EARTH HOUR 2009
Today the day's darkness hour was unlit;
the night's life support machine was unplugged;
the evening undressed its twinkling night gown of bulbs;
the world's landmarks swam dressed in a dark pool of unison;
to remember or grieve the mutilation of mother earth;
to remind of the destructive forces and follies of knowledge;
the crimes of sciences that ought to have saved but destroyed...
My loneliness in the crowd was my mourning in solitude.
I solicited happy tears but found none except gnawing fear pangs;
that perhaps the hour was lost in the manner of human indulgence;
that where we ought to weep we sought to reap celebratory joys;
where we ought to repent we prided ourselves in fashions of delusion;
that perhaps none there present in all the lights-off feasts of passion;
derived legitimate flows of currents of the inevitable...
We lost track of the real purpose and listened to tunes of preference;
that if the real moment was even momentarily lost, as I so feared...
the last rites of mother earth may be so nigh...
Did we visualize the sureal paradox of the lights-off hour and its darkness...?
Did we sensitize our innermost to the symbolizm of our brief darkness...?
Did we relate the plug-off to the heart-beats that have similar switches...?
the eyes that may lose bulbs, ears that may lose sound, demise that may be near..?
Did we relate the hour to the beat of life and prospects of an irrevocable end..?
Did we perceive the general confession to sins of self-destructive pretensions..?
Did anyone leave the ground of switch-off with creative, preventive intentions..?
Did we know that we cared no less than when we first counted down seconds...
seconds to a switch off that elsewhere in time is permanently destined..?
Did we know that we know that our span is measured in scales of illusion...?
Today we remembered what we did;
but did we do what we ought to...?
Did we really switch lights back on..?
Or we simply returned to hours of more harm..?
Did we take off fashionable cloaks of elitist concerns...
Or did we just bask in the illusive pursuit of spurious conscience...?
Did we switch the lights back on, really...
Did we light ourselves and be enlightened...?
Did the Earth Hour 2009 sixty minutes serve true truths..?
Or we simply re-tarred streets of self deception...
whilst the earth bleeds profusely...
from our own actions...now and ever again...
Author: Andrew Sesinyi
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
AFRICAN DANCE....
Dance with your brain
When you hear the drum,
If ever you hear the drum,
ring my number, I beseech;
ring my post if you please...
For when the drum beats
and gives me the treats,
I've got to dance to the beat..
to savour the sequence,
figure structure in ancient stances...
for dance is a feat I excell with my feet...
Wake me up then, I implore,
for my drum feet to employ and explore,
the multitudes of tunes in a single drum beat...
When the drum beats, this fame I must seek,
for with my true dancing feet I'm not meek.
When next the bigots ask you, yet again, and again,
what Africa begs to give more and more at best,
tell them, it's the sunshine of the drum,
the confluence of all life beats,
the innocence of the real drum beat,
the nakedness of truth matching its heat,
the congregation of the feet stomp and life sounds...
the live reality of simplicity...
for in the drum, joy is implicit...
Just call my number
and I shall remember...
when next you hear the drum beat...
Author: Andrew Sesinyi
When you hear the drum,
If ever you hear the drum,
ring my number, I beseech;
ring my post if you please...
For when the drum beats
and gives me the treats,
I've got to dance to the beat..
to savour the sequence,
figure structure in ancient stances...
for dance is a feat I excell with my feet...
Wake me up then, I implore,
for my drum feet to employ and explore,
the multitudes of tunes in a single drum beat...
When the drum beats, this fame I must seek,
for with my true dancing feet I'm not meek.
When next the bigots ask you, yet again, and again,
what Africa begs to give more and more at best,
tell them, it's the sunshine of the drum,
the confluence of all life beats,
the innocence of the real drum beat,
the nakedness of truth matching its heat,
the congregation of the feet stomp and life sounds...
the live reality of simplicity...
for in the drum, joy is implicit...
Just call my number
and I shall remember...
when next you hear the drum beat...
