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Chapter 4 Zimbabwe Good Day Striking: The Key of Life, Birds of God, Lord of Divine Words and Baboon Games (The Riddle of the Master of Sunshine In The City of Roses)

Posted in Poetry E Train, Poetry Train with tags , on July 4, 2016 by johnewordslinger

 Frank and Frances Carpenter Collection black and white photographs of AfricaZimbabwe/ The_Great_Zimbabwe,_ancient_ruins_LCCN89714067.jpg ‎

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Good Day Striking: The Key of Life, Birds of God,

Lord of Divine Words and Baboon Games,

(The Riddle of the Master of Sunshine In The City of Roses)


July 4th 2016

Red heard hissing, but this sound was accompanied by another kind of hissing, or more hissing other then from steam of the train. This train Red and Scratch unboarded was painted blue, grey and brown, the Rhodesian Railways colours. The train was massive with sheer brute strength and size. The train had flags on it, something Red has not seen since being in the south of the United States, but this flag was not a Confederate flag it was a Union Jack Flag, a Union flag that represents respect for individuality within a closely knit community, so this was something Red hoped to see. The land was on a ridge, and the hill was covered with serpents, and Red could not believe his ears or eyes. There were so many pythons. Black smoke, a black train, black snakes and a blackish foggy sky. Red knew too, it was the vibrations of the train that awoke the pythons. He recalled snakes were called a train, and a train a snake, a long black snake. Red watched the train swing into the turn leaving instead of lurching outward like the string on a bow.

Red drew a breath and thought, Land of Riddle, he sensed the place of was of slaughter, a place of suffering and rejection. Red remembered this was koBulawayo, Bulawayo, in the Zimbabwe Kingdom from reading a map.

The surrounding landscape was screaming with telltale symbolism. Red could smell water too in the air, from a lake or river. Red seen far away, people walking single file, and Red felt alone with strangers, so Red sat down, he began to have a sad feeling come over him, a feeling of Danger, and he thought of so many things. Was this the place of terror for black men to be examined and shipped out to be a slave? Along with so many other dark things. Was these stone walls of this enormous place not a house but a place for human corralling? The land rock was red, and this place was no joke, Red thought, and these walls were constructed without mortar. This place felt out of bounds, or was he out of bounds. Red imagined the policing that must have happened. The horrors and &c, and no one actually knows Red remembered from studies, if this was in fact, the place of the Queen of Sheba, in the Great Zimbabwe Kingdom… Red then thought, This place was behind the times if it was not a slavery hub, and all it needed was a railroad. So many years apart, Red thought. Red got up, and ran to and up the stone stairs, to get inside, the stairs had other climbers too, geckos. Scratch sniffed at them, and moved onward and upward.

He thought of a song as he walked, and that a song needed to sound so good to change the world, and singers. Red wanting to hear songs sung in this day, now. Music of the lands. A chorus. Prehistoric wasn’t even a good term for this place. This place was of Godly proportions. The doorways or corridors in this house or houses were small and narrow compared to today. People ignored Red like he was a ghost, or they feared Scratch. This place was just amazing to Red. Biblical. Then it got comical. Was this Ospir? Red asked himself. Monkeys then appeared, looking at Red and Scratch. Where was the tribe of this fortress? Red thought. Were they all dead, or did they to flee with time? These people were different, and Red felt something. These people he is seeing are leaving. There must have been more people, have they all have moved away?

Red heard thunder, but it sounded like drumming. Scratch then noticed an Eagle, a Bateleur Eagle rolling through the sky. Red seen a man, and he was making coffee. Red introduced himself, and the man looked up at Red, then Scratch and at the Eagle, and said, “Will be victorious in battle if the Eagle flies over the enemy!”

He looked sad, and Red replied, Who is the enemy?

“Many.” replied the man, looking at an Elephant corpse laid out in the field and said, “It’s tough to argue with a corpse, and they are everywhere. I ‘am a foreman, and excellent at keeping things on track.” He then pointed north and said, “The violent ivory path. Ivory chopsticks for salt, sugar, and arms. No more, slaves, the Tovakare.” The man pointed to the Bateleur Eagle and said, “The Shiri ya Mwari bird is the alpha and the omega. They are leaving too, and peace will not return until they do return here.”

What does Shiri ya Mwari mean? Red asked.

“The bird of God links to heaven.” The man replied. “It is up there beating its wings, and it sings, Sjweee, Sjweee, and that is not good.”

There are more, look, said Red pointing to where they where.

“If they land on the walls, and spread their wings at sunset, the world will end!” The man proclaimed.

An Bateleur Eagle flew to the ground so they could get a close look. The bird had an orange pinkish beak marked to its eyes. A color Red has seen on buzzards in Tennessee. This Eagle was beautiful, its blue back wings were impressive, and so was its silver feathers, and Red thought of the silver back Gorilla.

“They know the dzimba dza mabwe and means house of stone.” said the man, and he pointed at a section of the wall, “The great enclosure is mumbahuru, means the house of the great woman.”

So who is this great woman? Red asked.

He did not reply. The man went to chopping wood to make coffee. He then stopped and asked Red if he was a gariempero, a gold seeker.

Red replied, No, a wisdom seeker. Well let me say this along the lines of wisdom from Chief Isapo Muxika of the Blackfoot tribe, Land is more valuable then money, and the land, waters do not belong to us, they belong to the Great Spirit.

“Nothing but pain and tragedy to those that read secrets of the gods themselves and all that is hidden in the stars.” the man replied.

Red laughed, maybe so but to me money and gold do the same thing, and Red laughed again. I ‘am enchanted by this place. Seems like I have lived or have been here before, a feeling similar to Déjà vu.

