Friday, July 29, 2011

Dreadfully, so

Poem by Marc Aupiais

It's... So I said,
Dreadfully dreadfully so,
Sad? Is it not?
Terribly Terribly sad!
Enough to make a good day bad?!

Indeed, enough to,
To drain the yellow sunshine from my hopes, stars, dreams!

That bad? Indeed, that!

And I sit, discontent,
On yellow sand,
By the river bed,

And see my glumly unhappy reflection,
Sparkle and fade,
As fish fly and fade,

That bad, I said,
And continued,

On my way!

The washed, dry paper

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I look at my world,
Colours fade,
And fade into streams;
Washing has become;
The slate wiped clean;
They said;
Almost clean;
Vivid colours;
Like quicksilver on a rock bed;

And here I watch;
As my world;
Is slated clean;

Wiped away;
Washed away, that's me;

Washed up,
Into the wash;
Plenty a brag;
From a fading past;
But uncaring,

I sit; head down;
Memory fading;
Vivid colours;
Greys, and whites;
Memories fading;
I- nothing;

Upon a blank-er-ing page!

I get up, I slip, I fall

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I get up, I slip, I get up, I fall;
As the weight upon my shoulders;
Somewhat, like your world!
I am pulled down with it,
Down flight and flight,
Of stairs, I take a flight!
Upon your flight, your stairs!

And fall and fall and fall;
Down the corridor of Our Time;
And Our Love; and Songs;

And I fall;
Forgotten; in your self-love;

I fall; as air wishes past;
I, Air, recycled, in your lungs!
I, Waste, upon your disposable trash!

And I wonder, why!
You treat me thus, why so much unholy fuss!?

As you laugh at me,
Quite to my face;
By acting as though;
I frankly don't exist!

Invisibly; a character in a book;
At which you poke;
With inconsistent kisses;
The foolish-lying;
Upon the gullible;

What Are they to you?
Musician; Magician;
Actor who sells souls;
With tricks; of eye;
You win my pledge!
And upon my soul;
Inconsistency; in songs;
Death, sadness did beget!

Injustice; the mark upon;
Injustice: the mark upon:
And I fall;
Into the waiting sun;
Ashen, remains,
Seeking some Sun!
Slightest Release!

But instead,
You laugh;
And play,
With long thin pianist fingers;
My very heart!

Vibrating my soul;
As you throw it away;
It is; you say; Our Modern Way;

To please a man;
Give such hope;
Just before in him comes;
The Unholy Blade;

Not fun;

All below the sun;
Where all is undone;

That ever man or women sung!

To Dearest Good, good to hear~

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I whisper! A secret!
In my hidden prayers!
A Hidden Secret,
Hidden, in there!

In thoughts,
In words I hid it!
What Are words, you say?

A hidden secret!
Died another colour,
Green died quite red!

And I wonder at the secret!
The cloth that covers my hidden soul!
Jealousy, it seems, perhaps?

I tell you a Secret! Lord,

As Red does turn from Green to Black;
Blackest Blackness,
Of my soul!

Ashen remains,
Do harden, and fall before,
Blackest flames!

And red turns black;
Then crumbles,
Like a crayon, grey and white;
A drawing burning;
Giving some light!

And as I fall;
Ashes to ashes,
As I fall;
I'm swept below the carpet;
Just as just as grey!

And upon the carpet they do dance!
And sing,
For all the world;
But I am long gone;
Varnish, for the greyest greyest .. Floor;
Danced upon;
Turned to Dust!

To die myself a character- into an ancient book

Picture - of a Park- by Marc Aupiais- all rights reserved!
Poem by Marc Aupiais

If I could write my life;
A hero, I would be,
Cautious as a cat!
A hero, hidden seeing;
Not deceived by life!

Black ink splodges on and sp-l-ashes,
On my page,
Ashen now!

If I could die myself into a book!
An adventure I would write!
My enemies Blackest evil;
The sort some people;
Think quite good!

