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Diana van den Berg

Thunder and Lightning

Lightning sears the sky
my nemesis calls my name
I am ever drawn.

(1 August 2012)

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Freely Bound

Teach me to escape
your unforced captivity
and I'll sing your name.

(2 August 2012)

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Inspiration Overflow

Months of silent pen
you whisper words hardly heard
my pen is breathless.


(1 August 2012)

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Eye Struggle

How do I turn from
your midnight eyes lost in mine
when strong will weakens?

(1 August 2012)

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Night Sound

Out there
in the tranquillity of my night forest
there is a squeak
of a small animal
or bird
or frog.

I hear it above the intermittent swish
of tyres on the distant highway
and the gentle zing
of crickets below my window
and the deep contented breathing
of the dogs at my feet.

And I need to share the squeak
of the small animal
or bird
or frog
with you.

[...] Read more

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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)

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Back to Normality?

Today I am going to pretend to be normal.
I am going to behave as I would have before that Friday.
I am going to hang up the washing
and I am going to weed the garden
without my finger on the button
of my remote control panic device.

However,
it will be
the back garden.
And the device will be
in my pocket.
Well,
I did tell you
that I was only pretending,
didn’t I?

(1 January 2001)
This is the 3rd in a series of 3 and includes 'That Friday (29 October 2009) ' and 'My October Visitors'

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It's The Africa In Me

It’s the Africa in me
that loves the forest in which I wake,
that sees and hears its fauna and flora and revels in their names.

It’s the Africa in me
that you hear in my spirited conversation,
that shakes my shoulders as I sob my sorrows
or laugh my insides, inside-out.

It’s the Africa in me
that keeps me reading poetry deep into the night
and causes me to stroke the sinuous muscles of my striped, domestic cat
and kiss the muzzle of my gently nickering horse.

It’s the Africa in me
that has taught me how to love
and patches up the fragments of my soul after each disaster
and renews my zeal and increases my understanding
in preparation for the next onslaught.

[...] Read more

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