“Which is a characteristic of healthy people and psychological phenomena.” The man replied.

Yes, Red replied and thought of Andy.

“Thoth the Scribe, wrote the story of our reality then placed it into grids for us to experience and learn through the alchemy of time and consciousness.” said the man.

So Baboons know how to tell time? Red asked.

The man laughed and got two cups for the coffee. “That maybe so. We find them the Nyani to be evil.”

Speak of the, said Red but did not finish the cliche phrase. A lone grown Baboon came up to them, and he stopped in front of Red and made a large X in the dirt in front of him. The man looked at Red and said, “That means above and below. He is telling you that Thoth taught writing to mankind.”

Red was impressed by this and moved forward, and squatted down to converse with this beautiful Baboon.

The man threw little bag in front of Red and said, “There are dice in there, see if he likes to play dice.”

Okay, I am feeling something here, I ‘am feeling that he feels left out, somehow, said Red. Red opened the bag, and rolled the dice, and it was a two and a three. The Baboon smiled it seemed and picked them up, sniffed them and chattered. He then placed them in his mouth and spit them out, and they were of a two and three. Red laughed, and looked back at Scratch. Scratch was being lazy and lying down. There seemed to be no conflict, Red thought.

“He maybe, and such be so, as I have said, True, without falsehood, certain and most true, that which is above is the same as that which is below, and that which is below is the same as that which is above, for the performance of miracles of the One Thing. The man spoke, and something sunk into Red, but remained silent.

The Baboon began to draw pictures in the dirt.

“Medu neter,” said the man smiling, “They are words of the gods.”

Red asked the man his name. “Cosmu,” replied the man. Red turned around to look at him, and he was no longer there. Red stood there looking about, and asked the Baboon while looking for the man, Why is sense called common when it is so rare? It was silent so Red turned around and the Baboon too was no longer there. Red looked at the Baboons symbol and he thought of Chinese writing but it wasn’t. Red then thought of the royal libraries that were in Alexandria. Red then got a bit nervous, and looked for the Eagles and they too were gone. Red sat down, and thought, Capturing human emotion is so difficult, and the more difficult humans act makes them emotionless, or heart blocking. We associate words and ideas with emotions and memories and often think of the future. Red laughed and thought, Don’t look for any Gorilla Shakespeare to come around, but then again, this Baboon just drew

some kind of petroglyph that looked like the Bateleur Eagle. The dice were rolled too, and there were each of one. Did the Baboon roll this or was it a message, signaling mankind was of treachery and betrayal? Red then remembered so it is above so it is below. Red asked Scratch where the Baboon went and Scratch let out a roar. Ah Red said, and awoke. He laid there laughing a bit, and remembered one worked on a railroad in South Africa. There is a lot to learn here, so Red got out of bed, and it was to early to meet the team, so he decided to study.

Andy was sleeping in his roomette and in his dream he heard singing, a chorus, and a cling and a clang, sounds he knows well, sounds of hammers and spades bang. Andy realized something was mirroring, and there was thunder. The place he came to had no entrances, no windows, the birds flew above them and the wind moved through the place. It was like an outdoors church because of the alter he noticed. Andy heard a man talking, “The only way to pray before battle is for its failure. To pray any other way isn’t a prayer at all, but a petition for murder.” The man walked from behind some trees with a black boy riding piggy back.

The trees were beautiful and big but not like the Bay-Tree the Laurel of North America and the south of Europe but the Msasa trees of Africa and they were retina taking, caused by their red leaves. Andy remembered the bay tree wreath, the symbolical crown of Poets and warriors. The man spoke again, “We are making a Kraal, a traditional African village of huts, typically enclosed by a fence.” The person he was talking to was the boy on his back, and the man seen Andy. Andy introduced himself, and the man said, “I ‘am Arthur Shearly Cripps, the Shona call me Baba Mpandi, or ‘the man who walks like thunder.’ Also they call me ‘Francis of Assisi of the African countryside, Chapepa he who cares for people.”

Andy felt this person, and thought about the thunder, and looked around a bit and seen there were no clouds. “So you are a man of God?” Andy asked.

“Yes and a Poet.” said Arthur Shearly Cripps. “You are a Mufambi, the Wanderer Poet from America, and here in Rhodesia they are going to look at you like you are not like them, and they will, and you will have to prove different. You and your friends.”

Andy laughs and says, “This is grand, a chance of a life time.” Andy then thought, “I ‘am human, but I ‘am not, we are one blood.”

Arthur Shearly Cripps crouched down, and let the boy off of his back and laughed, “Andy doesn’t this give you the sense of having been here before, of having come back to this country?”

‘Oh my God.’ Andy thought. ‘This was the City of Roses, where the Master of Sunshine goes.’ “Yes,” Andy replied. “Man do I, a day ja ja like vu” Andy almost broke time code because he wanted to tell Cripps about the Poet Tammy Jo Ricci and her poem, “Farewell; To The Weeping Rose.” so Andy just smiled and lived in the moment.

“So your path was immune from crocodiles?” Cripps asked. “Andy this is Raphah and he is good child.” Cripps pulled out calabash pipe. “Transvaal tobacco is my favorite. Did you come by the morning train? The slow down-train I call it. You look damp.”

Andy thought for a moment and replied “Yes, they Crocs ate all the woodpecker pie I brought.” Andy laughed, and replied to Cripps second question. “Yes, and it was a pleasant ride.”

“I was just teaching Rapha how one could use watery roots like crayons,” said Cripps, “Woodpecker pie, that’s funny.”