And if I could write a book;
Magic repellent on me; quite sprayed!
Keeping the wrong sort far-far away;

If I could write myself;
Splodges of ink, upon a page!

Dear.. I think you'd be a question,
For me to make,

My lover, perhaps,
Or my enemy!
DEEpest sort of enemy!~
Which; love, do you seem;

I hug your words

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I hug your words, love!
I hug them, surround them with my form,
But I don't hug you, I miss you,
But I don't hug you!

And secretly I hug your words,
They comfort and aid me!

I can't hug you,
I can't let you win,
I hug your words,
I need your words!

I can't let you win,
Unless I win you also and too!

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

My Black Mare

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Ur white white complexion,

I wonder at you,
You beautiful woman,
With such black hair!

Ur, I say,
You, Your, Yours!

It belongs to you!
As I do not!

I realised that today!
Any company but yours,
But yours, traitor girl!

But anyone's company;
From moment deny yours,
So dark, cold!

Madness takes me;
When not yours!

But when I trust,
When I give my soul!
Then you betray ..
You then deny ...
You then hurt me!

So for a moment,
I seek warmth and comfort,
A hug,
A kiss,
A sound!
A hope,
Of love and friendship,
In another ground!

For I am not yours love!
I am not your property!

Not now, not now!
Not in a while,
It does seem!

And though I adore you,
I turn it to her,
Whoever she be,
A friend!

And indeed I love my friend,
And hear her voice,
Comforts my soul!

And hug her!
As her warmth caresses my being!
And need her!
I cannot need you~


Poem by Marc Aupiais

Shadows play at the ceiling,
Of this, my grave,
Below a Parish, leaning!

Dark and grey,
Such is life,
You, my love, I despise!

And there you stand,
My crypt-a-night!
Oh! Those eyes,
I dare not look,
Fury, Medusa,
You turn me!
Into stone!
I broken, almost,
My Skeleton of morals: Bones!

I dare not look,
Your beauty,
Turns me into stone!
Your hair,
Wavy, curly hair,
Blackest Black,
Cryptic pharoah-ess!
Mummy of my past!

I dare not look,
I focus on my hate!

In this crypt,
This shallow grave!

I think of my futures past!
What I once hoped! Would be to last!

Shadows fold upon themselves!
I stand upon my cryptic stave,
Firm I must be,

What I do, I must do my best,
This I hold,
To stave you away!
And the temptations,
Of Futures Past!

I like the delivery, I said, shall we thus ignore, the message it sent?

Picture: Johannesburg Traffic- by Marc Aupiais; no unauthorised use permitted;

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I ignore the delivery,
I listen anyway,
Some won't,
They say its boring in their stay!

I watch, I wait, I observe and absorb!
I take notes,
And notes,
And notes!

I ignore the delivery,
The bias even,
And I learn!

And then I turn,
I watch the moving picture slate!

And I ignore the delivery,
Some messages I take,
I claim myself entertained,
As false reality I absorb,
As lies,
Become scripts,
Like parables and memories!

False scripts,
Fiery explosions,
When war is black and blood,
Not yellow!

I ignore the message,
The delivery is everything!

And in this I lost my soul!
I forgot the weight,
The bounds, the hope,
Oh, blue white fire,
Of hope, truth!

... And as my standards drop,
I forget the measure,

Delivery, not message,
But the message is now who I am!

Where I am,
What I am,

As I play a video game with real life,
Whoever gets hurt,

In the soapie,
That is me~

A Good Love and a Good Wine, both I insist I know

Poem by Marc Aupiais

A Good Love, and a Good Win, both I insist I know,
Love! Though, I have experienced neither,
Only bad of both!

They say a Good Wine,
Is an acquired taste,
Perhaps you are too!

Wining always of my mistakes,
But taking no care to stop and help,
Or stop yours!

A Good Wine,
Some say makes a fine wife,
Accompanying you through life!
Maybe 15 years old,
They say,
Any more and it does not taste nice!

