1 Basking in the sun of voter approval

2 Thank you Kundera, try again, Saint-Saëns

The wisdom of whiskey, as well as whisky 

4 The right steps to take

5 Entertaining the barbarians

6 There used to be a gentleman

7 The startled solipsist

8 The apotheosis of the pumpkin

9 Gister is ‘n mite



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23 July 2012 -0.2

Basking in the sun of voter approval


The lizard’s expletives

were not very clear

due to the nature

of his tongue.

He always split his infinitives

to fearlessly speak

where no lizard has spoken before.

The lizard wasn’t really lazy,

just a touch lascivious,

which is actually necessary

if you want a new generation

of lizards.


He was a good speaker

at political conventions,

and due to the nature of his tongue,

he could effortlessly

convince opposing parties

that he passionately supported

each of their causes.


When found guilty

of corruption and nepotism,

the lizard dropped his tail

for the media to feast on,

and found himself another rock in the sun

where he continued promising

abundant flies

and other careless insects

to his supporters.


The lizard seemed fast asleep

but never stopped preparing

speeches for every occasion:

one to prove he was right

and the other that he wasn’t wrong.



5 June 2011 Sat 0.7

Thank you Kundera, try again, Saint-Saëns


The elephant glides forward,

his feet never leaving the ground

his feet never touching the ground,

he is there among the mopanies,

he is not there

there is no sound …

here is the elephant

right in front of us!


Keep still,

don’t play the DVD

on which Saint-Saëns

hopelessly fails to imitate

the gait of an elephant;

such a pity he didn’t stick to swans

and chickens,

and that he was so unenlightened

about the incredible lightness

of elephants.



The wisdom.jpg

The wisdom of whiskey, as well as whisky

Tonight I feel a tad circumambulatory

only a tiny, tiddly bit, fortunately,

so I’ll take two tots of hubris

and bathe my thoughts in dallynaciousness,

 to say I’m on my way

to rid myself of every trace of anything pugnacious

as pugilistic notions can easily turn outrageous

and insist that the previous line rhymes with mouse

whereas we are all cognizant

that the latter line rhymes indeed with grouse,

that bird that’s become so famous in thirsty circles

and feared by some to have been drunk into oblivion,

but seeing that this is a poem meandering straight to the point,

allow me to reveal an inner truth –

utterly and inalienably, incontrovertibly sound,

it’s got a lot to do with a ravishing girl called Ruth …

only I’ve forgotten it’s actual pristine be-ability

but I promise to reveal it next time round.


ï  Ida Werrett Says:
November 10th, 2007 at 1:40 am

Now that you’ve meandered strait to the point of…. Ruth
I can’t wait to hear the story next time around.

ï  oxygon Says:
November 10th, 2007 at 9:52 am

I love Great Grouse Scotch whiskey! Beside being relatively smooth and affordable, it makes you very drunk when you want to get drunk! It’s 6:35 a.m. where I am, and I hope I haven’t disturbed my neighborhors with laughter!

I really like the poem, it is clever and sophisticated, satirical, definitely funny, and not without a dash of wisdom, and those familiar DeWallian insights that have a way of sneaking up on you, and then with a sudden—booo! This poem has a lot for the reader to chew on, and to drink to!—interesting, playful words, effective rhyme, well, just an all around, easy, metrical flow.

Ruth must be quite some lady, to have sent you over the cliff in this way! My hat’s off to her, that is, if she’s not some kind of quantum “figmentation” of the mind!

ï  yann rolland Says:
November 10th, 2007 at 1:36 pm

hello Dewaal and thank you for your great poem, for me i like funny poems and i must confess that Shel Silvertstein is the”poet” who made me write again three years ago…. I had been so delusionned with serious poetry when i was young because this poetry was hiding me real life….So i quitted poetry for 25 years to discover the world….Now i can write again and don’t want consider myself seriously anymore….I rather agree with art when he say there is all kind of poetry for all kind of people….At last i confess you that i do what i can with my intelligence…..Like us all… with all my respect Yannn



23 April 2009 0.9

The right steps to take


The mosquitoes are made of wire,

elastic and thin sheets of plastic,

whereas the cows consist of

canned ham and tins

of corned beef.