Raphah was occupied by drawing and coloring.

“Andy are you here too about the theory of Ophir, and Solomon’s gold?” Cripps asked and talked more. “I ask them all, and the script; where is it? And the graves; where are they? If they were Semites, why didn’t they write? If they were Semites, why didn’t they bury?”

Andy replies, “Many folks feel confused about the world. They would like to believe in miracles, and to answer your question, maybe, but not the gold. I already know where Jesse James gold is!” and Andy laughed.

Cripps looks at Andy with a curious expression, and then says, “I have heard of the Jesse James. Its been days of of All Hallows and All Souls here so you must demonstrate one’s principle of barring out the color-bar. Miracles are alive and well, with grace. We are in Danger now, she is here. And her fire seems so inevitable, why not warn about her prospective fuel? That perfect love casteth out fear, but what has racialism to do with such a perfect love as will banish the fear of God?”

Andy replied with a question, “Did Danger start the nightmare? Seems to me she is the master of ignorance. Maybe she’s Poetry evil twin?”

Cripps eyes got big with insight and replied, “She started a nightmare. I wish we could help you to better dreams. I’d like to see what you see now. Lets go for a walk. I want to show you some beautiful things, and introduce you to some great people.”

Raphah quickly gathered up his art and natural root crayons.

They all three walked and beyond a few railway sheds Cripps shown Andy some bushes of wild cherry-blossom, flaunting a true white under the sky’s true blue. Spring colors dressed the woodland behind them, red and bronze, the two famous colors of Faeryland. Behind that, again, the view was spread out widely diverse, hills standing up very delicately. Near foreground some people were driving their flock between the white-blossomed bushes.

“This is the wilder country of the central tableland,” said Cripps. “Lets take a break here.”

Cripps began to chant in a chorus tone. He pulled out from his back pocket a copy of Theocritus, he sat down, and spoke “They all call thee a gipsy, gracious Africa, lean and sunburnt, tis only I that call thee honey-pale. Yea, and the violet is swart, and swart the lettered hyacinth, but yet these flowers are chosen the first in garlands. Ah, gracious Africa, thy feet are fashioned like carven ivory, thy voice is drowsy sweet, and thy ways, I cannot tell of them.”

A train engine whistled, stopping at the nearby station. Cripps reached for his wallet, and brought out a mini Oxford anthology. He turned over the pages and began to read rather sadly, Elizabeth Barret Brownings’ poem “The Great God Pan – A Musical Instrument”

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river.

A man came to them from the train, and Andy was in deep thought.

Cripps smiled, stood up, and spoke, “Andy this is Johannes, my own right hand at home. I solemnly entrusted the strangers and their steeds to his keeping. Johannes you look like you had really gone without blankets or food?”

“You are right Arthur, but I made it back home,” said Johannes, and he looked at Andy, and Cripps introduced each other.

Andy was intrigued and asked, “So this theory of Ophir, remains from what we know from the Old Testament, can we talk about that? You also seem to be, but I have not seen of yet, to be friends of animals.”

Cripps laughed and said, “Follow your intuition for it has brought you here.”

Andy smiled and thought about his grandfather, and that humans are more dangerous then wild animals. “I think Moses and Solomon were Masters of diversion as well, the gold is spiritual wisdom, and the arc of the covenant was the goose, or goose egg putting everyone into a chase for it.”

Cripps smiled and said, “I love the way you think. So you know where the gold is of the Jesse James?”

Andy laughed and replied, “Yes, but that is material gold, not spiritual, and not important.”

“Fascinating.” Cripps replied.

Andy got a bit nervous, thinking, “Is she, the muse of Poetry, claiming he for her only, and bade him never have to do with mortal woman ? And what if Danger was Poetries’ sister?” Andy shook off the questions for awhile, but smiled, smiled to be chosen, “But how many others, and beyond death, were they with her? Although, although.

Drayton, a friend of Cripps came too, and sat down and said, “It’s good to see you all again, and I have a new poem.”

‘I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful a faery’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.’


‘I set her on my pacing steed,

And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she lean,

and sing A faery’s song.


‘She found me roots of relish sweet,

And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange

she said I love thee true.’


‘She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept, and sighed full sore,

And there I shut her wild,

sad eyes with kisses four.


‘And there she lulled me asleep,

And there I dream’d Ah woe betide!

The latest dream I ever dream’d

On the cold hill’s side.’


‘I saw pale kings and princes, too;

Pale warriors death-pale were they all.

They cried, “La Belle Dame sans Merci”

hath thee in thrall.


‘I saw their starved lips in the gloom

With horrid warning gaped wide,

And I awoke and found me here

On the cold hill’s side.’

Andy was tripping, thinking, The Sorceress.” Andy then looked at the ground, and ants were everywhere.

Cripps laughed and said, “Those are Matabele ants of the veld.”

‘Ah’ Andy thought, ‘Ants like the whiteman, and was this a sign, and analogy from the Umlimo Prophecies he has read about?’

A white man came from behind them on foot and he had a walking stick, but a horse followed him loaded with bags, and he was the Elephant hunter Frederick Courteney Selous aka The Mighty Nimrod.

“Excuse me,” He said and introduced himself. He asked for some paper, because he was writing his novel ‘Sunshine and Storm in Rhodesia.’

They are were back offish, because he had a similar Indian Jones slash Ramboish feel to him, and they all knew white mans trickery. Cripps stood up and said, “Have a seat. Johannes please go to our kraal and bring us back things to write with, paper, pencils, ink and feathers, furthermore more roots for Raphah. Oh tea, bring us plenty of tea, please.”