But of women, do they then decay?
Is 15 the peak and the height?
Before their worth is gone?

A Good Wine, and a Good Wife,
Both have their place!

With the maturity, of a chaste heart,
A woman matures,
Becomes better as she does age~!

Monday, July 25, 2011

Lord, avenge me

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Black and White,
Like a movie,
With countless greys!

The sky so dark;
Smudge, cloud;

And after 77 times 7 wrongs,
I ask finally,
Do not spare your rod,
Call even the smallest evil thought to account;
Ignore my prayers to stay your hand,
Ignorant of my sinful loves!

Call every small thing to account,
Leave nothing un-sought;
Nor hear my enemy's lying begging;
As upon them,
Justice you lay,
On their head!

For here I am,
Bearing all,
For their life,
In my bones,
In my life,
Of goodness,
And truthful stare!

Punish them fully,
Hold every account due;
And ready!
Forget not the smallest thought!
Neglect not the slightest sin!

Call all to account on them;
The oceans, the seas, the mountains themselves,
I declare~!

Our Doors, which I opened and closed

Picture: U1 Front Entrance, University of the Witwatersrand, East Campus! All Rights Reserved!

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Doors, so simple,
So complex!

I watch you live my dreams,
So almost exact,
Even my wildest fantasies?

But not with me!

Doors so big, I cannot enter,
Mayn't enter, oughtn't be allowed to enter,
But those lesser than I, enter with ease!

Doors! To parts of my soul!
I wish were closed!
But visitors enter these parts,
These dark woods!
Rightly so~

And though I opened them,
For but one!
This opening of my gates, hopes, and doors!
Only one, oughtn't be there!
It's none!

Open upon the worlds;
And our dreams unfold within these!

And alone I upon this soul- building site - eye-site-might,
Or with company- yet still alone!

Doors open upon me,
Doors open upon me,

Doors open upon me,
As I fall back!

To look, I beg,
For quiet,

Where no doors reach me,
And no man breathes!

Funny things .. !

They open upon our souls,
Our most private thoughts!

Oblivious to our world,


Yet I wish somehow to share,
My wisdom,
My hurts!

And as icy winds enter in,
I open the door,
I open the door,
I open the door,
'Til our ends do come~


Poem by Marc Aupiais

Is that a word!

I wonder,
At the smudged pencil room!
Light in rays from the pencil lamp!

Like cross-hatch!
But smudged!

And my tears smudge the paper more!
As blackness enters my drawing eyes!

As though!
As though in greatest joy!
Not a single sadness and regret!
Always rising black star,
A white star on a black mare!
And white socks for feet!

And joy you take!
As though I'm not there!
I don't exist!
Forgotten! Not there!
My problems, not real!
My hopes to be avoided,

I watch from a distance,
You always enjoy there!

And act as though I don't exist!

And act as though I don't exist!

And act as I don't exist!

A drawing on a painting,
In a book, sketching book,

And around me appear cross-hatch angels!
That comfort me,
Cure my wounds,
Oils here and there!

It's like I don't Exist! Forgotten! Over there!

Sunday, July 24, 2011

The Holiness of the Wayward

Picture- The Hallway, University of the Witwatersrand West Campus- by Marc Aupiais- All Rights Reserved!

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I walked to the sinner's house,
I entered her house in my dreams!
I saw things which hurt me so, badly! In my dream!

I asked her if she was related,
To the thinner/binner/tinner or tin man,
She said, only by this,
She had no heart to see!

I walked among the sinners,
And became a sinner,
Hoping she'd love me!

But instead I lost her,
Likeness bread to her apathy!

And I wept in depression--
Depression causing sin!

And though I confessed a googol of times,
What good but minor was to be saved?

For my love and depression--
Pushed me deeper in;
Unto sadness,
Unto wrath!

