I’ve recently decided I’m going to put all of my poems that I’ve written thus far in a volume called “dada 4 nonsense”. Even if it’s just for me and no one else will ever see it. Except maybe close friends and family. Who knows? I have all the material – I just have to put it together now.
Life at work hasn’t been that great lately – I keep getting in trouble for the smallest, silliest things. I’m also surprised every time that my boss doesn’t fire me or at least give me a warning. I’m pretty sure she wants to strangle me about now. I’d probably be the reason why she’ll get her first grey hair at the age of 30.
Anyway, I’ve recently discovered something amazing! I started playing this game last night “Alice: Behind the glass” about Alice in Wonderland and everywhere in the game there are interesting facts. One thing I’ve learnt that’s really interesting:
A real girl was the inspiration for the book! Lewis Carroll wrote “Alice in Wonderland” for the dean’s daughter at the school he taught. Her name was Alice Pleasance Liddle. On Jthe 4th of July in 1862 while in a rowing boat he started entertaining her and her two sisters with what would have become the story of Alice in Wonderland. She asked him to write it down for her. After a few months he presented her with the manuscript of “Alice’s Adventures Under Ground” in November 1864. The second book followed “Through the looking glass and what Alice found there”.
She does feature though in an acrostic poem at the end of “Through the Looking Glass”. Reading downward, taking the first letter of each line spells out Liddell’s full name.
A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July–
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear–
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die.
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream–
Lingering in the golden gleam–
Life, what is it but a dream?
Plan of Attack
Bully for Ukraine
You have the right to be forgotten.
An apology would be a start.
killing it softly
Titles taken from Time magazine Issue: May 26, 2014
Titles (2 or 3?) I can’t remember
Christians and Tyrants
Luckless down under
Take that, Taliban!
To the dogs.
Why Obama hit Pause.
Make like a Panda
Gone to the beach
“Yeah, you betcha!”
I know today is the 22nd, but I wrote this yesterday.
I cry because I’m alone
I cry because my life is stuck in a rut
and there’s no way to get out.
Choices is what made us.
“The good things that I want to do, I don’t do,
but the awful things that I don’t want to do, that I do.” *
I cry because I cannot go back
and I cannot move forward
because I keep looking back.
I cry because I don’t belong here
I cry because I have nothing,
no one to share it with.
I cry because time waits for no man.
I cry because I only know what I’ve lost,
when it’s truly gone.
I cry for the missed opportunities,
I cry because of my stubbornness.
I cry because I can’t look myself in the mirror.
I cry because I can’t stop hurting myself.
I cry because I can’t tell anyone without
being labelled crazy.
I cry because I’m a beautiful mess.
I cry because no one will ever get to see that.
I cry because you laugh at me.
I cry because no one understands me.
I cry because I’m trying too hard to impress you.
I cry for the pain
and sweet bliss
of this world.
But most of all: I cry because
this is the only world I know.
*the quote is a rough translation from the Afrikaans Romans 8:19
My grandmother died last night
My grandmother died last night.
I did not know.
My aunt sent me a message:
“I’m sorry your grandmother died”.
I was like: “What?
I did not want to believe it
I did not want to go home
I tried to dance the night away,
but instead I cried my eyes out.
I came home.
I did not want the night to end.
I did not want to face the truth
I did not want to see my dad’s face.
I want to dedicate this post to my grandmother, Alice Linde. She was the real poet in the family. She gave me this poem to keep in my Bible.
As I look back on my childhood days
it fills me with awe, and I stand amazed
How the Lord in His goodness provided for me
And taught me the best is yet to be.
In 1931, I was but four,
My parents, divorced, could care for me no more
So my mother accompanied me by train
To an orphanage, St Faiths, in Bloemfontein.
I can still remember that very night
when my mother disappeared from sight
How can I describe the tears I shed
Before someone came and put me to bed.
If only parents could realise
How their actions appear before God’s eyes
For it’s their children who beak the pain
when the vows they make are disobeyed.
As I grew older, I felt something amiss,
no one to hug me, or give me a kiss
So in thought I would climb up on Jesus’ knee
with my head on His breast He whispered to me:
“I love you my child, – you belong to ME”
From there on I could go to Him in prayer
all my fears and joys with Him I could share
For my Guardian Angel stands watch over me,
It’s so reassuring, it fills me with glee,
And I know through His Word
The best is yet to be.
A. E. Linde – Nov 1995
Dear Grandma Alet
You no longer have to feel any pain and have to hope that the best is yet to be, because now you are where you always belonged – “on Jesus’ knee”. You disappeared so quickly from our sight so sudden I’m still filled with shock, but I’m glad I got to know you – even though you could make me so mad at times! I somehow wish I could join you in heaven, but for now I can hold onto this hope: “The best is yet to be!”
Just read through my previous poems – Not bad. Not bad at all. Anyway, here’s today’s:
Return of the Taliban
“We own this country”
No 1 with a bullet
I got the titles from Time magazine, Issue: April 14, 2014
Just when I thought I cannot write another DADA poem any more, I got a great idea! Why not take all the titles in the magazine and make a poem out of that? Brilliant idea!
The Party faithful
Pluto’s little siblings:
Rise of the Mumps.
No safe smoke
Paragon of hate
A Time to Cry
What India wants
The King and O
No more broken promises.
The Last days of Mad Men
Let there be Night
Man of Steal
Seeds of change
Thanks, but mostly no Thanks.
I got these titles from a Time magazine (where else?) Issue April 7, 2014.
How I write a DADA poem:
I take an article
Underline words that pop out
mix them up
And put them together
again in a new puzzle.