Author: Andrew Sesinyi
THE OLD MAN WITH A BEARD...
Why does it sadden me so...
to see his age lines
written in long-winding sentences
accross his front page...his visage..
In the lack-lustre gloom of his eyes
still, I see a star-like twinkle.
Why does he draw me so strong
like a good book on a dusty shelf...
It's just a bearded old man in age blonde
Yet, he is so much more, and much more
All about him is old, yet so bold
His face and hair are a match in grey
I just must know before I go
his power house, his power base
What in such weakness is so strong?
Before I go, I just must know
Thought: Hold still, thought!
I see beyond my sense of sight
I cherish this precious thought
that slipped into the palm of my mind...
He is more gold than he is old
This old man has more than grey
He has years in priceless, prizeless currency
He has lived...
He has let live...
He has made...
as he was made...
He will go....
but then, so shall I....
Author: Andrew Sesinyi in a pensive mood...
Why does it sadden me so...
to see his age lines
written in long-winding sentences
accross his front page...his visage..
In the lack-lustre gloom of his eyes
still, I see a star-like twinkle.
Why does he draw me so strong
like a good book on a dusty shelf...
It's just a bearded old man in age blonde
Yet, he is so much more, and much more
All about him is old, yet so bold
His face and hair are a match in grey
I just must know before I go
his power house, his power base
What in such weakness is so strong?
Before I go, I just must know
Thought: Hold still, thought!
I see beyond my sense of sight
I cherish this precious thought
that slipped into the palm of my mind...
He is more gold than he is old
This old man has more than grey
He has years in priceless, prizeless currency
He has lived...
He has let live...
He has made...
as he was made...
He will go....
but then, so shall I....
Author: Andrew Sesinyi in a pensive mood...
http://andrewsesinyi.blogspot.com
NEW BUILDING BLOCK
Through another office window
I see a growth vast and tall
This is a plant of concrete and glass
Eleven layers of it erect and imposing
Kissing the clear blue skies
when sunshine reigns...
Hugging the dark, fertile clouds
When rains promise...
A short while back there was no building
Trees green and lively stood there then
Grass grew in a carpet of green summers
Too short to touch the skies
Too slim to block the breeze
The trees used to wave and sigh
But this building grew dumb, deaf and blind...
No longer do winters don new uniform
Of brown dry grass fading out for new
Now every eye-catch brings the rock-solid mass
Where before trees swayed in the breeze
Now stands transfixed the opaque beauty
Indefatigable human want demands its place
Human standards define its compare to predecessors
The vote is for concrete and glass and size
For in there the multiplying Adams and Eves
Will dwell with the biblical curse
Like ants in a colony...
Building more...
till there is no more...
(Author: Andrew Sesinyi; with a nostalgic view of the future present)
Saturday, March 21, 2009
THE RABID RABBIT...short story for readers of all ages..
Mmutla, the rabbit had a problem convincing a large meeting of jungle dwellers that the animal kingdom must appoint a consultant to educate elephants on the dangers of felling trees before feeding on the juicy leaves. Mmutla, beina a natural enviromentalist had for many years watched with growing apprehension, the destruction of the mophane tree in particular, whose leafy branches were a delicacy for Tlou, the elephant and his large extended family. Despite being hounded by herdboys and their mangy dogs who preyed on her family for their favourite rabbit stew, Mmutla respected the fact that humans used the mophane tree for a variety of enviromental friendly activities. She had noticed that humans preferred to rest under the fanning shade of the mophane tree. She was not, however, very tolerant of the seasonal phane worms which infested the forest during the rainy seasons and ate virtually every leaf from the tree; but Mmutla had noted that the tree recovered quickly from the Phane invasion (which was in turn a delicacy for humans) and would in no time at all sway gracefully in the summer breeze, resplendent in fresh, newly grown buds. Here and there, humans would cut down the tree for wood, or use in the many prison cells they kept their domestic animals in, but such destruction was minimal when compared to the ravaging effects of an elephant family feeding frenzy.