“Thank you,” said Frederick C. Selous smiling because he loved tea, “I heard you all reciting poetry, so I was like yes, here we have folks I can relate to. My mother is a Poet. Ann Holgate Sherborn.” Frederick C. Selous looked at Andy and said, “My mother wrote a poem ‘The Prophetic Dream’ and for some reason, you have brought it back to my memory. The poem is about love coming from over the blue sea, for poetry.”

Andy gave Selous and catchy look and smiled, furthermore Andy thought, ‘Selous did not know Andy, why?’

Selous said, “I have an imagination strongly fueled by African exploration and hunting literature, Dr. David Livingstone and William Charles Baldwin. We are heros Andy, fictional character or not.”

Andy contemplated time and memory, and smiled in his mind. Honesty.

Johannes was on the way to get supplies, tea, and munchies. He was stopped by Nehanda Charwe Nyakasikana a svikiro-spirit medium of the Zezuru Shona people, and she looked deeply into his eyes, and Johannes looked shocked and Nehanda said, “Don’t be afraid.” She wore a robe like garment with a skirt, her head was shaved, and she wore ankle bracelets. She walked away saying, “Seize the gun and liberate yourselves.” Johannes did not know what to think, but asked to himself, ‘How can we save our skins?’

Meanwhile back at the resting place Andy was thinking that Selous would kill Scratch if he was here. Andy thought about Red and tossed and turned in his bed, talking in his sleep, “Thou shall not kill.” This deepened the dream, and they wonder why animals seem to have a bad temper.

Andy looked at the horse and wondered what was in the bags? He noticed the horses hooves, like the horse had walked through ashes. Andy thought about the British empire and what it is and the Poet William Langlands’ dream, and Jack Cades’ rebellion, furthermore the anonymous Pearl-Poet?

Cripps caught Andy thinking into a distant realm. Eagles could be heard but not seen, and the focus became on the boy Raphah because he sat aside his art and looked at Andy and said, “Let me shake you like a train, Touch your nose, Touch your mouth, Touch your eyes, Touch your ears, Touch your paper and root, And let me hear that whistle about & smile.”

Andy smiled and said, “Oh I love that, great poem, so you know what goes on in between our ears don’t you.” Andy applauded the boy, and everyone fell into suit and applauded Raphah. Raphah smiled and whistled like a train. Andy looked at them and said, “Dowel (“Do-Well”), Dobet (“Do-Better”), and Dobest (“Do-Best”) that’s how I came to be here, Poetry has called me. The intense quest and intention of Poetic will. Andy then thought back in his time, everyone does not get to read or desire Poetry because they are glued to a television screen or a smart phone, and video games in all forms, we need to create films about Poets, and that is the truth of the matter.

Frederick Courteney Selous aka The Mighty Nimrod looked at Andy and asked, “Where is your Poetic license?”

Andy laughed and replied, “In my heart, but the thing is where did you get yours from, a cracker jack box?” This was about to fire up a deadly sin in The Mighty Nimrod, and Andy. “Hey, love, where’s the love? Your mother loved poetry without murder. I ‘am just using my inwit here are you with me?”

The Eagles could be heard again, and they all looked up, and the moon was in the days’ sky, and this resemble a finger to Andy poking us alive. Humility and Grace came over them along with an eclipse.

Andy started to cry inside, because if Poetry was claiming Andy for hers, then he must face the fact, that a true love on earth was not happening unless he abandoned Poetry and Red altogether, and that was not happening. Andy knew his love was on the other side of the globe, like the song from Led Zeppelin ‘The Rover.’

“Never under estimate the Poets forces, once they unite in full!” said Andy “You see everyone, I ‘am welding and grinding, time within time, within in dream time, within my inwit life time. The only reason why Poetry is not popular is because know this, we’d mentally kick some tail bone.”

The Mighty Nimrod was silent but thought, ‘Andy was a human being, with a spiritual nature superadded which enabled the unseen Deity-Poetry that pervades space to commune with Andy furthermore communicate the wishes or commands of the invisible spirit to the up and coming Poets.’

Raphah created art, a tower, and said, “Look, there is no curfew for Poetry.”

Everyone laughed except The Mighty Nimrod, he scoffed laughed and spoke, “The world Andy will turn your Poetry Train turn upside-down, and your character will became a symbol for a movement which the world regard as an evil.”

Poetry th’Diety then spoke to Andy, “Be gentle on th’wind, recall when I spoke to you before, be patient.”

Cripps looked at Andy, and they knew that The Mighty Nimrod was a master bad Wolf who robs the world of spiritual food, but they had compassion for him, and they were ready to show the blade of forgiveness.

A train could be heard in the distance, was it a train, a cattle stampede, or was it a Zulu tribe on a pathe to war?

Raphah looked at The Mighty Nimrod and cried and in his whimper he spoke, “You are killing us, do not kill.”

The Mighty Nimrod replied, “Well, aren’t you jolly, ol boy, just jolly.”

Raphah replied, “We don’t care about your Cat, the Queen, we are her nightmare in this dream.”

At this time Johannes returned with supplies and the artist Gwelo Goodman, ‘th’Master of Sunshine.’ Gwelo Goodman unpacked his art tools and spoke, “Look here, I was a clerk for the Railroad, and my father British Railways worker and I want to paint a picture for you.”

Gwelo Goodman moved quickly and swiftly and created a masterpiece like none before. It was a storm, and lightning and thunder storm. It was magical plunging them again and again into the unknown, one brave stroke of paint followed by another.

