ontheheath: (Default)
every nugget of gold
will have its impurities

and because nature is raw
you too shall have your idiosyncrasies

now consider that even the sun has spots
but always remember that they are only made visible by the light
that the sun itself shines out and away

and learn that existence is sort of quid pro quo
so life is such that at times you have to wear the chargrined smile


© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
fallible youth

fervent and vain

with a missing tooth

and a turf burn



up and down

on a seesaw

sun-kissed brown

little hero



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
you’ll love

you’ll lose

and let go



then love again

and sometimes even better than before

if along the way you somehow managed to grow



but taking into account the odds

you’re bound to lose once more

however, by this time, it shouldn’t be as difficult for you to move on

but if so, then a kind of sorrow soon follows



still, as long as man lives, man hopes

and so you’ll go on

waiting for your god to grant the mate your soul longs for



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/

half token

Feb. 13th, 2016 03:29 pm
ontheheath: (Default)
early Saturday morning

her scent still lingered but she’d disappeared



she liked to sleep in her own bed

and besides, she didn’t want to become attached,

neither did he



yet she’d left him longing

and hoping that the next time, she wouldn’t just leave a token

but instead would stay



but before brunch she was back

telling him how she’d hardly slept –

confused by the feelings he’d aroused in her



then they spent the day together

’til early Sunday morning

when again the night abducted her like Proserpina –

although he’d have sworn even Bernini

would not have been able to sculpt her – being so sophisticated



she told him that she’d wished him into existence

and he responded telling her she was the best he’d ever seen



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
glorious sky

luminous mass

here to wash

the night’s dye



many may wonder

why it’s you I reference

but if only they knew

of our conversations

and the verses

you’ve blessed me with



some fourteen thousand years before

our common era

when you birthed Stella

in the after hours of the great shower



when stars became the eyes

that would forever tower



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
The worst disease a poet can suffer

is failure to draw to the surface

the pure waters that sit at the bottom of the well of his soul;

the crippling sickness that makes him conceive in his mind from the wealth of his experience – which should never be separate from all that is —

but disables him from sharing it.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
Been waiting so long my blood has turned cold and purple

and I feel like a lone chameleon in a fruitless passion.



You heard me calling for you, I’m sure you did…

I thought the sweet songs might pique your interest,

but it’s been years and now there’s a clot over the bleed —

the wilted four-leaf clover at the edge of this garden tells all…

the tale of not letting go.



All symptoms show a heart at desire’s end,

a passion watered down,

a spirit on its last glow

and a mind bent on letting go…

so I hope this time it’s not all vine and no taters.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/

Cloud Mine

Feb. 5th, 2016 05:33 pm
ontheheath: (Default)
Her cloud white sclera

was pierced through by the sublime dark centre…

Telling of a loud and bright soul somewhere

beneath all that matter….



We talked over old ties and exchanged new lies —

the kind that become truths fostered by fears…

And when time was no more we kissed…

then we danced ’til the morning, sipping corpse revivers.




© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
She wasn’t the type that sought the securities to be gotten from his abilities

but rather his soul…
She required he be selfless…

that her beauty be enough…

as if Serapis was really Christ,

as if Arius wasn’t right.

She thought herself the sun…
the one with whom he would synthesise…

along with the multitudes who could not escape her rays

and those who basked in them… adulating…

Only to tremble upon night’s return

when She unthreaded the warm cocoon

leaving them at the cross roads of the unholy matrimony.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
All that surrounds me seems well adjusted,

And the harmonious silence of the night stirs up recollections;

Wherein I hear your heartbeat.

The sweetest music, the softest drumbeat.

Remember when I used to rest my head beneath your breast with my ear

Listening to your rhythm?

When all that mattered was us,

When we risked everything;

When it was worth living.



Even these winter beaten trees still manage generosity and give me air,
So please give me something so I know you’re still there…

Because although I live, it’s for nothing if not for you…

What’s the purpose of a life of imprisoned passions?

Yet there’s hope of flowering for the tree when the seasons change,

Hope that the stars will once again light up the sky when the clouds clear.

But does that spell hope for us?



Every one seems better matched

Because you’re not next to me.

I remember you once said that if it had been me you’d have adopted my name…

Even if distance is in the way; the memories are not faded.

Just preserved…whilst I wait and hope for reunions belated and happier days.

And although the compass that brought me to you,

Is for the time being making sure you remain lost to me,

Somewhere southeast …

Know that I miss you still.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
When observing one’s own thoughts,

At certain heights of insight,

One may find some revelations distasteful

And some – the purest of delights.



As illusions are exposed

And a little genius reaffirmed.

Although oxymoronic…

Simple truths remain mostly at inaccessible peaks,

And if one goes a step further to attempt interpretation

As a scientist would draw up his theory,

Is he aware of the limitations?



A respectable lady once asked a young poet

Why he dares bare his soul in words made public,

And the young man answered:

Because the truth, is, as such – already revealed.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
When a man reminisces about old lovers,
His instincts are revived.
He considers his current prospects
And rejoices in old ‘conquests’.
There’s a beautiful nostalgia about it all
And he goes on loving even when he has ceased lusting.

