Camping in the Magaliesburg Mountains
Cooing pigeons drip with the dew
From the stillness air is not
To be flaunted
It is to breathe again that
We seek. To flow with the air
And to breathe themselves into the
Stratosphere of existence through
The be all and end all.
The cool breath of the wind is far from the tale
Of the acacia, the thorny tree
A burdensome fire when frozen to
Your retina with iron
Glow in the morning as you stare
At the coals remembering the night
Gone.
Copyright B E Saunders 2016
(Memories of being a boy scout in South Africa in the ’70’s and camping out in the mountains west of Johannesburg, not far from Sun City)
TOO LONELY TO MAKE SENSE - AGELESS POETRY - DADA 
Hmm sweet memory Bruce :p
To mountains! Cooool
Gday my friend
LikeLiked by 1 person
It was a very “Boy’s Own” childhood I had, with alot of camping and environmental studies. Shame that the scout troop happened to be whites only as was the boy scouts at that time in South Africa. So we hot subsidised by the local white PTA. Living in a white area of Johannesburg, the affluent Northern suburbs, miles from SOWETO or Alexandria. Fond memories.
LikeLiked by 1 person
G’day to you too my Dear – how’s things – I’m a trifle bored.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bored or busy?
Hmm myn is same…. Good… Nyc…okkk
Sounds cool ..
Campaigns
Friends
Nature
Wondrfl
LikeLiked by 1 person
Looking back, it was viscious how they wrestled the control of the country from the majority. And i lived in the middle of it – I attended my first ANC meeting off University campus in 1986, during the State of Emergency. Man! I didn;t know then how foollishly it could have workied out.
LikeLike