Cripps and Andy knew Danger was here, unseen, but she could be felt, and the days time went by into the night with discussions of Poetry.

Cripps spoke to Andy, “You can sleep here for the night under the many eyes of the heavens. You just keep to your fire.”

From behind Nimrod came Nehanda Charwe Nyakasikana, the svikiro-spirit medium of the Zezuru Shona people and reached for his rifle, and Andy awoke.

‘Sing Rad’ Poetry Train Africa by Boet Fritz & music by Ticha Muzavazi.


aye, ay-

ya ya way

em em, em em way

Love today

We’re only miles away,

and this Poetry Train Africa

Here we go, ya ya

this Poetry Train Africa

Poem offspring,

Poet refugees

Poem liberties,

Poet bold and free


aye, ay-

ya ya way

and this Poetry Train Africa

Love today

We’re only miles away,

and this Poetry Train Africa

Here we go, ya ya

this Poetry Train Africa


Boet was in correspondence with Ticha Muzavazi who is a Poet, Author and Teacher for the Blind, to make a book trailer for Poetry Train Africa with his MaJairos PaJairos melody, and all was good. Red was silent reading things online when Andy came to join them.

Beautiful melody and words, said Red.

“It was, play it again for me Boet.” said Andy waking up, and poured himself some coffee.

A woman and a man walked by to have a seat in the dining car, and they all heard what they we talking about as they came in.

“You have obviously not lived in Africa… I was born in Rhodesia, a thriving and beautiful nation called Eden and the bread basket of the world. It had such robust agriculture and an amazing economy. Then It became Zimbabwe, over 300% inflation, that is 300%. Starvation abounds, Aids is rampant. Blacks believe if you rape a baby or virgin, it will cure you- Charlize Theron did an ad about it and the Thugament banned it. Cities crumble, whites hunted and kicked off their land, shot for their color. My god father was one. No food, mines taken over by Thugabwe airline, newspapers, farms, elections, businesses, everything that could profit him and his elite thugs. He does not care about black lives, black nations, black anything other than his black thug culture screaming about slavery. He has taken a beautiful nation, this nation and raped her of all her bounty. He has left the nation barren and starving. I could go on and on across the continent, example after example. Obama said, Zimbabwe was a shining example and he wanted America to be like her- well he has it, shoot the officers, kill and blame whitey for all your woes, wide spread government corruption, elite group of cronies getting wealthy. Look at America since he took over, we sat behind black people at an event last night, they were the only ones I could see that did not sing the national anthem. My advice if you think Africa is so great and your Mother land, Come here and see life under black dictator rule, Come! Live in a slum made out of tin scraps, with no running water and toilet paper that takes a wheelbarrow of printed money to purchase. My best friend is black just for your information is living this hell. Wake up and learn beyond your hate for white people. I raised my children colorblind. My son was choked for it, my sister had her nose broken by blacks for coming from Africa, my husband was treated horridly from the moment his black boss found out I was from Africa, we have lost black friends over and over because of it. Tell me who are the racists? I hate ignorance. Most black slaves brought to America over 200 years ago! They were sold by other blacks who had conquered their tribes! What happened to them here was horrible, but it is not an excuse for people to use as a crutch for their hatred of white people 200 years later! Most would be found not to even be ancestors of slaves.” The lady yelled out, “HATE IS TAUGHT” and it starts in the home and hearts of parents too busy being jealous of others to do their job and earn their own way. We don’t drive Cadillac’s, my daughter is paying for her med school despite being and honor student by cleaning peoples’ houses. That pesky affirmative action-you know where kids get in just because of their skin color not because they earned it by working hard, she is not going to Harvard on tax dollars that is for sure, just another elite school Obama is sending his darlings to, to keep from the riff raff out here in real America. Go see reality before sounding off so ignorantly on Africa and America and what has happened there and here because of class and color warfare.

The man this lady was with replied, “Yes, it is bigotry to target white people, same as targeting people because they are of a particular race or religion or gender or orientation. Yes, it’s wrong for govt officials, cops or anyone else to target based on those things too, it is wrong to target govt employees too, be they agents trying to collect grazing fees, or wildlife refuge care takers or cops trying to do their jobs. They are all govt employees, some federal, some local, which means they are working for us, and they are us, as in We, the People. An attack on one is an attack on all of us, whether it’s these shootings or those unjustified shootings by cops. It is not one or the other, it’s both.

The train conductor came in and spoke to them, “They say in the U.S.A. the lethal injection is not humane, go figure, remember when they buried people up to our necks and stoned them to death, please. I say hang em high. I understand the grief you all feel, but please keep the volume and tempers down please. I ask that from you both.”

Andy looked at Red, and tele-thought… “Thank God we are friends, living examples, where we forget one not, out of friendship, respect and love, furthermore Poetry.

“So where are we today in wisdom Poets?” Andy asked.

Chenjerai Hove, Red replied, Shall we say if you want to know about the history of a country, do not go to the history books, go to the Poetry & Fiction. It has clues and is the substance and heartbeat of a people’s life, here, now, and in the past. Not just politics but about love and death. Messages of hope.

“Thanks, place the wisdom Red, while I read and listen to Charlize Theron,” said Andy.

10/4, Red answered and said, Chenjerai Hove, has died last year in Norway at the age of 59. You are going to love his wisdom.

“Already, in studying Chenjerai Hove speeches, comments make me sick,” said Andy. “We are already fighting megalomania and racism. We are not wisdom armed to fight this, but it comes to me any way, one of the 10 commandments, and wisdom centuries ago, not taken seriously. We or I’ll have to just soak this in.”

Post it anyway Andy, leave the deciphering to the passengers. Red proclaimed.

