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When I Get The Time

There are times when
people arrange things for you to do,
things that you don’t want to do.
You have allocated that time
for something you need to do,
then they convince you
that is the thing to do.
You feel an inner anger,
wanting to rebel,
but they keep telling you
that it is a one off thing.
You nod reluctantly,
but you don’t want to do it
as it is encroaching on your time.
All you can do is mutter
yes that will be fine
and I’ll get done
what I want to do
when I get the time.

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poem by David Harris
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An Invading Fungus

Listening to Mozart, looked up - felt shocked
to see black cupboards appearing everywhere
like black mushrooms blooming - an invading
fungus taking over the open-plan office and
destroying the ambience of our previously
rather handsome Kingsley palace

Apparently our Chief Director feels a need for
filing space, thus ordered these monstrosities
to overwhelm us with mustiness & dark sliding
doors, placed upon the cupboards already used
as partitions for privacy - when I see the black
ugliness threatening like burnt fields

I wonder about the nastiness in human hearts
that can inflict such sombreness on innocent
officials already slowing dying in the little work
space allocated to them, what could have pos-
sessed anyone to make cupboards black
like that?

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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A War Story

There’s a story that have being told
(and I do not know if there is truth to it) ,
that after the slaughtering
of the 47th FAPLA / Cuban brigade at the intersection
of the Lomba and Cuzizi Rivers in Angola,

the mauling of several brigades on the way
to Cuito Cuanavale and the destruction
of that military airfield, the loss of many soldiers,
the destruction of nine Mig fighters
and the loss of huge amounts of Soviet equipment

Fidel Castro was very angry and in a terrible rage
brought his Cuban soldiers in Angola
up to fifty thousand, sent four hundred tanks
and his best pilots to Angola,
after the South African forces had withdrawn

which resulted in the Mig-23 attack
on the Calueque dam

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poem by Gert Strydom
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The Year 2113

Year 2113,
Blazed the bill-board.
In the city named Earth
Moved about young people.
No senior citizens, no babies,
Only the youth; born young,
From birth tubes.
Human beings inhabit Earth,
In perfect harmony with the elements,
Made consistent by them.

No morning rush for office,
No monotonous household chores.
Everyday, for a few hours, one works,
On one's personal Super Computer,
The rest of the day is one's own to spend.
One would think they enjoy life to the full,
But they are busy bees in search of time
To add to their allocated twenty-five years.

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poem by Renu Beri
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The Fable of 'Belling the Cat', Modern Version

Five judges at a cat show
were in a conference room
when the lights went out.

The cat being judged
was coal black and
only could be seen
when it opened its eyes,
and of course the cat was asleep.

While waiting for the lights to come on,
the conversation turned to nutrition
and as most cat show judges
must have another occupation,
it turned out that each
considered himself and herself
an authority on diet for humans.

Such it was that the cat and nutrition
became the subject of discussion

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poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
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