Mum’s the word

Sounds right.

The Daily Post prompt:

This is clearly subjective, but some words really sound like the thing they describe (personal favorites: puffin; bulbous; fidgeting). Do you have an example of such a word (or, alternatively, of a word that sounds like the exact opposite of what it refers to)? What do you think creates this effect?

 

For me the word that absolutely fits the thing it describes is, “MUM”.

 

Mum’s the word

 

Mum’s the word, as elegant as a coat made of fur,

Short, warm and soft just like her.

Soft to start with and soft to end; her love for U will never bend.

Protecting U from the front and back,

her embrace like a tightrope never grows slack.

Mum’s the word, everyone knows;

The older you become, the more obvious it grows,

That you are the center of her world, yes she always keeps U in the middle.

Since the moment you were born, dependent and brittle.

She kept her feet steadfast on the ground so yours could be in the air waving around.

Mum’s the word, the first word you said

as you cuddled up next to her just  after being fed.

“The day you grow up is the day that I dread”

Mum would always say as she clutched your little head

Mum’s the word short, simple and sweet,

It is no wonder we’re taught that heaven lay at her feet

When she brought you into this world with all that pain and strife

She was happily, willingly, risking her life.

You just have to love her doing otherwise is absurd

and this is why MUM’s word.

 

Ping Back

Musical Markers and the Summer of the Banjo

Daily PromptMusical Markers

We all have songs that remind us of specific periods and events in our lives. Twenty years from now, which song will remind you of the summer of 2014?

 

The summer 2013/2014 was the summer of the banjo. Bands like The Lumineers and Mumford & Sons are what stand out for me. The banjo has even been featured in house music as well with Avicci’s “Hey Brother” for example. To me this is nothing new, Every year during summer, the Cape Town Minstrels would march through the streets of my neighborhood and the lead musician was always the toothless man with banjo in his hand.

 

Toothless man with Banjo in hand

Hey toothless man

with banjo in hand

I like that tune you’re playing

best keep you mouth shut and not sing along

Cause I don’t understand a word you’re saying.

 

But keep playing your jingle jangles and

marching in spingle spangles

you’re creating memories I’ll never forget

as you round the corner I see you first

followed by a string quartet.

 

20 years from now

I will always remember how,

how much joy you brought to the community

yes you toothless man

with banjo in hand, marking my summer memory.

Adult Visions

Daily Post : Adult Visions – As a kid, you must have imagined what it was like to be an adult. Now that you’re a grownup (or becoming one), how far off was your idea of adult life?

When things don’t turn out as you dreamed as a child, it isn’t always a bad thing right? I mean I had some big, pretty unrealistic, dreams.

 

Happiness, Health and Wonder

 

My cupboards will be filled with sweets and chocolaty treats

My car will be a Ferrari, scarlet red with bright leather seats

I will have more money than I can count with an ATM built into my bedroom wall

my house would be huge, 100 meters long and 5 stories tall.

 

I would have at least 2 jet-skis that would trail behind 2 yachts

and have 2 maids to cook and 2 to clean  the pots

I would be a doctor and a lawyer by the time I’m 25

Sending the bad guys to jail, keeping the good ones alive.

 

As a 10 year old boy, these were the things of which I’d dream

little did I know that the older I got the more impossible it’d all seem.

Not because I couldn’t see myself arguing in court or in theater making an incision

No, because it was all placed in a bubble that was burst by my adult vision.

 

When that bubble burst, I’d say, around the age of 21

I realized what was important in life and that having money wasn’t all fun. 

Just because my vision has changed doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped dreaming

The possibilities I am faced with are still endlessly leaving me beaming

 

My house may be missing a few stories, not to mention a plot

But Id like to believe that 10 year old me won’t be too disappointed with what I got

My car may not be scarlet red or of any exotic brand

I did manage to get a cool Honda though, low slung, second hand.

 

I do not feel disappointed that my childhood dreams did not come true

if it did , who knows, I might never have met my beau.

The woman of my dreams, funny, as a boy I never dreamed of her

She came into my life filling it with all I needed – happiness, health and wonder.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can’t Watch This

When I saw today’s Daily Prompt called, Cant Watch This, I figured this would be a good opportunity to post a poem I wrote not too long ago. The poem is called “Waiting In My Chamber” which was inspired by a few events I had the misfortune of witnessing growing up in a gang-infested area in the southern suburbs of Cape Town. I left the area seven months ago and ever since then, whenever I try writing something new, a poem or a short story, it seemed to revolve around my hometown, like a subconscious itch that was screaming, “Scratch me now!”  This is the first piece I wrote after moving away and is written from a rather unique perspective:

Waiting in my the chamber

By Torieq Arendse

 

Waiting in my chamber for that deafening sound

Through the barrel I catch a glimpse of people frantically running around

Anxiety builds as I hear, “The target’s been found!”