The animal meeting was chaired by Kolobe, the giant warthog, who snorted frivolously, displaying his protruding teeth which most animals, and humans, mistook for tasks or horns.
"Look, Mmutla,"said Kolobe with a snort. "Tlou, doesn't like the likes of us messing up with his lifestyle. what makes you think he would listen to us? He's got a large family to feed."
"I know, Kolobe,"Mmutla replied. "But despite his size, Tlou is no fool. He will listen if we convince him that soon the mophane tree, which grows the most food for them, will be depleted and they will starve to death."
"And just how do you propose we give this message to Tlou," Setlhora, the squirrel, interjected. 'Tlou doesn't attend our meetings. He doesn't know how to sit."
There was a rumble of laughter among the animals.
"We send Tshoswane, the ant and his army,"Mmutla responded, at which point a murmur of disapproval was heard from the audience.
'Mmutla are you mad?" Kolobe asked, shocked at the prospect of such dangerous provocation on the elephant herd. Everybody knew what Tshoswane could do to the elephant. Everybody? No! Tshwene, the baboon had never heard of the dangers Tshoswane the ant posed at elephants. It was at that point that a deliriously amused Tshwene burst into fits of laughter, clapping his hands and slapping his rump as he continued laughing, tears streaming from his eyes. When he could control himself, he said, wiping tears with his gruffy paws:
"Mmutla, my girl. I knew it wasn't good for the brain for anyone to be as crafty as you are. You survive by running from virtually every meat eating animal including humans, you are even harassed by your own species because you chaps are always fighting for mating prowess...and making too many of your kind. Now you want us to send teeny weeny Tshoswane to fight Tlou the elephant?"
"I didnt say fight,"Mmutla responded. "Talk I said. Talk to them. Show them reason. They are animals, aren't they? They will understand."
It was at that point that a tiny voice spoke in high pitched tones from the audience. It was Tshoswane, the ant.
"Look, we ants are very busy beings as you all know. Now whilst all of you were busy talking, I sent messengers to Tlou to deliver our message. He is on his way here as I speak."
There was a chilled silence as each animal considered the various routes available for escape, if only it could be established as to which route Tlou would be arriving from. The animals knew that despite their massive sizes, elephants had the knack to suddenly appear on the scene.
"Hey, Tshoswane,"Kolobe said hurriedly. "Where do you get this bad habit of acting alone whenever we discuss animal matters? We don't all live in your anthill, you know!"
"Relax, everyone," Tshoswane responded. "My army is already swarming on every elephant trunk in this kingdom, ready to enter through the normal shaft, should we have any problems with the elephants."
There was a sudden violent sway of trees and a herd of giant elephants appeared before the rest of the animals. Tlou, the leader, was in massive presence. A cold chill ran through the animals and not a single sound escaped from their gaping mouths. Tlou, looked around the animals in his small beady eyes, using more smell than sight to identify the crowd before him.
"Look fellows,"said Tlou, his trunk hanging limply from his monstrous forehead. "There's no need for these conspiratorial looks and tones. We understand."
"You do?"Asked Kolobe, with relief.
"Yes, we do,"Tlou confirmed. "And Tshoswane, you can recall your men. They are traumatizing my family."
At which time, Tshoswane pursed his tiny lips and a silent whistle escaped. The animals saw tiny movements descending the trunks of each elephant and slipping into the undergrowth.
"Okay,"the elephant said with a breath of relief. "let me tell you folks something. we also live in this forest and we know its ways. We held our own meeting and decided that the mophane tree is endangered; but there's a quick solution. This tree is extremely flexible and bendy. We will now, simply bend it, eat the leaves and leave the tree to sprout fresh buds again."