Cars stand in the parking lot,

sweating and tossing their heads.

Their saddle bags are filled with empty cans

of coke, used tissues and half empty packs of cigarettes.


The politicians are beautiful shirts,

expensive dresses and stylish shoes,

the right kind of bling

and learned-looking glasses;

inside their clothes are nothing.


Dogs form secret societies,

debate for days on end

on how to keep humankind

from reeling loquaciously

over the carbon cliff,

how to keep them stepping ahead,

help them avoid their urges

to exterminate their kind –

how to step ahead safely

albeit mostly in the pooh.



20 July 2010 Sat 2.9

Entertaining the barbarians


Helium is a noble gas,

the captain said, picking up his tea cup,

but it can be a bastard

as nobility sometimes are.


This ship is held aloft

by one million cubic metres of the stuff,

he continued, waving his hand upward.

This Zeppelin … a passenger, a banker,

primly corrected.

Theoretically yes, sir, the captain acknowledged.

But this ship is technologically

light years ahead of those that …

crashed … the banker added firmly.


The captain’s moustache twitched in annoyance,

but he hid it behind his teacup.

We will be landing in Rover City soon,

the captain announced with a reconstituted smile.

You can just see the ice-cap of the north pole

creeping over the horizon,

and that small green patch down there

is the city – fifteen point five

square kilometres of benign earth environment.


They started their stately descent,

while the captain manfully

overcame his revulsion

to the raw-smelling banker brute from earth,

and pointed out to him

where the last Rover

was still standing far below

in the sticky red-brown sand.


Robin Hawkins 20 July

Again a wonderfully enigmatic piece of work. This is just superb. Your “characters” are exquisitely crafted.



29 July 2011 Sat 3.4

There used to be a gentleman


The gentleman

is incarcerated in his clothes.

His vocabulary

restricts him to exclusively polite themes.


Die meneer

is ingekerker in sy klere.

Sy woordeskat

is beperk tot eksklusief beleefde terme.


The gentleman’s

pronunciation and enunciation

hold him within the confines

of the social circles

of his peers.


Die meneer

se uitspraak van woorde

beperk hom binne

die sosiale kringe

van sy portuurs.


He is held in thrall

by the conventions of his class,

the bonds of marriage

he is bound to;

he is expected to obey

the conditions of his contract,

the rules and regulations

of his financial institution.


Hy is vasgevang

deur die konvensies van sy klas,

die bande van die huwelik

hou hom op sy plek;

daar word van hom verwag

om die voorwaardes

van sy kontrak na te kom,

asook die reëls en regulasies

van sy finansiële instelling.


The gentleman is a figment

of the imaginations,

something of the past.

In these times

we are completely free

and unfettered,

aren’t we?


Die meneer bestaan net in teorie,

iets van die verlede.

Deesdae is ons volkome vry

en ongebonde,

is ons nie?



30 September 2011 Sat

The startled solipsist


Doctor Childs

was regarded as one of the most brilliant,

if not the most brilliant

thinkers of his time,

by himself

and some other people,

including his daughter and his gardener.


It is self-evident,

he explained to his colleague,

Doctor Margaret Mills,

that because I am stating

that everything in existence,

physical as well as non-physical

are extensions of my mind –

everything indeed

emanates from my mind:

this building, the continent,

earth, the solar system, the universe,

including your cigarette –

owe their existence

to the activity

of my mind.

This isn’t arrogance,

it is simply true.


Doctor Mills blew a thin stream

of smoke past Doctor Childs’ left ear.

Your argument is flawless,

she admitted.

Doctor Childs nodded sagely.

Except for one point,

Doctor Mills continued,

you have identified the wrong source;

it is my mind from which you

and everything else are born.