“Okay,” Andy replied, “I have phone calls to make after that. Then we will study Poet Chenjerai Hove.” Andy was tired, dream beaten, need to return he thought, ‘Maybe a nap later.’

Andy recalled a dream from last night, bits and pieces, and he thought, ‘If the modern day Queen of Poetry knows the wisdom of roses, and so much more, why was she so reluctant to move forward with her beautiful Poetry, as she is, and allowing Andy & Red and Poet John E. WordSlinger to bring her divine Poetry to this beautiful planet, beautiful Poetry for sure Andy thought as he looked out the window of the train. I must be patient with this Poetry of hers, in bloom time, not mans’ time, because she hates mans’ time. She loves water, for sure, but unlike roses, she does not crave the sun, but she asks, “Can you hear the sunshine?” Andy could, can…

Red knew what and who Andy was thinking, and said, Play some Beethoven. Tell her to eat bananas, they will make her feel better.

“Red if something happens, it will do me in.” said Andy. “She thinks I ‘am selfish Red, not knowing in full, what we go through so far away, and I know she’s going though way more then we are, Red.”

She knows you care Andy, Red proclaimed. We have work to do. Chenjerai Hove says, Poetry is for everyone. Each of us are unique, once we discover ourselves through Poetry. New voices, new styles.

“Another Poet forced to exile, I read.” says Andy.

Red replied, He is a fighting Poet which insists, through both content and form, Poetry should be revolutionary and popular. Poetry must spring from life’s struggles and not from back-sitting imagination and fantasies, so again we hear this.

“He passed like we shall Red, with being rich in wisdom, soul and conscience.” said Andy.

Red wrote on a piece of paper and slid it to Andy, and it read, International Parliament of Writers and International Cities of Refuge Network.

Andy looked at Red and said, “Serious Poetry is not about private and personal indulgence or about personal lamentations, but about ‘the pain and pleasure of people in struggle’ as they traverse different epochs in history. For sure also Red but personal lamentations or poems, or notes are used against sincere Poets.”

What are you seeing Andy? Red asked.

“They call them scorpions here in Africa, as we call human snakes,” Andy replied. “We never meant to drop a house in the literary river. But I have to admit, It was and is grand to watch the water snakes emerge… Or scorpions. All in all boys in girls, don’t look for a rainbow when you are the rainbow.”

Andy turned over the paper and wrote. ‘We have one or a few amongst us, shhh.’

Andy then poured some more coffee and said, “The good news is Constantine Enyo is now Vice President of and you know as well as I do, he will make a great spirit to all we have done, as he told us, ‘Due to the vision of this art and our relentless dedication that astounds me and makes me proud to be a part of it. Castalia Press will soon become entirely dedicated to the Poetry Train and our vision.’

Boet laughed and says, “Hold that cup. No, I got your clown make up. Yall better get your bozo asses to my roomette, like now.”

Boet knew it was time to get them away from what society there was at the moment.

Andy poured coffee anyways, stood up, took a sip, and laughed spit it out all over the trains’ window. Andy looked at Boet and says, “You have got to be kidding me.” Andy looks at Red, and Red gave Andy that look. Andy then sat down, and said, “Hell no, none of you megalamaniacs, prejudice, gonna hem me up.” Momma blind or dead, not, none of you Un-united folk ever going to slow me, or Red down.”

Red spoke, “Down.”

Andy replied “No. We aint bringing bugs, make up, here, we are Poetry Promoters, ya hear.”

“Okay.” says Boet “I shall return with make up. It is that time.” And Boet laughs.

“No you’re not.” says Andy. “You are going to sit your ass down, and mind-fight, just like I do, we do.”

Red sat down, looked at Boet and says, Yall have to do it with out us, carry on.

“There is enough make up on this world.” says Andy…

Red, relax everyone Andy is in full blown taking out megalomania and racism mode.

“Andy, you have to stick with the game plan.” Boet proclaimed as he stood up. “Reds’ life is easy to pass off as Zimbabwean, you on the other hand will not. You life is a stake, so stick to the plan, you know, remember last night, when you decided to look like John Adams instead of Buckwheat?

Andy looks at Red and laughs, smircks and says, “ I need those circus gloves, those circus shoes too, you got them?”

“Yes.” Boet replied.

“I need them, since we are on the train, and in these circumstances,” says Andy laughing, “No man can pass as Santa Claus, with out gloves, and shoes, a circus clown has to have them, or they aint no circus clown. So we going to copyright this face art right, as me as the new John Adams of the Library of Congress, and meme stuff? Where and the train tar nations is Mathias?”

Red laughed… Ya ya get the eggs, we don’t have much time. Trademark Andy asap.

And that’s what Boet done.

“Each and every human face is different, as in each Poet.” said Andy as Boet applied Andys’ new clown make up. “Black, white, red, come on give me some blue!”

Red laughed and spoke, “I am typing away Andy at the International Circus Clowns Club, International Parliament of Writers and the International Cities of Refuge Network.”

Andy could see the alterations in the refelection on the trains window, and spoke “Red Poetry Train aint no Vegas.”

I got this Andy, hush! said Red.

