Gartner’s hype cycle

hype my digital hieroglyphics
that I leave for you as 12 signs of love
i burn flames against the night
high in the skeleton of our vibing love
lets recycle our touch, my goga
lets eat at each others innards in little winks
measured by purple Buddha barometers
‘Hail, the hype of us!’ I shout on
the corners of Woodstock, advertising
us to every bergie
hail the hype of our togetherness
as little boys piss in the falling rain and
cars blindly speed up and down Roodebloem road
hail the sms’d Shakespearian sonnets between us
viva our sweet mango hype
as this world begs for the laser vapor of our minute
gigantic fame – cause all lovers are famous -
we swim in a sea of a www.tellysales
soapopera.for.everness.com
yet, my love, we dance in a very plain joy
we jive in the zen-hype of our spring
licking frangipani blossoms as our tongues
walk over each other
in selfless joy

© 2007, Sjaka S. Septembir

Dripping

Fragile forest of dripping broken time
Letting life fall away in each jeweled drop lit
Spurting out with hosepipe reluctance
As children dance in this warm day
With no aircon relief winking at their young
Limbs, dancing around the folded up body of the bergie
Who the Netcare ambulance guys are trying to bring
Back to life by the corner café as I buy a samoosa
Drip-drip-dripping in and out of being
As I let my silver coins fall into the Indian girls palm
Each drop born with its pure metal sound
Immediately twirl their DNA around dying
The card shark deels his cards as
The cars eating gasoline juice mill up and down Rodebloem road
The kids giggle and laugh and chase each other on the dirty sidewalk
And an old Scottish man calls me to the open window
Of his shiny red car, looking for a hotel that stood in this
Area 30 years ago, his voice dripping away the
Under current of his nearing head on collision with his end
Death the souls C1 vertebra shattered
“Sorry, I don’t know” I say and I walk to my room
As the day breaths in another breath
Sweat clinging to me around my Bruce Lee vest
Walking away from the kids, the ambulance, the unconscious bergie and
The lost Scotsmen…
Never knowing how any of these
Stories play them self out
Never truly knowing any beginning or end
Passing through
As the blue sky drip-drips away
To night

about the poem, "I’ve tasted the reproduction..."

It was published in 'Cybervaseline 5'.

i’ve tasted the reproduction of your smile

i must go out in your far
cause I’ve seen with my mouth
your spicy fruitful seasons of death
i’ve looked between your legs
where 400 year old grapevines
twirl up - all sticky and grey and black and knotted
i’ve seen you build a white and black
tiled floor over all the oceans of this one earth
only allowing tuffs of pubic grass
to break the cold surface
i’ve seen! i’ve SEEN!
You
Shining a brass door knob

i must go out in your far
cause I’ve tasted
your smile.


- © sjaka s. septembir, feb. 2000

bit of background on the ABSA-poem

I wrote the ode to ABSA-poem after their add campaign which was in the same line “my bank is… (add positive here)” accompanied with blissful images of happy people. The advert gave the bank a Godlike status.
I did a performance art piece last year in August which I called ‘Max Lombaard se droom #1’ in which I used this poem. I had beautiful colourful helium balloons and part of the performance had me handing out the balloons to people at the ABSA ATM at the St. George’s Mall. A whole range of different emotions washed up in the different individuals as they received these balloons. One woman gladly received the balloon, but when she read the message she let it go as if it was poisoned. Another woman hurriedly tied the balloon to her baby carriage and happily set off into the crowed. A beautiful picture.