Devotion Overdue

For a while it was fun believing I didn’t have it in me to commit
Enjoying licentious pleasures… I couldn’t resist

But since meeting you miss
I’ve been yearning for a new religion
Because so many reasons you’ve given me
To turn over a new leaf

And like a beautiful sunrise
You’ve awakened my soul and sense
Now I’ve opened my eyes and can appreciate the sanctity of devotion
Something that my ignorance cannot eclipse


© Heath Muchena, 2016

Mount Melleray

it was a haven for artists
sorta like the Fábrica Bhering
but make no mistake we all wanted the fruit of our toil
so it was intensely competitive
and i did my best to be first to fifteen
with a clinched fist as if foil fencing

motivated mainly by the prime principle
that advancement involves the intelligent utilization of resources
because as Prof. Ritchie explained
“the history of progress is the record of the gradual diminution of waste”

and even though we all wanted some form of recognition or respect
for how we were trying to innovate in our respective fields
i was quite aware that what would set us apart
was how each one of us was to run their own race

separately working on our different crafts
in this fertile and conducive to collaboration space
by all means it was not perfect
still, it was by far the best


© Heath Muchena, 2016

The Colour of Ardour

Either way – she does have perfect timing…

Called to let me know she was coming over
Hadn’t seen her for some eight seasons since…

Conversations picked up right where we left off
Enjoying each other in every possible way just as before…

Said she always returns to me when she needs to find perspective
And rediscover the self she’s most comfortable being
Which only surfaces when she’s around me…

Was pleased to know she’d finally completed law school
And taken a trip to the Middle East like she always wanted…

All this over some kiwi and sweet granadilla
Another fruity experience just like every time we get together…

Shared more of her dreams with me
And said she appreciated how I’ve always listened and encouraged…

Conversation then turned to reminiscences
Our adventures up Constantia Nek
Getting lost in Kirstenbosch botanical garden
Kalk Bay getaways and a dozen other crazy dalliances…

Open discussions and intimate secrets exchanged without reluctance
A trust only possible when there’s no burden of attachment


© Heath Muchena, 2016

Made in Muizenberg

I honestly believed I’d done my best to burnish my image. But she couldn’t resist teasing me and said that the bronze buttoned Lanvin coat made me look like a Markus Wolf East Berlin Romeo spy. In all honesty I couldn’t disagree, my schedule left no time to develop a fixation with dressing fashionably. Not to say I ever neglected decent appearances, but compared to her natural devotion to beauty… it seemed sensible to doubt my sartorial taste. Still, I took the remark as a compliment. She did call me handsome after all… besides, the background setting – clear skies and surrounding beachside historical sites, gave the moment an impression of a classic case of lovers lost on the coast.

I was guilty of infatuation. And I was her much needed distraction. She looked half her age. Skin so radiant it made her eyes glow. Sunset peach and a rainbow presence. Her sense of humour as sweet as her fragrant scent. Even her hair blowing in the breeze was worth a moment of observance.


© Heath Muchena, 2016

The Legend of Urban Fridays (x)

hmm… quick wit and slick with the speech

be careful, if we sit down for dinner as you request, I might unintentionally sell you something

I heard through the grapevine you’re a purveyor of sweetness

without a doubt

so you were saying… the highlight of your evening…

oh yes, it was such an intimate sight
two doves in flight
soaring the wintery night sky
they must have ditched the dole
I could sense it was a love thing
quite marvellous

I trust it was… and for you I lust


© Heath Muchena, 2016

Constantia ii

Setting: Dawn Avenue, Constantia
Personae: Sir M. Thatcher – a businessman; Francis – a reporter
Scene 2:

right, so here are two bottles from my famous beech cellar, as you called it. but you have to make a choice. either a glass of this rich red Columella…

Columella – as in the agricultural writer from the Roman Empire?

precisely, it’s named after him…

I’m intrigued

… or you can try this sweet Constantia wine. Napoleon is said to have had a weakness for it. apparently that’s all he could stomach on his deathbed

even more interesting

well, choose wisely. your pick will decide the nature and course of our conversation

fair enough, Columella it is – please

you just proved my instincts right. you’re a man of intellect… but not passion. you play safe

and you know that because…

it’s simple – a man’s taste is determined by temperament

I can see the correlation…

clearly you couldn’t dare drink a great man’s favourite… irrespective of choice, they are both exceptional wines… locally grown in fertile grounds

thank you, no regrets here… it’s exquisite! much appreciated


out of curiosity, please do tell me about what kind my disposition is

don’t stress – you are who you are… I can accept that. can you?

accept who I am or what you are?

ah! what I am is a man of ambition

I was going to say…

no bother, just messing with you. whatever I am remains to be seen, correct? unless you’ve come here with preconceived and unalterable notions… in which case I would have to ask again what the point of conducting this interview is

oh no, of course not. benevolently unbiased. I promise

a little early to be making promises methinks

well, you seem to be a very accommodating man

your words! now let’s get down to business and matters of interest… but no stupid questions… and none of that utilitarianism bullshit. I can’t stomach it. the crowd has always been less enlightened than the individual. and don’t try to be revolutionary. remember you’re in my home

you have my word. I know all too well that revolution is neither rational nor everlasting

not to sound Machiavellian… although I do question – is not everything but an instrument to secure the end, and is not yours to gather secrets to share with the state press?