Andy laughs and says, “You have to love the 20th Century BS! 18th Century too, look at me, John Adams, Copyrights are governed by the Copyright Act of 1976 contained in title 17 of the U.S. Code. The Act protects published or unpublished works that are fixed in a tangible medium of expression from which they can be perceived. The Act does not protect matters such as an idea, process, system, or discovery. Protection under the Act extends for the life of the creator of the work plus fifty years after his or her death. The exclusive right to make copies, license, and otherwise exploit a literary, musical, or artistic work, whether printed, audio, video, etc.: works granted such right by law on or after January 1, 1978, are protected. This is hilariious. What do they think we, we are slepping? One Day Red we will get to see the Queens egg collection, royal and all, ha ha ha ha. Red, trains station attenstant was a white man back there, and he stoled my coffee cup! Mathias should we call, the Zimbabwe Authorities or Poetry Trains Axel F, ha ha ha ha.”

Five minutes later the Trains Conductor and two other men walk through the train. Red and Andy both knew these two men were lawmen. Boet finished the face art for Andy, and Andy just put on his last glove as they looked at them as they walked by. The other two people, the lady and man arguing over American politics, looked more nervous then they did, so this helped.

Andy laughed and says, “I ‘am the clown as is, but I think wearing a cowboy hat is not suffice, maybe some kind of snake skin head band or something?” Andy laughs harder. He then looks at Red and says, “Mathias must be chasing women and poetry contests.” Andy laughs and says, “He did hear us when we said, good luck with dealing with ghosts.”

Red looked at Andy and says, This has become the train of hunger, lets have breakfast, and discuss Poets Charles William Dambudzo Marechera and Ignatius T. Mabasa.

“Okay, and I ‘am still reading Chenjerai Hove and Thomas Bvuma,” says Andy, “I think I will have this sugar bush breakfast special.”

Sounds good to me too, Red replied, When you order this pancake breakfast a dollar goes to Cedar Rail Camp, humanitarian project for Zimbabweans.

“Maybe we should just eat some poetry, like Charles William Dambudzo Marechera did.” said Andy. “Come eat Poetry, Masses come and rise to power.”

Red laughs, looks at Boet and says, Andy’s suffering from intellectual overflow. You see, he knows now he is part of the Zimbabwes’ underground railroad.

Andys’ clown make up was smearing below his eyes. Tears were falling as he thought in sadness, ‘Because of stupidity, a wind of non-respect blew over the planet earth. He seen a parallel between the ignored facts on Animals and Poets, a majority of people were killers by nature… The political and religious platforms spawned this, money dependency too, and true Historians and Poets seem not able to stop the downward spiral of mankind. Only the true need for Gods love can awaken the world to do better.’

They did not know what to say to Andy so Andy spoke, “I ‘am just being smokey, I ‘am okay, when this happens I write poetry I wrote in to my journals. I ‘am good. By the way, reading here something by Poet Dan Wylie, ‘We don’t study humans to gain a better understanding of animals, but we do study animals, and very effectively too, to gain a better understanding of humans. Instinct is becoming submerged,’ he says and so my instinct to cry shall not.” Andy played the song ‘Tears Of A Clown’ by Smokey Robinson.

Boet looked around before he spoke, “The reason why African nations are in disaster and lead by bad leaders and dictators is because those leaders have been set in power by the west to serve western interests that’s why almost always when there is a good African leader who lead the country to prosperity and who is not a puppet of the west he is killed, think! Now that they don’t directly colonize Africa like during the colonialism era, now the west colonizes Africa, the neo colonization because the west is rich due to all African resources that they pillaged for decades. Aids is also present in Europe and America and don’t forget that HIV has been created by Europeans in a laboratory for to reduction of the African population.”

Red replied, You’re speaking the truth and nothing but the truth for who are willing to look with a honest mind.


Boet smiled and said, “This train will become the shadow train, where people will leave Zimbabwe illegally. People jump off of trains and face death, rather then face the regime here in Zimbabwe.”

Andy looked out the window and seen cars were on roads abandoned, stalled or out of fuel.

Andy said looking, “Reading and listening to you Boet to what has happened to Zimbabwe this last decade of history reminds me of America is about to go through in a major way but in a next to higher gear. So most white people here only care about themselves?”

Boet replies, “Yes, you are thinking.”

Andy spoke, “Red I want to go and talk to the other passengers, they won’t know I ‘am white.

We are not banned like journalists, to be beaten and killed. Glad we made a fake passport right. We are inked for this”

Andy got up and asks, “So how do I look, jestorish?”

Red laughs and says, Ya Ya.

Andy opened up a bag and got handfuls of Poetry Train flyers and chapbooks to pass out to passengers on the train, furthermore paper and papermate flairs. This was online linkage too so Poets can unite online. “Boet can we go to this Queens club, where Hove and others played pool and recited poetry?” Andy asked. “These chapbooks and ebooks are made by us, paid for by us, and handed out by us.”

Boet laughed and says “You are pushing it.”

Andy replies, “We can’t have loss combined with a flair for rhyme, when we are traveling through poetry train time! Unlike others, I want to be laughed at, get me. Let those without laughter throat the first laugh, and may it be contagious, outrageous and gorgeous, and clash. Also maybe I’ll find Mathias, with hmm, with us, ha ha ha ha.”

Boet laughs and spoke, “Andy you are going to have to have more of a Afrikaans dialect, your all the way U.S.A., we can’t have that. Mathias is with the passengers, schooling up!”

“Come on Boet, I ‘am the un-identied clown who came from a UFO,” Andy proclaimed as he stood up. “It’s reading Poetry time, stanza by stanza. Reading very slowy, everyone, no racing. Read, remember everything of the poems. Being under rule should not be frightful. Also Mathias wants more protest Poetry!”

Red laughs, and says, Write Poetry too, maybe about the Africa fauna like John Eppel, and teaching ESL. The good stuff you know. Red laughs again, and says, from a UFO, nice one.

“Hear that noise, sounds like a flute.” says Andy. “Poems about looking after the earth properly.”