I feel in love with a sinner--
Sadly more than God--

Heaven seemed so empty,
A barren sand smoothed desert room!
where all the world echoes ...
For what is heaven without her there!

I walked among the Sheep of God;
Baa-ing as loud as I could!
Singing in his House, His Church;
Doing all the good I could;

Wishing she would change~
If only, my soul would be saved!

For I didn't want heaven,
Without this possession,
That fades away!

For I didn't want heaven ...
For I didn't want heaven ...
My heart fell to the wrong place!

And all the baa-ing I had done,
What good if not my heart!
If she, a woman, not God,
Were my pearl of Great Loss!

Just a reminder of transcience,
I prayed to my death,
And the hour there!
For sobering!

And wished! Prayed! Begged!
In my underwear!
For God to give me a new heart!
Please now!
I pray! I pray!
I sinner, I pray!

As my heart does sway and bray! And pray!

Saturday, July 23, 2011

My deal with the Centurion

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Tea with the Centaur from Alpha Centuri, upon the turn of the dear Century,
Which Century, I shall not tell!
I flew to his Star!
He said she was for sale,
A dozen a dime,
The Asking Price!

I said sure,
But I'm more interested in the Woman by your side!

Ah! He Said!
Twelve Dimes,
Do as you please!

I thanked the Centaur,
And took my Prize!
As together we talked,

And I asked of the tea!
Why so Red? I said?
So blood Red?

And he offered me milk,
And sugar he said!
But the milk looked oddly milky, on the way!
And the sugar like Sol!
I said,

Black (No! Milk! No Milky Way)
I like my Tea Black!
Rooibos! If you have!
With some honey!

And thus he poored my tea!
And my current cup,
He tossed!
Oddly! It seemed to scream,
Like a million deaths!

And I asked the Centuri!
The Centuri just grimanced!

Some he said from different lands!
Worlds, and systems!
Stars now to be dead!

He handed me the woman,
And offered to make her do whatever I want!
I said no thanks!

And took her tea,
As he muttered "Good Chap"
And the vodka in his tea,
Became apparent in slurs!

I took the woman,
Walking a maze!

And flew home to earth!
Should I put her out to graze?
I wondered!
Though she was adamant!
No! No! That wouldn't do! She says!

She'll pay me a dozen dimes she says!
But don't throw me out to graze!

And so I agreed!
We looked for a house for her to buy!
The Centurion's wife!

And passed on our way!
The Chinese child who made Western Clothes!
And a bit beyond,
A few slaves!
A dozen a dime!

The Centurion's wife!
She said she wasn't married to him!

And I wondered!$
Was this true,
This claim!

I flew up,
But the centurion by now dead!
I wondered what of this to be said!

I sold all I had and with her bought a house!

We bought a dog,
And a serving boy!

And called ourselves a modern!
Western! Family!

Be Gone Blackbird

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I know not what,
A Blackbird is,
Nor much, is it a Crow?
A Vulture maybe?
Or a Sparrow or Eagle!

I know not what you are:
Either ...

No, not one bit!

And I wonder at the Eagle!
Whom Years Past! I loved!
The Eagle, so Beautiful!
So Gone!

And I wonder at the Migration,
And a bird,
Never at home, not here, not here!

And, Blackbird,
What are you Blackbird?
A Raven?
Or funeral bird?

Oh! Blackbird,
I know not!

And then I see you!

Memory ..
Blackbird! Black Bird! B-Lack B-ird BL-alack Bi-red!

And I wonder!
Foreign Bird!
I know you not!

Away Blackbird!
Leave me Blackbird!
Away Blackbird!
Beware Blackbird!
Leave my Thoughts!
I am not to be your haunt!

Dear dear Blackbird, Begone Blackbird Begone bygone! Begone!
You Nightingale!
You Raven!

Be-Gone! Bygone!
Fall into the moon!

Away from me Raven-black Blackbird!
Haunt not, My heart is not your haunt!

Dear funeral bird!
Morals you have NOT! Got! NOT!

