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Francis Turner

I could not run or play
In boyhood.
In manhood I could only sip the cup,
Not drink --
For scarlet-fever left my heart diseased.
Yet I lie here
Soothed by a secret none but Mary knows:
There is a garden of acacia,
Catalpa trees, and arbors sweet with vines --
There on that afternoon in June
By Mary's side --
Kissing her with my soul upon my lips
It suddenly took flight.

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Re-awakening

My Africa breathes blood.
Let her bathe her wounds
in the sweet waters of understanding,
let ubuntu warm her heart,
let her sing in unison with the voices of her rainbow nation,
let her savour forgiveness on her multi-coloured tongue,
let her fly with the masekhane eagle
into the hazy blue of the new South Africa
and let her breathe golden acacia blossoms of all time.

(13 November 2000)

poem by Diana van den Berg
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Oil And Garlic And Peanuts

past aroma of
garlic sticking to the oil
to crunchy peanuts

on that tryst
under the acacia trees
on a line of electric lamp posts
we watch the sea

the salty winds touch our faces
we were pure
we only want some company
we had nothing to do

it was the last day
of the garlic flavored peanuts
and then we parted

we were like the winds of the sea
on a short stay

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Amazing Grace Of God

HIS WIFE, and two daughters
and son
and his mother were on that bus
that lost a brake
and banged its head on the old
trunk of the big acacia tree
on the road
to Isabela,

they were visiting the miraculous
church of Manaoag
as a family

all of them died except him
who is now
lighting a candle and offering prayers
to five coffins,

and yet when asked
he says

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Under The Acacia Tree

that afternoon under the acacia tree
the irony of life confronts them

she is beautiful, a single mom
with a chinese lover
she's lonely and does not speak much

he is married and his wife cannot bear him a child
he weaves a conversation
words allure him more
he appears happy and sometimes he sings
alone
the sound of the whistle delights him
in the bathroom

the night came
they kiss and then they part ways
looking for their home

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dawning

it is dawning
gray wraps the trees and grass in black
as i walk along this boulevard

the light comes
thru the shutters of the clouds
this morning

rays like hands touch me
there is warmth
spreading on my face
there is fire
in my heart

i look at the stretch of
of acacia trees where the street lights
slowly close one by one
and at this moment
the years spread themselves
like some green grass

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Chessboard

dark matters are floating
like bowls made of leaves
spilling hunger, make me upset, figures moving
like ghosts wrenching out the fish plates
from rails, nothing will move now except
the eyebrows of stone faces, bodhisattvas
sitting in scorching sun, unshaven, crosslegged
waiting for realization to come, not to
them but tormentors, a milky way in ever
night, the dry wind slaps on the faces
to remind them not to sleep, the shade
of the Cacti and Acacia seldom stubborn
to give you the shadow of the blades, the
sun ultimately compresses you in the
waist- high grass of death trap.

poem by Satish Verma
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Biblical Audiology

prophetic verses set like smooth stones
past the camels dry chiseled steps.

next to a parable and a jawbone.
the dead sea testamental tongues
leaflike water the valley of acacia
transposing thier verbal vernacular.

the oral traditions passed down
by the giver of ghost
and imprinted on the skull
bones of martyred saints.

down where bone becomes papris,
the course stones shed thier skin.

and under the fingernails of an old
god the fossils prophesy.

yes the dry bones prophesy...

[...] Read more

poem by Nathan Martin
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Enemy skirmish (sonnet)

They come sneaking in the tambookie,
in the buffalo grass, past acacia trees
and linger for moments at the swampy marsh,
the birds suddenly get silent and even the insects,
when they relax, light cigarettes and smoke,
as they linger for long moments laughing
and I can smell the stinking sour of their sweat,
when my heart beats anxiously,
brown ibises fly up scolding,
impalas in a herd burst away
and they walk straight into our ambush
with AK-47 rifles hanging as without importance,
somewhere a long green snake rustles
and when my LMG comes alive I loose all of my fear.

[Reference: LMG = light machinegun.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Among The Orchards

Already in the dew-wrapped vineyards dry
Dense weights of heat press down. The large bright drops
Shrink in the leaves. From dark acacia tops
The nuthatch flings his short reiterate cry;
And ever as the sun mounts hot and high
Thin voices crowd the grass. In soft long strokes
The wind goes murmuring through the mountain oaks.
Faint wefts creep out along the blue and die.
I hear far in among the motionless trees--
Shadows that sleep upon the shaven sod--
The thud of dropping apples. Reach on reach
Stretch plots of perfumed orchard, where the bees
Murmur among the full-fringed golden-rod,
Or cling half-drunken to the rotting peach.

poem by Archibald Lampman
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