There was an applause from all the animals, except Tshwene the baboon who looked bamboozled. He wanted to know how such huge animals as elephants, clothed in impenetrable thick coats, could be afraid of tiny creatures such as ants. Tshoswane took Tshwene aside and whispered:
"Biggest is not always mightiest my friend. We enter the elephant trunk, and this drives it into a mad rage as it slams the trunk against every conceivable object. The trunk, hosts the nostrils and once swollen from all the bashing, the elephant cant breathe. It takes one ant to to do the job."
After a brief, stunned silence, Tshwene best into fresh guffaws of laughter and scampered off after his troop of equally amused human-like forms. That meeting saved the Mophane tree and that is why it thrives best among most savanna trees.
THE END.
The animal meeting was chaired by Kolobe, the giant warthog, who snorted frivolously, displaying his protruding teeth which most animals, and humans, mistook for tasks or horns.
"Look, Mmutla,"said Kolobe with a snort. "Tlou, doesn't like the likes of us messing up with his lifestyle. what makes you think he would listen to us? He's got a large family to feed."
"I know, Kolobe,"Mmutla replied. "But despite his size, Tlou is no fool. He will listen if we convince him that soon the mophane tree, which grows the most food for them, will be depleted and they will starve to death."
"And just how do you propose we give this message to Tlou," Setlhora, the squirrel, interjected. 'Tlou doesn't attend our meetings. He doesn't know how to sit."
There was a rumble of laughter among the animals.
"We send Tshoswane, the ant and his army,"Mmutla responded, at which point a murmur of disapproval was heard from the audience.
'Mmutla are you mad?" Kolobe asked, shocked at the prospect of such dangerous provocation on the elephant herd. Everybody knew what Tshoswane could do to the elephant. Everybody? No! Tshwene, the baboon had never heard of the dangers Tshoswane the ant posed at elephants. It was at that point that a deliriously amused Tshwene burst into fits of laughter, clapping his hands and slapping his rump as he continued laughing, tears streaming from his eyes. When he could control himself, he said, wiping tears with his gruffy paws:
"Mmutla, my girl. I knew it wasn't good for the brain for anyone to be as crafty as you are. You survive by running from virtually every meat eating animal including humans, you are even harassed by your own species because you chaps are always fighting for mating prowess...and making too many of your kind. Now you want us to send teeny weeny Tshoswane to fight Tlou the elephant?"
"I didnt say fight,"Mmutla responded. "Talk I said. Talk to them. Show them reason. They are animals, aren't they? They will understand."
It was at that point that a tiny voice spoke in high pitched tones from the audience. It was Tshoswane, the ant.
"Look, we ants are very busy beings as you all know. Now whilst all of you were busy talking, I sent messengers to Tlou to deliver our message. He is on his way here as I speak."
There was a chilled silence as each animal considered the various routes available for escape, if only it could be established as to which route Tlou would be arriving from. The animals knew that despite their massive sizes, elephants had the knack to suddenly appear on the scene.
"Hey, Tshoswane,"Kolobe said hurriedly. "Where do you get this bad habit of acting alone whenever we discuss animal matters? We don't all live in your anthill, you know!"
"Relax, everyone," Tshoswane responded. "My army is already swarming on every elephant trunk in this kingdom, ready to enter through the normal shaft, should we have any problems with the elephants."
There was a sudden violent sway of trees and a herd of giant elephants appeared before the rest of the animals. Tlou, the leader, was in massive presence. A cold chill ran through the animals and not a single sound escaped from their gaping mouths. Tlou, looked around the animals in his small beady eyes, using more smell than sight to identify the crowd before him.
"Look fellows,"said Tlou, his trunk hanging limply from his monstrous forehead. "There's no need for these conspiratorial looks and tones. We understand."
"You do?"Asked Kolobe, with relief.
"Yes, we do,"Tlou confirmed. "And Tshoswane, you can recall your men. They are traumatizing my family."
At which time, Tshoswane pursed his tiny lips and a silent whistle escaped. The animals saw tiny movements descending the trunks of each elephant and slipping into the undergrowth.
