Smile again my name to me

A colour none as sweet as when

pale green eyes reflect in hazel brown.

Upon vanilla breeze a jasmine petal had came to rest,

beside the window of a Smith’s desire.


Amazed inspired,

relentless in her joys, he found to be.

Once again



From days of greys and paler blues.

Her giggles, her laughter her smile her tears.

Her smell, her ways.

He feels.

Her touch.



Merely mortal he was and then.


Devouring a darkness that threatened to envelop him,

but then away with her he threw it all.

Up and up and upper still a kiss, a touch, a moment’s will.

Denies it.

Defies it.


This gravity which pulls it.

A mind, his mind, her mind their souls.

With longing his days they have been filled.

To see her feel her warmth alone.

Just sit.


And stare and talk some moments shared.

Not even time a welcome reprieve here will find as around them…

none but they exist.

Her arms around him and it falls.



The anger, hurt, defeat and pain.

Her lips so soft a gentleness.

As kindness from the space between

the corners of her smile does ease.

His untamed restless over thoughtful mind.


Just a kiss.

Just one more time.

And then perhaps away.

But then when past her he must walk

the steps become too arduous

for with her he longs to talk and sit and speak and touch and kiss and hold and

be just be just be just be some more.


Her voice a song so sweet does sing

when upon her breath it’s him she speaks.

A single fleeting whisper

he against her neck released.

And with a sigh, a smile a kiss an angel just replied.

A moment longer just a moment longer just another little moment longer.


Just smile again

my name to me.



Winter’s lesson lies hidden in Spring

Spring is in the air as we ready ourselves for flowing floral dresses, knee high pants and our favourite pair of strapless sandals. Soon, the trees will start to blossom as they do each year and swarms of bees, chirping birds and sunny rays will bring our gardens exploding back to life. But it wasn’t always like this. Not a week ago we still experienced the last lashes of a delayed winter and one would have been hard tasked to pinpoint exactly when summer said it’s goodbyes. Three months into winter and we can hardly imagine what it felt like to walk outside without a jacket or leggings. People complain about the cold and the stuffy noses and miserable moods that winter brings, forgetting that without winter there could never be sunshine, for along with all the ailments, weight gain and apparent moodiness, Winter brings us the gift of spring – or rather the appreciation of it.

There is a lesson that winter brings

We prepare for winter by stocking up on jackets, scarves and woolly hats and bid it farewell by discarding them. In life too, we continuously discard and replenish as we wade through our personal seasons. And it is personal, as each of us experience change in a different way. Change is scary for all of us no matter whether it be good or bad, in fact there is no bad change only a negative perception of something unknown – change therefore, is relative. To illustrate this point, one could look at a rose bush and be sad that it has thorns, or be happy that the thorns have roses. The trick is to ready yourself always for an approaching winter, knowing that everything is fleeting and that if good exists then so too there must exist the opposite in order to restore balance. Manic depressive sufferers struggle to see the rays that their Spring brings, because they refuse to look outside the window. So there they stay, stuck inside the circumstances they have created around themselves. Most of the time those circumstances are related to financial stress and the instant they come into some money, they feel empowered once more – until the next winter hits. In the summer months we don’t sell our jackets and winter wear, because we know that the season will change and we will need them again. The same outlook should be adopted when we look at our personal lives.

It is not about the money

The greatest lesson winter teaches us is that we need to learn to let go of our routines and hold onto change. Let go of the things and people in our lives that keep us locked up inside, unable to experience the joy of Spring, the freedom of change. Learn to take chances, dance in the rain, phone your loved ones, kiss your children as often as you can, roll on the grass, walk to the store, if you like green apples, buy red ones, ride a bike to work, smell the pages of a book, switch off your phone, turn on the radio and play it loudly – smile. Forget about the confines that social media and corporate marketing forced around you. Surround yourself with good people instead of good things, because in the end it is the things you own that end up owning you. Wear your heart on your sleeve, you never know, somewhere there might be someone who needs to see it. In all things never forget that winter will come, and it will pass, but when it comes be prepared with memories that warm more than just your hands.

You can stop reading now Mom

I’m having a beer as I write this – it’s a cold one I kept at the back of the fridge next to the apples, especially for today. I don’t really drink much, but the last time I wrote you something, mommy, was 14 years ago – and it was a goodbye which I had to read to a bunch of people who never knew you the way that I did. So come on, have a seat, let’s reminisce a while…

Twenty nine years ago you asked if you could marry my dad. I was only six then and we were standing in the kitchen making hotdogs on a Saturday afternoon. Has it been that long? I will never forget your smile when I hugged you and said “yes, Blommie, I don’t mind.” As if you really needed my blessing. My sister was tiny then, four, I think – but she came running in and hugged your other leg tightly as if she also agreed.

Right there in that kitchen my life began. Right there, I met the first woman who ever loved me. I know it sounds corny ma, but you were my first love.

Remember that time, I think I was in high school, when I walked into your sewing room while you were typing on the computer and challenged you to type every word I read from Stephen King’s Pet Cemetery? Hehe, I started reading and your fingers danced across that keyboard like tap dancers on a wooden stage – 110 words a minute, was it? Anyway, you suddenly stopped and I boasted, “what’s the matter, can’t keep old lady?” You looked up and said, “no, you read too slow.”

