Poetry
Winter Night In The Bush
The night was cool.
Hordes of stars stared down from a cloudless sky
As the mountain wind caressed the grass
And the moon lit up the ridge.
From where I lay
I watched satellites track through the heavens
Drew on my smoke.
Well hidden,
Some food,
Some water.
A man could be
Content with this.
Chas Lotter
Africa's Child
It is two hundred eighty years now
Since Europe shook its fist
At my ancestor
And forced him to leave.
Since then
Generations of my clan have sunk their roots
Into the African soil
And proliferated.
My tribe woke a continent
And thrust it into tomorrow.
My Afrikaans forbears fought their wars
To buy their land with their blood.
As I have fought my war.
I belong
This is my land, my home.
As I have fought my war.
I belong
This is my land, my home.
I yearn not
For that strange, unfamiliar place called Europe.
I am an African
A white African.
Chas Lotter
Fireside Tales
A long, wet walk in over those high hills
Then, find a shallow spot
And slosh across the Umfolosi.
But now, back at base camp
Showered, dry, clean clothes on
Hot food within; warm whisky without
We settled, in a companionable circle
Round the leaping campfire flames,
Turned
To Richard, our tracker,
Zulu to the core. Five wives, fourteen kids and
Sixteen years in the wildlife game,
Said
"Baba. Share with us
Some of your tales
From all your years here in the bush."
Now Richard was a mighty man
With legs like trees, arms with a python's grip,
And a laugh that rumbled up from deep within,
Roll past the crag-cut lines upon his face,
Then push out through his scraggly beard.
Up he leapt and began to speak.
But Richard was a storyteller -
An old-fashioned storyteller. So
As he spoke, he stamped, he turned,
His movements mimicked
The animals in his tales. From deep down
In his throat, the rhino snorted loud and
The elephant's brassy trumpet rang.
"Two tales I will tell you of tonight.
One of when
I was a foolish man - and one
When I was wise. Both
When I was guarding
Tourists such as you."
"We were walking through the wilderness
Down the tracks you trod today
Came around the thorns, there by the waterhole
To find - a rhino, standing in the trees.
The tourists quickly jumped - as we had warned them to,
Burrowed, deep, in the thick thorn bush.
I hid - watching all the time for
The rhino - as he snorted, stamped, looking
For this strange smell that he tasted on the wind. Then
He charged! At me! And I saw!
I was not behind a tree
But crouched behind a flower.
My eyes, my head
Had been too full, thinking
Of the rhino - and the tourists in my care.
I was shocked. I was scared. My hands
Forgot they held a rifle, so
I shouted at that rhino - loud, to split the sky
And he turned,
To run the other way."
"That was the day when
I was a foolish man."
"Then there was the other time
We took the tourists out,
Walking there, where we have walked
So many times before. But
This time was different. The one in charge
Was young, stupid and foolish.
She did not know the bush, she did not
Know the tricks, the animals, or even
What to do
If trouble turned upon us."
"We saw, ahead, the elephant. A herd
Quietly feeding, so
She took the tourists closer
To take their little pictures. And then
She told them -
Walk on through the herd."
"I told her; this is dangerous.
This is stupid. We should turn and walk away.
She laughed. She would not listen. So, forward we went.
Then, suddenly, had to stop, for
Ndlovu
Was standing in our path.
Left, right, forward, back. We were
In the middle of the herd."
"And what did she do? She told them -
Climb the nearest tree. You will be safe."
"My heart wanted to shout. I wanted
To swear. But instead
I whispered -
You crazy woman. You will have us dead!
They will pluck us from those trees
Like ripe, red fruit."
"I turned to those frightened tourists
And then I softly said;
For your lives - listen to me. Now be still -
Be very still, while I look around us.
And I looked. And I saw
That we were surrounded, but - over there
Two elephants stood together, back to back.
I whispered to myself,
I am taking all these tourists out, right
Between those hairy arses - and if they turn, then
I will have to shoot; explain it to the Board
When I have these people back in camp. So
We walked. Silently. So close that
The falling dung
Dropped between our feet."
"That was the day
When I was a wise man
And this, also, is my story why
I do not fear
The elephant today."
"I have shared two tales with you
While the campfire burned away.
But my other tales will keep,
For now my throat is dry
And beer is what I need."
Chas Lotter
Ashes and Dust
Turn back the years
Pick through the bones
We left behind.
Examine our few remains
In vain.
The search is useless.
For the raw, rich stuff of life
Has long since fled us.
Resurrect our rusty rifles
From the ever hungry earth
Carefully place the faded rags
Left of that which clothed us
In warm museum halls.
Guard well the curling, yellow photograph
You found.
Gaze down upon our faces
Frozen
In a tattered message
Addressed to those
Who are still to come.
Argue, analyze, theorise
On the force which drove our people.
We were only human.
We bled, loved, laughed and cried
And we laid
The foundation stone
Of the years you live in.
Chas Lotter
Wild Child
Feet in the air and coke in hand,
He's glued to the box - drinking in some TV show.
Or, while
Sprawled in a chair and clamped on a keyboard
Hammers the score for
Some thunderous, murderous computer game.
Then, when
Released from the city - flies to explore
This vast African land of ours.
Snorkeling
Through startled, garish fish
In the warm waters of Ponta Do Ouro.
Floating, out in
The open Indian Ocean
Waiting, willing the dolphins
Closer to him.
Walking
Pack on back, down the wilderness trail,
Across the Umfolosi,
There, where
No road runs nor one building stands.
Following
Spoor, down by the river
As a dull, red African sun rises.
Baking
Bush bread. At our Leopard Mountain camp
In a hole, which he had dug, by the fire.
Making
Strong grass rope. Using it
To build a shelter, then sleeping
In it, high on the mountain
Where the blesbok roam.
All this - and more
Is my son, Carl.
As he grows towards
The strong, straight young man
Which he will be, I pray
The wilderness life which he yearns for
Will find him, fill him, enfold
His wild, open soul
In it's
Wild, open African spaces.
Chas Lotter
Retribution
We came
From the hills at dawn
Marking our trail
In fiery progress. Grim shapes
Moving from kraal to kraal
With chaos in our hands.
Fires
Pinpointed habitation across the valley floor.
Not a hut was spared.
An explosion belched
As a landmine
Deep-hidden, in a granary, met the flame.
A radio
Crackled urgently; a booby trap had been found.
People scurried
To rescue possessions.
Livestock scattered, fleeing, with no place to go.
I stood on a rise.
Watching the smoke billow, blot out the sun.
Hell must be like this. Panic, fear
Fire and smoke. Devils
Egging you on.
But I feel no pity.
This war
Has gone on long enough.
Chas Lotter
"When the war drums rolled and dark clouds gathered.
Was the time we ran,
Through the smoke as it rose from burning huts.
A brotherly band of hard, dangerous, young men
Who held the fire in our hands
And the storm in our souls..."
Chas Lotter
Fleeting Visit
Have you ever heard
A dead man talk ?
Have you ever walked
With ghosts ?
Have you ever sat alone
And felt a spirit run his fingers up your spine ?
I have sat with the shade of a long-gone friend
And heard him whisper in my brain
As his tattered shadow moved
In an ill-lit corner of the room.
Chas Lotter