Waiting in my chamber to be sent hell-bound

 

The trigger sounds rough, not crisp at all

I hear it creaking and rattling as we run and duck behind walls

Anxiety builds as I hear, “Today you will fall!”

Waiting in the chamber to shock and appal

 

The safety is off, now by the trigger I abide

I hear frantic mothers screaming, “Children hurry, come inside!”

Anxiety builds as the single action slides

Waiting in my chamber ready to glide

 

The air reeks of gunpowder and subdued fear

The index finger reaches for the trigger, my time draws near

Anxiety reaches climax as the trigger pull I hear

Propelled from the chamber; my target’s unclear!

 

Travelling at 400 meters per second, everything is a blur

My target missed… Where now I wonder

Lodged in a door, the ground or piercing a dog’s fur?

No! My full metal jacket is now worn by her

 

An innocent little girl, in her uniform so smart.

I ruined it all as I pierced her white school shirt and met her young heart

She was playing with her brother pushing him in a cart

My deadly trajectory has forever torn them apart

 

 

It seems so surreal it all happened so fast

One moment laughing, the next faced down in the grass

She is a bright young girl; top of her class

Today is her 9th birthday and also her last.

 

I found a new chamber; this one her heart provides

Blood rushing from her wound; her pulse imitates a receding tide

Her little brother stands over us, he never leaves her side

As his sister’s right to life is woefully denied

 

Now I’m waiting in her chamber, together we are bound

I feel her heartbeat weaken as she lay curled up on the ground

Anxiety builds as I hear “Bring the ambulance around!”

She’s not breathing, not moving, not making sound.

Blogging for the Sake of Blogging (4)

It’s Simple!

I felt good when I woke up this morning! The heavy rain had subsided, I could see some patches of blue sky when I opened my curtains and it is the weekend. Sadly, things suddenly became gloomy when I switched on the TV to watch the news. I was expecting to see some Mandela Day stories. However, the first thing that caught my eye was the headlines running at the bottom of the screen. It read, “Malaysian plane…,” and for a split second, I thought the headline would continue, “… has been found”. Instead, it read, “Malaysian Plane Shot Down, 298 dead”.

This was followed by, “Israeli forces launch ground attack on Gaza”; more atrocious news on what started out to be a good morning.  What exactly is the cause of these events? Well, “political unrest” is a term used in both stories, but we never know exactly what is going on. All we know is that hundreds are dead.

I am no political analyst, so am in no position to comment on the recent events that have transpired in the ongoing conflict between Palestine and Israel or the frankly confusing battle that has recently erupted between Russia and Ukraine. I am more concerned about the people in these regions – people on both sides.

Families are being torn apart, communities are being destroyed and many are denied their basic human rights. Children who should be going to school are either hiding in their homes, fearful of the next airstrike or terrorist attack, or joining their brothers, fathers, uncles in battling military forces on the streets.

I find it useless pointing fingers at which side is losing more people; this does nothing more than fuel the propaganda produced by both sides. I use the words “both sides” for a reason.  The world seems to view the conflict happening in these regions from a “whose side are you on” perspective. You support either the Russians or the Ukrainians or you support either the Israelis or the Palestinians, which has now manifested itself as religious battle instead of a political one. It is now more of Jews versus Muslims issue. Sadly, in all this “whose side are you on” nonsense we are forgetting about the innocent lives lost – on both sides.

Whose side am I on? I am on the side of peace, love and logic.

When I see a group of mostly Muslims marching in Cape Town to demonstrate their anger at the Israeli use of chemical weapons, I feel compelled to join, but when I move closer and read their signs admiring Hitler for killing millions of Jews, I walk away – that to me is not logical. Marching in revolt of one atrocity while admiring another is not logical.

However, in all this news of war and death I find it refreshing to get to work and find my colleagues filling boxes of clothes and non-perishable foods to donate to the local children’s shelter as our little something for Mandela Day. It brings back the warm feeling I woke up with this morning. It says to me that often the solutions to the problems we see happening around the world is not about cease-fire agreements or winning wars. No, it’s much simpler than that. It is about uniting for a common cause, looking out for one another and putting our own selfish interests aside to help others.