"Okay,"the elephant said with a breath of relief. "let me tell you folks something. we also live in this forest and we know its ways. We held our own meeting and decided that the mophane tree is endangered; but there's a quick solution. This tree is extremely flexible and bendy. We will now, simply bend it, eat the leaves and leave the tree to sprout fresh buds again."
There was an applause from all the animals, except Tshwene the baboon who looked bamboozled. He wanted to know how such huge animals as elephants, clothed in impenetrable thick coats, could be afraid of tiny creatures such as ants. Tshoswane took Tshwene aside and whispered:
"Biggest is not always mightiest my friend. We enter the elephant trunk, and this drives it into a mad rage as it slams the trunk against every conceivable object. The trunk, hosts the nostrils and once swollen from all the bashing, the elephant cant breathe. It takes one ant to to do the job."
After a brief, stunned silence, Tshwene best into fresh guffaws of laughter and scampered off after his troop of equally amused human-like forms. That meeting saved the Mophane tree and that is why it thrives best among most savanna trees.
THE END.
WRITING IS RESPIRATION
WRITING AS I FEEL IT
Since tender days of my being;
scribbling in cub scrawls on nearest scraps;
I strived to be a scribe befitting such description;
to live to love to laugh and animate it all in words;
to exhibit not vanity but sanity in insane designs of creativity...
As child, I walked in dazed compositions of soaring dreams;
knocking on envisioned and imaginary doors of dreams;
daring my mind to pour into fingers and tongue;
hogged loads of stored and suppressed beetles of thoughts;
to savour for myself and share as literary appetites shall desire.
Now mature, in prime, prickly proud and prim yet not snobbish;
I dug high density wells of oozing emotions flowing like swollen rivers;
my tongue clicks in tones reminiscent of howls of lonely beasts seeking company;
my fingers move in dexterous thirst on keyboards of fact and fiction;
my mind no longer indolent yet not bereft of the wealth of childhood innocence,
creates fulfilling networks of arteries flowing with quenching waters of literature.
Hence now I can share, not just stare; create, not just berate; express, not suppress;
I am liberated, deliberating on every effort of reaching out, seeking and finding;
and when I do find contact, I want to lay my dishes on inviting, laden tables;
and share recipes of exotic dishes of poem or song or script or scrap as it may be;
in turn I receive as I give and indulge in the delicious nectar of sharing works of mind;
this then, is me now; was me then; shall be me so long as this brain breathes...for it does!
AUTHOR: Andrew Sesinyi
19th March, 2009.
Since tender days of my being;
scribbling in cub scrawls on nearest scraps;
I strived to be a scribe befitting such description;
to live to love to laugh and animate it all in words;
to exhibit not vanity but sanity in insane designs of creativity...
As child, I walked in dazed compositions of soaring dreams;
knocking on envisioned and imaginary doors of dreams;
daring my mind to pour into fingers and tongue;
hogged loads of stored and suppressed beetles of thoughts;
to savour for myself and share as literary appetites shall desire.
Now mature, in prime, prickly proud and prim yet not snobbish;
I dug high density wells of oozing emotions flowing like swollen rivers;
my tongue clicks in tones reminiscent of howls of lonely beasts seeking company;
my fingers move in dexterous thirst on keyboards of fact and fiction;
my mind no longer indolent yet not bereft of the wealth of childhood innocence,
creates fulfilling networks of arteries flowing with quenching waters of literature.
Hence now I can share, not just stare; create, not just berate; express, not suppress;
I am liberated, deliberating on every effort of reaching out, seeking and finding;
and when I do find contact, I want to lay my dishes on inviting, laden tables;
and share recipes of exotic dishes of poem or song or script or scrap as it may be;
in turn I receive as I give and indulge in the delicious nectar of sharing works of mind;
this then, is me now; was me then; shall be me so long as this brain breathes...for it does!
AUTHOR: Andrew Sesinyi
19th March, 2009.
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