Be-gone bygone winds I beg, blow you away Blackbird!
Begone! By-gone!
Fly back up to your pray!

Leave me Blackbird!
I beg of you!
I pray!

My eyes are not for you eyes!
My heart not your haunt!
To rip out!
And feed your Raven-black chicks!
In some foreign land!
Far Far North!

Where snow falls,
Upon your West-Nest!

Be-gone Blackbird!
Hibernate, Migrate!
Leave me! Good Blackbird!

Long since has your good kind good!

Be-gone be-gone Blackbird!
Nest in Skyscrapers!
Away! A-way! Waya! From here!
Be-gone! I beg of you!
My dreams ought be your haunt!
Be gone Blackbird!
My dreams shan't be your haunt!

And nor shall I be your cloak!
Warmth in winter!

Be gone! You who betray me!
For Summer's treacherous yokes!

Learn not Blackbird!
My Song!

Of Winter Yokes!

My heart oughtn't be your haunt!
My dreams beg of your leave to leave!
I beg of you Blackbird!
Find another to call The Late!
Late! I am! My clock strikes 10 to 12!

Late! So be-gone Blackbird bygone!
Be gone!
Never again call M.E. late!
For for you I wish I could!
Somehow reserve hate!

Shouting and batting you away!
But crying Blackbird!
For you peck out my heart!
Raven Black Hair!
Oh! Dark Eyes!
Bid me my doom!~

Away Blackbird! Away!
Treacherous Bird!
Give me Back My Heart!

Sunday, July 17, 2011

The Emperor and his Euthanasia

Poem by Marc Aupiais

The Opera House~ fill;
The Modern Emperor- present;
There to watch the play;
With his men ~ quite armed~ quiet armed;

Before him;
Men and women did play;
And screech with the banshee Opera!

And before him; a man did sing;
Oh! Terrible sorrow;
Of love; Oh! Loss of love!

The Modern Emperor;
Did judge;
Surely; the actor; ought;
Though not the writer;
Had him quite convinced;
Instantly; for blasphemy he was put to death;

"Out of his Misery"- the Modern Emperor said.

"Misery", his Lady said, "Misery, he was a singer, an actor; but illusion! It was no mercy to him! He had no suffering!"

"I like to think he did!" Said the Emperor, "Besides, his blasphemy is clear, to Live with pain like that Unnatural, he ought be put to death for choosing life!"

Thus said the Emperor
and the Modern World!

For the source of art,
Of heroism, of ages past!

Courage to live;
To be chaste or good!
To survive!
Quite the blasphemy in the Modern Arts!

Martial-ing us unto death;
Unto death' not life!

And the Emperor and his killing ought not be misread;
"I think," The Lady said, "You killed him for guilt within; because you know his pain you deserve; because you know it awaits you; and empathise; and not able to bear one small bit of his pain; of empathy; you insist he die~"

The Footsteps of the Land of Nod

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Strange; noise; deadly sow;
Footsteps; in this castle fort;
I lie in bed;
Under every spell "protect";
Though my heart is the offender;
As footsteps en-croach;
From the land;
Oh! Deadly Land! Of Nod; Nod; Nod!

And as I doze; Upon my bed;
I see; Oh! Crystal;
Will you not clear!
I see you; always there!
My dear! In this! The Land!
The Land of Nods!

And I fear; and I seer my soul;
Upon the land of Nod;
As I nod and nod;
And wonder if I shall ever wake;
From this Nightmare;
A Nightingale; Upon Day!

Upon Day! And to Day I swear!
Alack! Oh! Night! You Hold Sway Dreams~somehow~ In Day!
What insanity(?)Sanity!!?

What! Obey(?)

Oh! Alack! Oh, dear!

