These are the things I remember, well
The raising clouds over the smokey hill
into the Natal Moon
where the Boer sharp shooter
plies his  *** shot luck at us,
Rooi Necks  over the ridge
and we drink in mirth
surviving another capricious  Summer

Oh the warmth
Of the morning
Sun
Upon my back
In the early
****** of a
December lullaby

How can we fully appreciate our memories
By defining them as good or bad
When the last post plays
Even the sad times
Will remind us of being alive

Love dies
Just like a flower wilts

it’s been so long
3 years maybe
since i’ve loved you

Hazy street lamp light,
illuminating nocturnal spirits or otherwise
the ghost of a fire burning low,
all green tinder and ember,
its tender lain down
for the night.