Portia Galactica II

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, 2013

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Cloud Mine

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, 2013

 


Flowers & Explosives II

Wilted flower

on the heath —

surrounded by nothing other

than the earth

where strips of roots

spread over —

depths…

in search of moisture.

 

Watchful every minute of every hour

for what it’s worth…

the times spent with each other —

not for much else other

than the sex…

which although exposed

showed very little truths,

but now that it’s over —

we’re both saved the torture.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013


Those People, Those Seasons II

Aboard the Simon’s Town train

I met a once upon, one-off acquaintance;

and despite the inestimable  time-lapse and no recollections having been sought thereafter,

the residue of the pleasant impressions from our once upon, one-off encounter

clearly revived the affinity and we resumed the colourful conversations about humanities.

 

The train arrived at Rosebank station and my now twice met acquaintance got off,

then I began to think of the numerous other encounters

with all those characters…

those faces, those places

those people, those seasons….

 

And it all made sense…

…  it all had worth

as I concluded that:     … just as a painter may require a landscape,

a writer may need experiences …

                           to draw upon but not necessarily to hold on to.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013


The Duplicity of Deeds II

In this world of love seekers and givers

Pleasure buyers and sellers

Life lessons and burdens

The beautiful and the tender … the splendour —

Heavy tolls and all the toils

Hopes and goals among the spoils

We choose not to remember…

But instead continue to cultivate the lust  we amass in hopes of love’s nurture

And more hearts we capture

In our infinite pursuit of pleasure…

Love seekers, love givers

In the merry-melancholic world of believers!

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013


September Spring II

I used to obsess about seeing the world

until the realisation that I was unfamiliar with the trees outside my window,

and the birds that perch in them…

even the weeds and insects in my garden thrived unbeknownst to me

just as the soil beneath my feet and the clouds and sun above…

and the stars in the night sky.

Based on how little I knew I decided that I only needed to start looking at my surroundings

to discover something new.

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013


2.7

An artist will only become great

if he does his work without inhibition,

but since greatness is subject to others’ measure and validation —

thus rooted in limitation;

One faces the enormous challenge of transcending the ego…

 

© Heath Muchena, 2013