Notes Archives - Page 10 of 22

to learn; to give

From Notebook – Miami Nov 2013

Today is the first day of Winter

and I saw a black angel

bracing the swell and foam

of the ocean.

During the night the moon spilled its yellow fodder into my soul,

purifying me of the coward deep inside.

I watched the pool filled with water around your cold metal feet

and my soul simultaneously filled with a desire…

But more importantly on that solstice day.

I made myself a promise…

to embrace my talent

to achieve the impossible

to grow exponentially

to open up and let my growth show

to stand proud

to give it all

and when I laid down, my back ached and my feet throbbed

I fell asleep and the last

image was that of the blurry moon

cascading off your bowed bronze head.

By Anja Marais|2017-05-02T12:57:05-04:00April 9th, 2014|

Paradox of Creating.

From my notebook 2013, Miami

Care so much for your work that you do not care for it anymore.

Hate your work until you like it.

Act without effort while being prolific.

Trust your subconscious and question the things you trust.

Spill over and be empty at the same time.

When you balance on this fine line while creating you will feel deeply alive, just for a moment.

____________________________________

By Anja Marais|2017-07-12T13:09:35-04:00December 12th, 2013|

Paradise fallen

In a garden of palm and fruit

the Pansies and Snapdragons

trimmed the bedding

my white child hands with care placed

my dolls on the lawn so that together we

could watch the sun and clouds gliding by, then

I saw you

your young black body already sullen over

weed and dirt

the proud mouth concaved

you’re strong back a door

closed from me

always moving away while fulfilling your duties

and as I sat under the Mulberry tree

with my purple-stained feet

try moving closer

mesmerized by your golden hands

I imagined they belong to a Lion tamer

the wielder of a silver sword fighting

Python with Baobab bodies

or a Prince from a faraway land

that I will one day visit and announce

my past adventures with their now King

every day I waited for your arrival

which was quiet

every day I will move a bit closer

for approaching the son of a King was

adventurous and full of riddles

a treacherous path

with rivers full of Crocodiles with sticky long tongues

curled up like a Chameleon tail

ready to grab and twine around my tiny feet

dragging me into the darkest deepest rivers,

with skies filled with hungry Vultures

camouflaged as clouds

ready to snatch me up into the air

to disappear forever into the bellies of their chicks

unknown my quest

you raked the dry and you trimmed the dead

with a dark bowed head

the day finally arrived when I slain all the monsters to reach you

and I was going to grab those golden hands and

flew up to the treetops and lived together

on berries filled with honey

you turned around

black eyes filled with beams of

emotions for which I did not have yet a name

an epileptic drum of words

run and spit from your raw tongue

your hands white knuckled a rock

and as this piece of accusing fossil

comet the air towards my head

birds got still

flowers got shorter

animals lost their voices

toys became plastic

and when my mother tucked me into bed

that night concerned for my tears

she wanted to know why?

I kept silent

for a storm was always hiding behind the

beautiful hills of the Water Mountains

For I know now that something wasn’t right.

By Anja Marais|2017-05-02T12:57:05-04:00November 15th, 2013|

For my Muse

Softly, softly touch my forehead

lovely and holy you look upon me

for when I was soft with youth

you were there

for when I was old and worn

you were there

Kindly, kindly cover my head

benevolent and with compassion

you look towards me

for when I was cold and aloof

you were there

for when I was lava and fiery

you were there

Gently, gently cross my chest

forgiving and loving you see me

for when I was alone and a cast away

you were there

for when I was a cajoler and praised by many

you were there

Warmly, warmly you touch my feet

closing my casket the same way you rocked my cradle

you are here

by Anja Marais

By Anja Marais|2017-05-02T12:57:05-04:00July 13th, 2013|

Folk the Great

– Somewhere in a park in St Petersburg, Russia

We are all sitting around

Peter the Great.

At his feet memorial flowers still

holding on to its faded glory.

Folk songs braid with bird song

up in the tree tops.

The children carousel the heavy bronze,

even the sailors loosen their upper buttons.

Peter still proudly commands the

heavy putty grey ships,

anchored in front of his metal gaze.

The fleet stares back at the commotion

and sigh for a job well done.

we sing without pretense

we play without inhibitions

we enjoy the sun without being vain

Later as the accordion notes and the collective voices

ebb and clash with birds, footsteps and breeze –

the soldiers return unwillingly to their bunks.

by Anja Marais

By Anja Marais|2017-05-02T12:57:05-04:00June 21st, 2013|