can’t say I agree… I find myself leaning more towards Aristotle’s view that ‘… the state should exist for the sake of the noble life’ and so, any service to its benefit is for the greater good, in my opinion

there lies the contradiction… noble implies hierarchy but on the other hand it alludes to the aspect of high morality… unless of course you agree that in our sociopolitical economy the definitions are synonymous, despite the obvious differences

you have a point

so don’t be hasty in your judgements, Francis. there’s a fine line between success and sorrow… one day you rest, the next misery follows

not sure I’m following…

how else can I put it… you know, my good friend Murdoch once taught me an important lesson


the one and only… he gave me a great piece of advice – that as men of business, we need not worry about approval ratings. we aren’t politicians. we chase success. create and run empires…

I see…

anyway, forget I said that… off the record. I don’t expect you to understand – I’m sure that just sounds like any ‘ol hackneyed sayings to you

not at all. makes perfect sense

so you say, but your choice suggested something else. you’re playing polite but I know… as Taine eloquently expressed ‘while manners have become elegant and tastes delicate, the hearts and characters of men have remained ferocious’. I’ve done my research. read some of your interviews, and personally, I think in most instances you could have been more objective. but then again, that’s just my opinion

I’ll be fair Sir Thatcher, you have my word

right then, in that case let me tell you a story that’s never been told


© Heath Muchena, 2016

The Preservation of Dreams

light dim
staring at the ceiling fan
listening to Copeland
Should You Return

thoughts for my pen
consciousness in stream
but it’s difficult to write away the pain
and still preserve the dream

suppose i’m just a man
torn at the seam


© Heath Muchena, 2016

Midnight in Moldova

It was just six weeks after the bureau handed him the assignment that investigative journalist, Harvey Harbinger, found himself in the midst of it all.

With minimal briefing, piles of classified and sensitive data now in his keep, the overwhelming task left no time for him to toast to the fact that he had the opportunity to finally work on a piece fit for a centrefold feature. Rightfully so, in retrospect, because good digestion awaits the convenience of appetite. And what he was to find was not only bad and distasteful – but to connect the situation with any cause to consider celebration would forever prove difficult and likely met with unwilling cooperation, if the compliment-conferring company knew the full details of what he was about to witness.

And now seeing the signals first hand, vivid recollections of all that he had researched and read in the weeks leading up to this event were condensed. Everything pointed to the fact that they were clearly holding the girls against their will. It was cruel, and they had no right, he thought. But nothing had prepared him for the reality he was confronted with.

In-between feeling helpless and having to accept the ineffectual nature of his industry’s responsibility, he still had to complete the assignment and somehow simply pack up and leave to report back, having given no practical assistance to the many women afflicted and worse, paradoxically most likely get a pat on the back for such exclusive coverage, only to be expected to detach and move on to the next story which really put into question his professional quest. He had doubts. He was a rookie no doubt, and perhaps he’d get used to it or possibly even get over it, he so desperately wanted to believe. Still, even though he didn’t have the field experience, he was confident that he was accurate in his conclusions that they would never understand the seriousness and gravity of the problem or fathom the extent. And even if they did, he felt they wouldn’t be willing to do much else about it after the story served its purpose. Also, if the State was truly making all possible efforts to offer adequate protections then the sex slave ownership wouldn’t be so rampant. Those were some of his mental assertions.

Summoning all the courage he could conjure up, he was determined to help in every way he could. Convinced the least he could do was find a way to save Veronyka Marinela, the brave woman who’d risked her life to grant him such close access to the traffickers’ dealings, he came to a decision he’d orchestrate her escape from the grips of the ring. But due to wrap up his findings and fly out within the following 24 hours, he had to finagle. He conceived no better option and felt he’d been forced to figure out a way to actually see some justice done, so he devised a plan to make the bureau extend his stay.


© Heath Muchena, 2016

Cape Confidential

Sunrises ever sweet
Chai tea sips and small spliff on my lips

Sketches and scripts
Just another day in the life of a scenarist

Midday – head for the mountain or beach
Take a little time to think because imagination is the key to any dream

Signature canapé at a sunset soiree
Or casual company and conversation at a café
Since only living fully can bear the fruit of fertile experience

Night time
Back in my lair
To indulge in some intellectual history or other curious affair

Buried in book or besotted with babe
And if inspired I might compose a concordance to thought

Sunrises ever sweet
So soon… again… another day, another mission
The only thing that stays as steady and consistent as my heartbeat is the vision


© Heath Muchena, 2016

Rundown Romance ii

he soon found out, in his pursuit of perennial pleasure, that trust was a desideratum…

same time, she gave him the ultimatum – suggesting he had strung her along, but any feelings of guilt he felt were counterbalanced then swiftly swept away by a gust of will…

and as he came to the realisation that it was time to get real and act with an open mindfulness, follow the heart, and let go of the rest; he was to also discover that she’d lost all faith, and it was a relationship he could not save…


© Heath Muchena, 2016