An ode to the Zambezi (Zambia the final chapter)

I have a faint suspicion an ode should rhyme somewhere along the line but then again poetry is not my forte’ so perhaps I should rephrase …. “A tribute to the Zambezi”?

Anyway, moving along – my 5 cents (while its still in circulation) worth …

“Your grey green depths carry a history of the ages

From Living stone to Kaunda you have watched over the land,

Giving life, taking life, carrying the people on their journey

The beasts of the earth remain, ever present, part of your bounteous harvest

Shiny black river horses grunt their defiance to the heavens

The silent crocodiles patrol your liquidness, sweeping through the darkness

Your power is fleeting, reliant on the waters from the northern hills

Yet your voice is mighty, crashing with splendid abandon over “Mosi-oa-Tunya”

Craggy face shrouded in mist you are the heart of Zambia”

Someday I will

with thanks to:-

Rise above the ties that bind me to the mundane and the predictable,

Immerse myself in all that is inspirational and creative,

Be irresponsible, be unreliable,

Think only of myself and let the rest of humanity paddle it’s own canoe upstream,

The cornucopia of living that beckons, awash with adventure and colour and exhilaration is enticing and beckons just over the horizon like some illicit affair,

Someday I will turn away from the straight line that my life path follows and walk the crooked lane.



Inert wood, dormant
No sign of the life within.
Strike, spark, ignition
A yellow tongue curls around the nubbly skin
Hesitant, questing, seeking energy.
Deeper, orange brown, growing, spreading
Heat, blue tipped – all consuming.
Riotous and rampant, life giving
Mesmerising – hidden secrets in it’s depths,
Shadows, leaping across the walls
Mythicial offspring of the flames.
The empire is crumbling,
The omnipotent conqueror’s power is fading
Frantic, searching
Feeding from within
Death comes in the flickering embers.


“The rhythmic cadence of boots on a cobbled street,

The clatter of wooden wheels as villagers flee,

The distant boom of approaching guns

The air is thick with fear

A baby cries, sensing the mayhem

Seeking it’s mother but she lies buried, embraced in a fertile tomb

Young men dig in, singing, in one voice to banish the urge to scream

The harsh bark of an officer calls them to attention.

Words are spoken – words meant to inspire, words meant to comfort

The sizzling hiss as light and heat are extinguished,

The rumble of tanks rolls through the night

The silence is shattered,

The blackness is crisscrossed with bolts of red and white

Frantic calls, “courage boys –┬áhere they come”

Agonising shrieks, the wet smack of bullets striking flesh

The swish of bayonets – limbs asunder

The sound of death, a final labored breath

Malevolent rivers of sticky red blood”

On the off chance that anybody remembers this from another blog, in another place – I haven’t pinched it, it was Wildie then, it still is.