A nightmare of day again!
In the Land! The Land of Nod!~

Reflecting "greatness"; they said

Tower of Darkest hope- by Marc Aupiais; no unauthorised use permitted;

The Tempest and the Hurricane: Reflecting "greatness", the said;

Poem by Marc Aupiais

In the alleys of Paris;
The slums of greatness;
Our hero scavenges;
Scours; seeks; Truth;
Beauty; Hope; Love:
An answer!
To a secret he's seek;

Oh; all the journeys;
Miles and miles;
He's sought; an answer, our hero!

And in dark pursuit,
He seeks and alley;
And chases shadows; ruins;

And ruin; it seems;

Oh! Our hero;
Seeking ruin; we mean truth; ahh! It is so!!?

And he seeks down every alley;
And upon the musky cold street!
Ah? Where is it! Where is it what he seeks!
Our hero; he seeks!
Magnifying glass upon the world!

Deluded perhaps;
Quite well dressed!
This man!

Searching the back~alleys;
Where danger is upon him;
Now even; today!

Dear ~ dear man!
Seeking truth;
Where Angels have since not tread;
For fear of him;
Who's heart so bled!

The Room I can never Leave

Picture: by Marc Aupiais! Unauthorised use not permitted.
Tempest and the Hurricane Poem- The Room I can never LeavePoem by Marc AupiaisI look at blackness,
Upon my blanket;
A feral animal; far from comfort;I try escape; sometimes yet;
I look at the bars,
The deadly fence;
Love you barricade me-
Imprisoned in fate!And as I head for the door;
You sleeping nerve-nearby;
Peaceful; they said! I look at the darkened silhouette;
Of the freedom door;My hand about to open; my heart to run for safety;
And not your suffocating clasp!
Your deadly hand upon my metaphoric neck!And I turn; something holds me firm;
Something holds me here;
Within ... This room;
You've allowed in your heart!

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Death~ dearest death

Poem by Marc Aupiais

OH! To think of my hope;
Absolute perfection assured!
A thing's end is its perfection;
Says Aquinus my Hero!

Oh! But if my end is my perfection;
Oh Paramour Death,
Great Loving Washing;

A Promise to me Sure~
OH! OH Death my lover;
You flirt with my soul;

And when I am sad and down;
I look within for your hold;
Ticking ticking ticking hold~

For one day you will be mine my lover;
Though you must pursue me not you!
Oh! Angel of Death;
Great Final Washer;

You cleanse all my sins;
All my hopes;
Dreams unsaid!

You are Finality; Final Final Death!
Oh! I wish for you;
Long for you;
And think of your love when I am quite down;
Dear Deathly Angel of Death!

For to the Christian;
Who does not pursue you!
You are a lover;
Oh! What a beautiful Caress~

Dear Kiss, Kiss me; Kiss of my dearest Death;

I await you patiently;
A surprise gift~
I know not when you will strike;
And pleasure me with love!

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

If only I were blessed with death or lack of memory of your goddess vision

Picture Winged Angel- by Marc Aupiais! All Rights Reserved!

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Perhaps it is man alone,
So blessed and so cursed!
Animals do not feel love!
Petrarchan or of Pyramus,
Nor Adam for Eve unto death,
Or Foolish Romeo and Juliette!

Of Helen and Demetrius,
A clue of mankind's wise foolishness!
If only cupid were to blame?
We would not hold the guilt of shame!

And we do fall to love!
Even long after affection's gone;
When love brings pain and loneliness,
If only we could in love disown,
Or somehow injure to forget the heart and hope!

And I wonder love at the Ghost,
Of the love you once had throes!

And how you once did think of me,
I think of this,
In past or future sense!

For presents only give me pain!

And perhaps if I did not dream your life,
Sense as every day is pushed and pulled, alas,

Alack Alack Alack!
Woe is me who does love,
Like a dog quite and quiet chains!
Unable to escape the heartbreak pains!

Woe oh woe is my love!
I say, for I am become it,
It does become me!
Does it not?

Woe should I love with another's eye;
Perfect are you for me;
I finally admit!