I can’t tell you how many times since then I’ve chuckled to myself about that, because now, I type faster than you. Okay almost, but the point is that I type because of you, and now, for you. You read this time mommy, and I’ll say stop.

I’ve never again heard the words “I love you” said quite the same way as when you used to remind me how much I meant to you. Until the day I repeated them to my own children. I have a son and daughter now and they know all about you, don’t worry – only the good bits I promise. I wish that they could have met you in person, you would’ve been an awesome grandma and I’m certain my daughter would have hugged your leg as well. My son would have spent hours on your lap playing with your chains. I think my sister kept your jewellery, but it doesn’t really matter because we both kept all of you.

You would’ve loved some of the people in my life too, and I’m pretty sure a few of the women would have had a very stern talking to – the last one especially – you would have warned me about her. And when I didn’t listen, you would have warned me against myself.

I am okay though, I found you in the lady you sent me to. She reminds me so much of you, I’m sure you would have made a formidable team. And she keeps me inline just like you did – between the two of you I’ve become me again.

I remember everything about you, I remember your life and I remember what all of that meant to mine. This letter has been a long time coming and every year I promised you that I’ll write and let you know how I’m doing. See? I remembered that too.

There is so much I want to tell you, so much has happened, but we’ve run out of time. The kids need to get to bed and the workload on my desk has started swaying on its own already, it’s deadline tomorrow. I wish we could do this more often, I wish you didn’t have to go just yet – but I know you’ll come back again, let me see you every so often.

I wanted you to know that I still feel your hugs, I still smell your perfume at times and I’m sure just the other day I saw you sitting on the floor, playing with the kids. I wanted you to know that it’s been a struggle, but I haven’t given up, I haven’t let them beat me. I just wanted to let you know that the little blonde haired boy you hugged in the kitchen that day has grown to be a man you would have been proud of.

But what I really wanted to say is happy birthday mommy. And happy mother’s day – I remembered the flowers this time, but someone ate your chocolates. I miss you today. I miss you every other day. Love you too much mom.

You can stop reading now, I’m beginning to type too slow.

Love is jealous….oh wait, no it’s blind.

Let’s talk cliche for a minute. But, let’s not waste your time with the insignificant ones shall we? You guys don’t like reading anyway so I’m going to start with the biggest of the bunch – “love is blind”.

The Black Sheep

Made famous in classic literature way back by the revered novelist, George Bernard Shaw in his masterpiece An Unsocial Socialist. The problem is we have gone and misquoted the guy, as it seems we like doing with any literature from our past. The full sentence reads “You can hardly blame me for that: I was in love myself; and love is blind and jealous.”

But we left out jealous. Because jealous is not cool, and it certainly is not in line with what another famous writer said when he wrote “love is patient, love is kind… love is never jealous…”  In contradiction to this, the very author of the book containing this statement said “God is love” and later also that “God is a jealous God”. But love is not jealous, so that means that either God is not love or that there is a god called love and another called jealous. (No blasphemy intended here by the way, just taking a neutral and objective look at all the angles).


So now we have a problem. If jealousy is the opposite to love does that mean there can be not one without the other? Like a twisted Yin-Yang. That would mean that if you aren’t jealous you are not in love. Or am I completely missing the point here?

A little closer to home

Now, for a very long time I was the flag-bearer of the notion that love is a choice not an emotion. But, as of late I have given that some thought. If love is not an emotion that means you can chose and that means you can control it, right? So why then can jealousy not be controlled? Why is jealousy an emotion then? And after thinking for a minute I realized that jealousy is blind, not love. And jealousy can be controlled – by love. According to the Word Smith in the now-popular-and-soon-to-be-completed (uhum) novel, Dial Earth For Operator, “Love is the pair of spectacles you place on the weary eyes of jealousy to make it see the obvious.”

I like that. In fact I believe we’ve made a bit of a breakthrough here really. Two people see one another for the first time and they fall in love over time as they get to know one another. Obviously there is the physical attraction too…which is noticed through the use of….your eyes. That alone cancels out the blind part. But I think what the cliche intends to say is that when you truly love someone, you notice their faults and slight imperfections, but chose to look past them because the feeling you get from being around them is just too amazing to risk. And I agree in some way. But when a guy starts beating his partner, or she starts cheating on him, don’t you think “love is blind” is just a way for you to hide the fact that you actually like that kind of attention?

Surely there has to be a limit set somewhere, because I’m sorry but even a person who is really, physically blind would realize that when someone continuously inflicts harm upon you, they really don’t like you too much.

So the point is?

Okay, so back to the cliche. I think we can lay this one to rest. It has become clear after investigating the crime scene that love is not the perpetrator, but that it was jealousy…in the ballroom with a candle stick…

Tell us what you think, because your opinion matters to us…no really, it does…so do your shares and likes and participation in the poll at the bottom of this blog. Also, we know we’ve touched on some sensitive stuff here and that you all want a chance to have your say. So here ya go…here’s a soapbox.