Gimme an issue …

BEN TROVATO – Durban Poison

It’s not easy, this column-writing lark.

Well, the actual writing is relatively easy. I’ve been doing it long enough not to have to pace up and down, kick the furniture and scream into the night every few minutes. I do that once just before I start and, if I’m still standing, again at the end.

The hard part is deciding what to write about. That’s a four-beer process right there. There’s no shortage of material, thanks to Twitter’s 24-hour willingness to spread its electronic butt cheeks and allow anyone off the street a glimpse into the alimentary canal of the world. It’s a modern day version of the freak show at Dickensian circuses, except it’s free. But it isn’t really. We don’t know it yet, but there’s a heavy price to be paid for having instant access to every happiness and horror this planet has to offer.

Anyway. Back to…

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The Freedom March

 

The Freedom March

 

There is a stifled shout

A shout of excitement full

And yet strangely uncertain

A shout almost of anguish

In our tracks we all stop

Stone dead

And behold!

There is a light that flickers at the end of the tunnel

Together we huddle

Each other we cuddle

Finding hope and solace in numbers

Finding comfort and assurance in each other’s eyes

On and on we plod

Our tired feet dragging under us

Our energies expended almost

Our treasured hopes of freedom dusking almost

Dusking in a night of hopelessness

Those who still can

Those who are still able

Lift the exhausted by the shoulders

Lest they be left behind

For together we shall conquer

Together we shall perish if we have to

And feed the vultures of God

They smell death already

And follow and circle over us day and night

Like tick peckers on buffalo

As if they protect us

Guarding us like the angels of death they are

Sweat on our brows

Dust on our faces

The taste of salt and bile in our mouths

Fighting a losing battle we are

A battle against hunger and thirst

On and on we plod

Our mission: The flicker of light at the end of the tunnel

The light we see ahead

It has been a long journey

This journey, our journey

Full of hurdles insurmountable almost

Women ululate

Our women

They ululate

The men chant and grunt

And whistle

And cheer

The flicker of light bursts into flame

The flicker of light becomes a raging fire

We emerge from this tunnel

This maze of tunnels

Tunnels of colonial bondage

Tunnels of slavery and suffering

The warm sun of God pours down on us

Drenching and soaking us to the bone

Yes the warm sun that is freedom warms us

The beautiful land of milk and honey that is called Zimbabwe

Our Garden of Eden

Ours finally

Wrestled from the enemy by force of arms

Everyone throws their emaciated arms about

In a drunken orgy of triumphant joy

Celebrating this, our freedom

Like it was the second home-coming of Jesus H. Christ

Beat your drums

Blow your trumpets

Blow your horns

Sons and daughters of the Sun

And celebrate this, your first dance of freedom

For now and ever

We shall bring our captors, our tormentors

To a beggar’s repentance

And our own masters shall we become henceforth

Behold sons and daughters of the Sun

Behold sons and daughters of the Soil

Now is the time

Now is the appointed time

To mourn and to remember

To remember and to honour our martyrs

Those whose death keened our resolve

Those whose spilt blood watered our hopes

Those whose shed tears drowned our fears

Those who sacrificed their own lives

And paid for this, our freedom, with their breath!

God

Dear Father of Jesus, rest their souls

And here we shall erect a monument

A memorial of silver and gold

To remember by those fallen heroes and heroines

Whose unparalleled selflessness

Inspired us to push forward with the struggle for freedom

And plunge headlong into the cool and soothing waters

The waters of freedom

The waters of self rule

Cry freedom!

 

And the banned play on

BEN TROVATO – Durban Poison

Now and then I hear of someone who has been banned from Facebook for a period of time and I try to imagine what heinous filth they must have been disseminating for such harsh action to be taken.

Were they trying to get the Gestapo back together? Lower the age of consent to seven? Show us the Trump pee-pee tape?

This week I discovered you needn’t do any of these things to get banned. All it takes is a letter to Australian home affairs minister Peter Dutton and for one person to be offended. Am I bitter? Of course not. I deserve to be punished. I don’t know exactly what it is I did wrong, but it’s important that I be disciplined.

We need to be sensitive to the demands of the offended, even if it is only one in 250 others who liked, loved or laughed at the post…

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An open letter to our shiny new president

BEN TROVATO – Durban Poison

Dear Comrade Cyril Ramaphosa the First, Defeater of Zuma, Shuffler of Cabinets, Player of Golf, Shaker of Hands, King of Venda Financing, Stepfather of the Nation, I hereby greet you.

I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on your ascent to the highest office in the land, but on the day it happened I assumed that I was hallucinating and didn’t want to say anything for fear of alerting the drug squad. Nobody needs the cold, wet nose of a sniffer dog in his crotch first thing in the morning.

So I do apologise for the tardiness of my felicitations. It’s important to get in early before the names of all the fawners and flatterers blur into one. I want to be among those who stand out in your mind. Not because I want any special favours, but because … okay, it is the favours. I won’t list…

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Jesus Christ Super Shopper

BEN TROVATO – Durban Poison

With supermarkets busier than churches on a Sunday, the Church of England is marketing Jesus in the guise of a shopper to boost his appeal – Daily Mail

Excuse me, sir,” said the security guard at the entrance to Pick n Pray. “You can’t come in here without shoes.” Jesus smiled and reached out to touch the guard on the head. Jesus was on the floor before you could say “Hail Mary”. Once the misunderstanding had been cleared up, the guard helped Jesus to his feet.

Sorry about that. Thought you were going for my throat. Can’t be too careful these days. You’re still going to need shoes.”

Jesus walked over to a teenager in a wheelchair and spoke to him for a few minutes. After the kid had jumped around for a bit, babbling and weeping as the miraculously cured are inclined to do, he took off…

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Resolution

Couldn’t agree with this writer more

Sharon Bonin-Pratt's Ink Flare

The human species has evolved so far that we no longer live in trees or walk on all fours. Still we hurt each other like primitive savages with words and blows and turning away.

I bellow. You sob. I slash. You fall.

I try but I fail all the time.

I try but I fail all the time.

I regret. I am ashamed. Please forgive me.

It is up to me to make the one individual change that will impact all of you in the best way possible.

My New Year’s resolution is to make a sincere effort.

It’s time for me to walk upright, to open my fist, to forgive everyone, to let you speak, to hear your heart.

I must amend. To amend is a singular characteristic that identifies a human being.

I kneel.

Still, I am naught but one small part.

Just a thought 24

Galaxy image…

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New Year’s Eve

BEN TROVATO – Durban Poison

My liver huddles up against my spleen and whimpers at the mere mention of it. Come out, you coward. I know you’re in there. I need you now more than ever.

To be honest, and I think honesty is important in times like these, I have felt uncomfortable about making a huge thing out of December 31 ever since discovering that the Gregorian calendar was introduced by Pope Gregory XIII in 1582. The Catholics have done some truly appalling things over the ages and for all I know the calendar is one of them.

The Anno Domini system, which counts years from the death of Jesus, spread through Europe during the Middle Ages. Big deal. A lot of things spread through Europe during the Middle Ages. The Black Death, for one, yet you hardly ever see anyone walking around with a long face moaning about the good old days when…

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