks
me broken and living for my own sake
held together with press stick and tacks
because that's all I can do when it's sore
body and soul a swollen bruise
and I guess I just keep expecting more
when everyone things I've got nothing to lose
so I guess I love this broken me
nothing special, nothing to show
exist to spite the peanut gallery
and withstand everything life may throw

-o0o-

An Appreciation of Kitsch

what isn't straightforward

                               is kitsch

bent and twisted               

         distasteful

                 queer faggot dyke

                         female / femme

            not white

                          transgender non binary

decolonized

beautiful               

this is what I want          

metallic trim on martini glasses     

plush toys hanging from my rear view mirror

garish clothes                                   

insulting to the sensible       

food for the senses   

          kitsch is my blood spilt

                   kitsch are my dead friends

                                      kitsch is my dead flowers in the window

that I keep anyway

            kitsch is bad eyeliner

kitsch is how I dance

               all elbows and stomping

  kitsch is dinner at my house                                    

                                             late, rich, and far too much   

kitsch is my body                                     

                      far too fat                                       

            far too scarred                                        

far too ugly                                                        

                               kitsch is my love

                    reckless and fast

kitsch is history from the perspective of the victim                  

kitsch is music sung from a grieving mouth             

                     kitsch is staying up way too late to watch YouTube videos

kitsch is late for my appointments  

  kitsch is curved and hurting

  like my spine

                                               kitsch can't stand up when it's cold

                                                               kitsch cries with me when I'm in pain

                                             kitsch bleeds with me when my veins won't clot

      kitsch cries with me when I'm depressed

and the world is like a leaden sinker             

dragging me down                                                 

                       kitsch is glitter on my pillow

          that's what I want

                                           allowing a suffering world to be beautiful

                                         in the face of such incredible hatred and violence

kitsch is the messiah                                              

who fucks so gently                                      

and kisses to tenderly                         

and tells us that everything   

is going to be          

alright          

-o0o-