Die solipsis word onthuts


Doktor Potgieter

word beskou as een van die mees briljante,

indien nie die briljantste,

denkers van sy tyd –

deur homself

en ‘n paar ander,

insluitende sy dogter en tuinier.


Dit is klaarblyklik,

verduidelik hy aan sy kollega,

doktor Margaret Mills,

dat omdat ek dit stel

dat alles wat bestaan,

fisies sowel as nie-fisies,

maaksels is van my denke –

alles in der daad

ontstaan uit my gemoed:

hierdie gebou, die vasteland,

die aarde, die sonnestelsel, die heelal,

insluitende jou sigaret –

alles het hulle bestaan te danke

aan die bedrywigheid

van my denke;

dis nie arrogansie nie,

bloot die waarheid.


Doktor Mills blaas ‘n strepie

rook verby doktor Potgieter se linkeroor.

Jou argument is foutloos,

erken sy.

Doktor Potgieter gee ‘n wyse kopknik.

Behawe vir een puntjie,

gaan doktor Mills voort –

jy het die verkeerde bron geïdentifiseer:

dit is my gemoed waaruit jy

en alles anders gebore is.



2 Jan 2012 Sat 3.1

The apotheosis of the pumpkin


The high-ranking pumpkin

had a high forehead,

a sign of intelligence.

He looked down upon beetroot,

who bled too easily

when affronted,

he opined.


Carrots he could stand;

they were generally straight

and did not interfere

with one’s far-flung

areas of interest.


The pumpkin liked compost,

of course, it provided food for thought;

the rotting remains of the past

was exactly to his taste.


He drank a lot, water

with traces of substances dissolved,

but water essentially.


The pumpkin stretched out

luxuriously in the sun;

life was good,

he was ripe

for a higher existence.



Gister is ‘n mite


Professor Blandon se dink

is baie rats

aangesien dit nie geketting word

deur irriterende beperkinge nie –

goed soos bepaalde  voorskrifte

en algemeen aanvaarde beginsels,

waarskynlik weens die puik Chardonnay

wat hy en sy twee kollegas analiseer en waardeer,

nadat die baie verdienstelike Merlot opgeraak het.


Die professor steek sy geleerde voorvinger uit

na sy vriend en kollega,

professor Meintjies (Ontologie),

maar steek gelukkig nie sy oog raak nie.


Jy dink tyd is tyd,  nè Jannie?

Sy oë is gevul met ‘n vreeslike kennis.

Ja man, antwoord professor Meintjies,

natuurlik is tyd is tyd vir nog Merlot

en hy hou sy glas uit.


Nou wat dink jy’s tyd?

vra die derde kollega,

professor Oliphant (Etiek).


Hy is ‘n imposante figuur

met sy stadige, waardige bewegings

en oë wat star staar

na ‘n innerlike wêreld.


Professor Blandon beduie bedrewe met sy glas

en mors ‘n bietjie wyn.

Professor Meintjies

druk ‘n vinger in die klein rooi poeletjie

en lek dit af.


Tyd? hervat Blandon

amper onkant gevang, die onderwerp is tyd,

hulle is besig om tyd te bespreek.

Tyd, sê hy, en vat ‘n fynproewersteug

van sy Merlot, wat die inhoud

van sy glas bra skielik laat krimp.


Tyd is maar net hier, verduidelik hy:

Just us chickens.

Hy kan nie help

om lekker te lag vir die briljante stukkie humor nie.


Dis net hier, al die buitenis … residu … al die res.

is net hier, gekompli … gekompak … saamgepers in hierdie sekonde.

Daars’ie ‘n gister nie, jy sien, dis alles nou.


Sy voorvinger en duim

wys ‘n klein oop plekkie

wat die sekonde simboliseer.

Professor Meintjies kyk swaarmoedig na die oop plekkie.

Dis blerrie klein, brom hy.

Professor vat nog ‘n versoberende sluk van sy Merlot.

It’s all got …

It’s all you got old Jannie.