And yet!
I wonder in my eternal bliss,
Painful heart wishing you to touch!

Of God compelled upon the cross!
Unable to resist his lover,
As she, mankind,
Struck him down.

Willingly he fell at her rejection!
Willingly for love!
But to bring life not death,
Unlike Adam, unlike Eve!

I pray, I pray to you,
Dear moon!
Shine my path unto my Day!

Friday, July 8, 2011

I pack my room, I headed... Nowhere

Poem by Marc Aupiais

The music of my ancestors plays,
The French artist,
The journalist who helped cause a massacre,
The German who guarded a bridge against Germany,
In That, Great War!

And I pack my room up,
I throw out bit by bit of my past,
I chuck out my hopes,
Wisdoms on Post-its!
Dreams I once held dear!

And as my bookcase becomes sparse,
And bit by bit I ..
Throw out my past!

I do not look expectant or with hope ..
I do not pack to leave ..
But only to clear space ..
To make this!
My home place ..

And though there is Ireland, France, Germany within!
This is my home!
This is my home!
This is their home!
My ancestors,
All but two dead!

And I stay within,
Light sitting on me!
From my quaint new reading tool!

And in sorrow and joy,
I pack up my hopes,
Moving nowhere, I expect,

Never destined,
To be anyone of note,
Nor to need say, "no place... Like ... Home",
Nor to know even where Kansas is,
Though I know now,
Possibly not in Texas...

And I pack my stuff!

Knowing I am unimportant,
And me, the world hardly needs ..

I pack my stuff,
To make space,
As I work again on living,

So hard in Africa,
When the European,
Is now the conquered!
And the world realises,
Little of the vengeful oppression,
And nothing of mentioning the laws,

As I sit and pack.
To make space for life ...

This is my Home!


My Naam... Marc

Picture: Northcliff Pass, copyright Marc Evan Aupiais! All Rights Reserved!

Poem by Marc Aupiais

My naam...
My naam ... Is Marc...
Marc, is my naam,
Marc.. Evan ... Aupiais...

My naam is Marc,
En ek is Marc!
My naam, is my naam.
My naam is my siel!
Dit is wie ek is,
Dit is waar ek gaan.

My naam is Marc,
En EK is Marc ... My lief!

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Courage, show: to be true

Snowball stretch (Picture:) by Marc Aupiais! Copyright Marc Aupiais.

Courage, show: to be true- Tempest and the Hurricane -
Poem by Marc Aupiais

Snow upon, icy soul!
I break, I cake, I fall upon a stake!
And fall upon the piles,
Your eternal Sacrifice;

And inside my soul,
Bloody snow; drip drip drip...
Broken in my soul's dear Depths!

A Christian is the salt, the light,
A gift to God,
A gift to life!

And my task,
I was made,
A gift to you,
Perfect yet!
Imperfect until,
Is where and when I'm complete,
When I stall, when I seek!

And I wonder,
I am a gift of God!
But I don't feel like one,

Not just yet~

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Flower of Eden

Picture: Smoke in Soutpans. Copyright Marc Evan Aupiais! All Rights Strictly Reserved!

Poem by M. E. Aupiais

Flower, beautiful,
Splendid thing,
How I despise you,
For you are perfect,
And perfect for me,
And I for you!

OH! flower of Eden,

Why does a gulf separate us;
Not of ocean depths,
No! Of lack of your affection,
And without love?
What am I!

What tragedy,
As bad as Eden,
For my soul lives in hope,

Of you alone,
And Christ!

But shall I ever serve Christ,
If I cannot serve you,
Serve my soul to you love?

Hunting Elephants

Picture Elephant Light by FNB, Wits by Marc Aupiais- copyright Marc Aupiais!