As has become custom now, here is a little accompanying poem.

 

Three Words ©

 

 

 By Torieq Arendse

 

I feel lucky for where I am today

Fed, sheltered, safe, 3 words too few can say

Not just in my country, but all over the world

Too many places by war in disarray hurled

 

 I feel lucky for where I am today

Loved, protected, happy, 3 words too few can say

Not just in my country, but in many a war-torn town

Where neither government nor rebel will consider backing down

 

I feel lucky for where I am today

Clean, mobile, clothed, 3 words too few can say

Not just in my country but in most of the Middle East

Where daily bombings have now increased

 

I feel lucky for where I am; I truly have to say

And I am sure many of you reading this will also feel this way

In commemoration of man who fought for peace I must surely relay

Let’s help where we can, Happy Mandela Day!

Blogging for the sake of blogging (3)

The Age of the Crying Sportsman

 

Its over, the soccer world cup has reached its conclusion. This will no doubt be today’s hot topic all around the world. Well done Germany and well played Argentina!

I will not go on a rant about the diving, poor refereeing or crying. I will, however throw in my two cents about what we consider to be the “greatest game” in the world.

Yes, we call soccer the “greatest game” in the world and I would agree. I have always believed that one cannot argue with numbers and judging by the billion viewers that a competition like the English Premier League has every weekend, one would be silly to believe otherwise.

I am, however, a bit worried about what the “greatest game” has become. A player rolling around in the fetal position holding his ankle or shin riving in pain only to jump back up once the referee has awarded a free kick has become an all too common occurrence. In any other sport when a player is carried off on a stretcher, you can be sure that you won’t see him again for the rest of the season, let alone the rest of the match. I have lost count of how many times, in this World Cup alone, a player has been stretchered off only to merrily run back onto to the field a few minutes later.

What has happened to sportsmanship and fair play? Do the salaries of some of these players have anything to do with it? One could argue that if your legs earned £100 000 a week, you might be a bit sensitive to the merest protruding toe or lingering leg as well.

It wasn’t always like this. I have been an avid Man United supporter growing up and when it came to World Cups, I have only supported my country and Brazil. Now, however, I struggle to follow the game at all, generally because of the all too common unsportsmanlike behaviour.

I can’t remember ever seeing former Man United captain Roy Keane dive when tackled; in fact, if a player did manage to get him down you could be sure that he would at some point in the match return the favour. I could not imagine him crying at the fact that his team has missed out on a title and not just because his team hardly ever missed out on titles, but because he had the ability to deal with the losses as well as he did the wins.

Back then, a good tackle was followed by a loss of possession and a possible counter-attack. Today a good tackle is generally followed by an exuberant dive by the tackled player, the referee blowing his whistle, awarding a free kick and yellow card and finally being surrounded by the players from both sides screaming at him to either reverse the decision or intensify it – neither of which ever happens.

The age of great soccer and soccer players, it seems, has been replaced by the age of the crying sportsman. I have never seen as many footballers crying at a World Cup as I have at this one. Normally the crying would start later in the competition around about the quarter-finals, but this year every single losing team had a few crying players on the ground when the referee blew the final whistle.

I get that the competition is tough and that players are invested emotionally, but when did the sportsman become incapable of handling the pressure without bursting into tears? And of course all the tears make good TV so the cameras are glued to the player jerking back and forth with his head in his jersey trying to conceal his emotions.

Nevertheless, I feel as though I am painting everyone with the same brush – not fair. I had a debate with my nephew not too long ago. Just to give you some background, he is 17 and an avid soccer fan. He knows every soccer superstar form the English Premier League to the German Bundesliga. When he asked me who I thought is better, Christiano Ronaldo or Lionel Messi, I promptly replied with the latter – Messi. This had him running out of the room in disbelief. “Messi doesn’t come close to Ronaldo’s speed and skill!” he shouted as he ran back in.

I couldn’t argue with that; Ronaldo was faster and more skilful, but this only strengthened my belief that Messi was the better player. He certainly proved it in this World Cup – the impact he had on his team and the game in general is what got Argentina into the final. But what truly made Messi the better player for me was that diving theatrics and appealing for free kicks and penalties is not part of his game. The same cannot be said of Ronaldo.