Now assuming as I am…
That when a woman calls on her memory
And remembers old encounters,
She may initially delight in the triggers of that very remembrance –
Often some amusing idiosyncrasies or affectations;
But then she is forced to remember his essence –
How he had her, and how he destroyed her beautiful illusion…
So she ceases to love when her youth withers.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/

Red Horizon

Feb. 2nd, 2016 03:22 pm
ontheheath: (Default)
Star clusters light up the mellow dark space,

Furnishing the distant depths with a light red horizon.

The night is haunted by memory flashes of your face;

The one spark and only light I long for —

But our love has been a cold case

Since the thunder came upon,

Turning silence to noise.

So before laying it all to rest

I’ll look again to the red horizon

And watch it absorb all light and sound.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
Vegetating – away from the anxieties of daylight;
Watching smoke trails disappear into the night.
I was reminded of ‘The Unquiet Grave’ and the saying:
“The reward of art is not fame or success but intoxication….”
I smiled.

Absorbing – the crisp Cape Town air,
The harmonious faint sounds from a nearby road
And the merry laughs from the neighbour next door —
So pleasantly disturbing.
I listened.

The little park behind this semi-detached house was dressed in white mist.
The Diep flowed, but remained as quiet as a pond.
No stars were visible in the sky,
Only a white veil to match the dress down below.
I watched…

Blue fighting to penetrate the sky.
God’s brush had sure done wonders of feathering the galactic rainbow’s edges with the white.
Then I thought ‘surely this very perception will fill consciousness
With dull remnants of remembrance,
And now Desire will be born and I shall begin to long for the colours beyond,
Begin to long for her,
And long for others’.
It was at that point I decided to exit the insane asylum of the eternal imaginarium.


© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
The difficulty lies,
Not in a man’s ignorance of a woman’s wants,
Daunting as they are to realise;
But rather in the seeming impossibility of fulfilling her desires.
So that attention will not fill her tank,
And bags of best friends – her bank.
Neither permanence nor security.

He who has loved plenty
Will be knowledgeable,
And he who pays attention
Will realise…

It takes more than a cheque, be it blank
More than he can give or lend.
It’s more than just a matter of solvency
But more about being dissolved,
Being sucked into her womb, and
Repaying the debt for bearing you.

Only when you’re in her arms,
And sucking from her breast,
Will her desires be satisfied
And the difficulty dies.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/

Mantis

Feb. 1st, 2016 05:12 pm
ontheheath: (Default)
You’re a goddess to the Khoi,

Luckily I’m not one of them.

I will not bow my head so you can prey on me.

I know it’s your favourite dish,

But on mine you’ll not feast.

And now that we have mated I shall dismount quick,

Quicker with my feet than when we had our courtship dance.

Staggering side to side like the way you move;

Wounded but alive, bitten but not poisoned.

Looking back – I adore and abhor your colours,

Your beautiful camouflage!



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
Distant like the stars
We watched through the panes
Of my bedroom.

Wide as your smile
When I touched you, my hands
On your womb.

Deep as my love
Sweet pain –
Thorny bloom.

Permanent like the scars
Marked on the hearts of man –
Our blood pumping balloons.

Love lost, lust gained;
Lust lost, love gained.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
praise one can accept
but to be ordained… please, no! I’m just a man

and one can’t help but think of the saints
take Augustine for instance…

one can trace back to his days in Carthage
when Manichaeism and scepticism were the ways

before he read Cicero’s works
before Ambrose baptised both him and his bastard Adeodatus…

even ’til his very end
who was with him at the time of his death? was it not Count Boniface?
the same man who invited Genseric and his Vandals into Africa…
that one even feels it vulgar to mention the bloody consequence

so praise I can accept
but to be ordained… please, no! I’m just a man



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
none too soon that her and I wanted to be alone

but the incarnate Jerome of Rome was in the room
as though there was nowhere else for him to roam

and so, a sort of passion police he’d become



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/
ontheheath: (Default)
they’d often spotted each other on the Metrolink during weekdays, and both done their fair share of pretending not to notice, so they’d never conversed ’til that early evening.

‘I quite fancy you’ she voiced excitedly, which sent his mind into an etymological frenzy. half a dozen or so synonyms sounding in his head. he was stunned, not only by her beauty, which was even better up close – hardly the norm – but also her wily ways; and at the same time he was trying to deduce the meaning of the phrase she’d just uttered. wondering what she meant by it. whether it was just another pleasantry. he always found the terminology ambiguous despite its relatively common usage across the country. all these thoughts were instant.

he quickly replied ‘you’re so lovely’.

‘then kiss me’, she prompted – confidently.

that moment clarified it. fancy had now been defined. as if she could read his mind. so he leaned in and they kissed. but no sooner had the tram arrived at Exchange Quays than the two could even part lips.

he had arrived at his destination. but he’d also experienced a new beginning.



© Heath Muchena
http://htmm.wordpress.com/

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