Tempest and the Hurricane Poem: Hunting Elephants- by Marc Evan Aupiais

Hunting Elephants:

I broke my back with my gear;
Its 1923,
Or earlier perhaps;
As I seek ivory;
A rifle in hand;
Shooting an animal;
A thing;
Whose species extant;
Is up to him; not me;

And earlier;
Did they kill him with sword;
Behind the front leg;

Our friend the elephant;
Culled now; not hunted;
Though just as dead;
Species matter; not dearest dear Mr Elephant;

And I look through my sniper's scope;
And for the species do I fire;
Rather than capture and beyond our borders;
Mr Elephant transfer;

And Mr Elephant stands before me;
Me the hunter;
Who's never held a gun;

His ear flap;
His legs strengthen;

I stare at Mr. Elephant;
With my Elephant rifle;
And realise its hardly fair;

And I turn instead to you love;
And hunt; a hunter with no gun;
For some treasure;
To re~win your heart!

If I sit here; in my cocoon

Picture;  My Cocoon, Soutpans Avenue view of long unfinished hotel constructions -by Marc Aupiais; Copyright Marc Aupiais,

Tempest and the Hurricane Poem: If I sit here; in my cocoon - by Marc Evan Aupiais

If I sit: with music on in
bedroom! Walls so
soundproof in house- that
you cannot hear anything

If I sit here;
One voice ; only voice;
If I lay here;
Curtains closed;

If I listen here;
Say here;
It stays here;

If I play my music;
All is blurred;
Its only you and me;

If I listen to my music;
All else blurs;
Darkness over my soul;
Over my heart;
Blackest stars;
Shoot upon the stars;

And green;
Is the darkness of Africa skies;
As a million; billion; trillion eyes;
But none; not;

Stare from a billion clouded stars;

But here; in my cocoon;
Green skies;
Grey and blue clouds;
A strange Cyan-red and purple;
Crimson, red, purple!

And all blurs as my music plays;
Sound-proof-ed walls;
All blurs;
Nothing extant;

And I look to you as I close my eyes;
Typing life upon your eyes;
And I wonder;
Tele-path-y of heart and mind;

The strange clouds circle and swirl;
They blur reason;
They breach sanity;

Red lights flash;
As closed eyes see the sun;

And my music plays;
As the world does change;
And my music plays;
All -all all all that is firmly stays!

Monday, July 4, 2011

Death no cure~ to my insanity

Picture : My Sunset : Copyright Marc Aupiais;
-by Marc Aupiais,

Tempest and the Hurricane
Poem by Marc Aupiais
Death no cure

Death no cure;
No vaccine to sanity;
Not insanity cured;
No answer in that.
Though I follow reason,
I get ill when do;
And moan and groan;
Avoiding doctors,
And their cures.
Death is no cure to insanity;
Though insanity it is not;
For reason; raw says its so;
Yet how can it be?
I wonder in throes;
And often I wish death;
For that; you or death that is;
Is my unholy choice;
And sometimes;
I choose death;
And others; the living Ghost!
Though I live my life;
Straight as an arrow;
Forward; onward; upward;
And then I dream a dream not a dream;
And tragedy happens;
Whenever I reject you!
Or a change of mind;
Last minute; yours;
As with the hour of my death;)!~

Saturday, July 2, 2011

... the dead ... still

The Dead Still Living Tempest and the Hurricane poem by Marc Aupiais

14th Avenue MTN fourway crossing by Marc Aupiais. Copyright Marc Aupiais.

I sit and I pray... Quite incomprehensibly perplexed

before me I see the quite ...undead... it's been said.

years before their deaths. to the world quite dead.
and with a fantastic machine... the walk again. Sing. Dance. Move again. Unsaid.

I don't like the living undead...
Their images played again and again.

and their prayers, requests.

immortal but long dead.
yet prayed to the evil undead.
by followers and sinners, and those they too made undead.

they call it illusion the undead.

as i do them. I do them. I do them resurrect.
but not the corpses of the ancient dead.
but images. Illusions. lies they said while yet undead.

and i watch ss the. I watch. the screen. flickers.
quite perplexed.

by the living undead.