 

Additionally, whenever I hear the name Ronaldo my mind drifts back to the one from Brazil. Now that was skill, speed and memorable hairstyles. My view sounds rather ominous, but I assure you I am not bitter about the game – it is entertaining. The Soccer World Cup had me glued to the screen and when Facebook statuses were plastered with hateful words about the beautiful game, I came to its defence. This was a friend’s status from a few days ago:

“Soccer is 90 minutes of pretending you’re hurt and rugby is 80 minutes of pretending you’re not,”

I responded with a “You cannot compare the two sports… and then I posted his status as my own – you have to admit that it was quite funny and in some cases true.

Finally, I would like to send my condolences to the Brazilians and their team. You did rather well considering the nation who hosted before you were knocked out in the first round – you made it to fourth place. To all the soccer players out there stop the crying and leave the diving to the swimmers. End the age of the crying sportsman and bring the beautiful game back to its former glory!

Here is a poem a felt the urge to write after I could not fall asleep after the final last night. It just sums up my experience of the World Cup. It’s called “90 minutes”.

 

 90 minutes©

By Torieq Arendse

 

 Tweeeet tweeeet tweeeet! the final whistle blown

Hang up the flag that you have proudly flown

My country might not have qualified

But what entertainment the beautiful game did provide.

 

I managed to watch every single game

Witnessing unknown players rise to fame

Watching Nemar as Brazil’s talisman anointed

Hearing the boos of the crowd when bitterly disappointed.

 

The group stages were filled with many a surprise

It saw world champions Spain meet their demise

England and Portugal favourites of the crowd

By unexpected teams the next round disallowed.

 

In my country the games came on quite late

Starting at 6 and ending at 8

And starting at 10 and ending well past midnight

Watching every minute, every team’s plight.

 

 Eyes were burning but never giving in to sleep

Watching Miroslav Closer and his monumental leap

Admiring Messi, with his skill almost primal

Steering his team to an epic final.

 

We saw Brazilian hopes disappear down a crack

When Colombia’s Juan Zuniga kneed Nemar in the back

And the referee gave Thiago Silver a yellow card

Which meant that for the next game he’d be barred.

 

The referees decisions were fair overall

It must be said there were very few a bad call

Except when Robyn went down against Mexico in the box

That time the referee was sneakily outfoxed.

 

The 13th of July saw the final game

Argentina versus Germany, their cup to claim

90 minutes to separate the great from the rest

90 minutes to see which team is best.

 

 It says a lot then that at 90 minutes the teams were tied

Extra-time would then the match decide

At the end of the night one team would triumphantly stand

That team was Germany, the team in white with the World Cup in hand.

©

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blogging for the sake of blogging (2)

This is the second installment  in a series of posts that I have decided to call “blogging for the sake of blogging”. As promised, I edited the poem I wrote yesterday morning about my weird experience. Just to give you some background about the poem, I have recently been going through a bit of a rough patch professionally and personally. In many ways this poem reflects the weird space I found myself in. I have always found writing to be  cathartic especially when it reflects my struggles. Without further delay, here it is:

 

Time Slowed down for me this Morning. ©

 

Time slowed down for me this morning.

I don’t know how; I don’t know why, but time slowed down for me this morning.

It’s usually a blur of tick-tock-tick; of tiptoeing on cold tiles out of the shower quick.

But not today; today time slowed down for me.

 

Perhaps Mother Nature had hypnotized me

With her howling voice and rhythmical tapping of drip drop dripping on my window pane.

When usually the dripping would drive me insane

It now served as hypnosis, as time slowed down for me.

 

Alone in bed, its cold outside and I beneath my covers hide

Shift shuffle shifting rubbing together my feet; toes curled up searching for heat

As five minutes felt like an hour under my sheet.

Covered from head to toe as time slowed down for me.

 

Every five minutes the alarm on my phone blares

 But I’m entranced by Mother Nature’s melody combined with her snares

Of rain and wind and thunder booms and

 I lie still in my quiet room listening… as time slowed down for me.

 

I look at my clock and it smiled at me

Where usually a frown is what I receive, the weather outside shows no reprieve

A flash of light and thunder follows, resonating somewhere deep in the hollows of my soul I feel it

vibrating, boom, crack, roar, rattle. My awareness frightens me; as time slowed down for me this morning.

 

 My theory confirmed it’s 7 in the morning but still dark outside

Time MUST have slowed down for me and told the sun to hide, to wait a bit longer

Before rising today, before giving the signal to start making hay, yes time knew that I was not OK

So it slowed for me this morning.

©