We don’t want to scare people Andy, says Red laughing.

“I know, people need to know Poetry is everywhere,” Andy replies.

“Should one stand up when they read?” Boet asks as he Andy got up to go to a train car of people trying to escape Zimbabwe.

“Yes there are Poets in this universe, and we must ask, is there a cave or a train to write Poetry in or on? Says Andy laughing, “Ha ha Ha ha, I ‘am a Jestor you all, for you all. Yes there are Poets in this universe, with Poems like orbs, like spinning suns, and like shadows in the sun. There are witnesses, and now you are too. Poets and Poetry are very much alive in Zimbabwe and the world is sleeping, sleeping deeply, beyond the African sleeping disease. Everywhere sleeping, it is time to wake up the world. So what we are going to do today is write Poetry too, flawed structure, and that’s okay, and it is okay for verses not knowing where the story will end. Despite discipline, or lines that are scan-less, we have a plan so join us. The word and skill of asymmetrical, no worries, do not let that bother you. Laugh at a current inability to find a rhyme, and if the poem isn’t right, leaves it be, or add a footnote to draw attention to the point. Get me? Ha ha Ha ha.”

Red laughs and says, Smoken’ train’ so many poems to read by Poet John Randal Bradburne, well, relax yall, we got this, kickn’ it in th’20th Century Poetry Train Africa Zimbabwe… While Mathias Safari is gathering the class, the Poetry Train is about to bring some folks back down to the grass… ya ya, love this, Boo!

Andy stretched out and said, “It’s so good to be in Zimbabwe, riding and writing in Africa. A dream within a triple dream.”

Red smiled and said, Okay, you all do what is planned and I’ll be right here reading’ Robin Walkers’ ‘When We Ruled’ and by PD Lawtons’ “African Agenda” furthermore reading to Poets of Zimbabwe. Induce some Poetry gentlemen. Oh ya I’ll be making videos for Poets, Awotide Oluwaseun Micheal, Pusetso Palesa, Patrick Walsh, Chummy Chuu Madulanyane, and Grant Steward, furthermore Mathias wants us to help him with his book of Poetry.

Boet spoke, “Also Walter Rodney who wrote the book “How Europe Underdeveloped Africa.” Oh yes, and “African Cities and Towns Before the European Conquest by Richard W. Hull.”

“Nice,” Andy replied, “Fill me in later. What, Mathias does, well, wait until I see him.”

Andy was dressed in fine silk and velvet, he looked blingish without bling as a Jestor in John Adams clown fashion, and spoke to the passengers who wanted to leave Zimbabwe, “I ‘am understanding why you are feeling binded up. I myself can’t stand being binded up, with an unrested spirit. I say though, we have to climb. Allow life to please us when life chooses to. You all have gifts, use them to the best of your ability, furthermore allow them to grow. Learn to trust. Walk into the sun, crawl if you have to, and the same with night. Talk on with what can be done. Bells, build bells, bells of steel, and iron. Compassion, build compassion of heart and soul against woe, penetrate against anything against aglow. Tribal up! Poetry is caught and not taught or bought, imagine that?” and Andy laughed. “Poetry maybe like prayer, and you all have been prayed for, so never give up. Think Immortality.”

Andy looked at everyone stooping in their seats, and on the floors, and spoke again to them, “I ‘am completely convinced that people against you and as you do feel in your spirit, they only engage in conversations or your life, and have zero intention of understanding or listening to you. Their whole purpose is to disprove and reject anything you say. I have no idea why you still feel such a deep need to make them understand or care. You don’t need to be understood, because you can do amazing things, and sometimes, too strange for the conservative mind. As Poet Julius Chingono would say, they be Zhin Zhan, don’t let them make you go Zhin Zhan too!”

Andy looks around and finds the Poet Africa Makakane and they be like talking, and they talk about Jumpers and Staffriders and &c, And they talk about effort and respect, and Poet Africa Makakane recites his poem Africa, Where Art Thou?

Andy talks to the jumpers, “Ever since South Africa, from Botswana and here, through Zimbabwe you see no staffriders, just jumpers. Did you know racism is suicide. Megalomania is suicide. Life is precious you all. Poetry about Zimbabwes’ nature is what we need.”

Red went to make sure things did not get out of hand from the start for Andy and Boet. As he entered the car he heard what Andy said to the passengers and spoke too, Racism is murder, and so is Megalomania.

-… …-

Chapter 1

Poetry Train Africa Chapter 1 Cape Town South Africa, The Arrival by the Sea of Darkness

Chapter 2

South Africa, Meteorite Night

Chapter 3

Botswana, Poetfeldt and Regions Beyond the Cave of Prolificity (Cave of Dreams)

ya ya the C inside the Circle John E. WordSlinger

Poetry Train Africa is the Third Book of Poetry Train Stories

Poetry Train America and Poetry Train Canada

all acknowledgments and &c &c here so join us on the journey:
a webcast


Poetry Train Africa Chapter 1 Cape Town South Africa, The Arrival by the Sea of Darkness

Posted in John E WordSlinger, Poetry, Poetry E Train, Poetry Promotion, Poetry Train with tags , , , on November 23, 2015 by johnewordslinger

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Poetry Train Africa

by John E. O’Hara aka John E. WordSlinger

Toyota Mathias Safari the Literary Body Guard of this work.

Chapter 1 (raw format plus 1 edit)

Cape Town South Africa

23rd of November 2015
The Arrival by the Sea of Darkness

The W.D. Lawrence ship and the Atlantic ocean aka the Sea of Darkness were getting acquainted very well, and were on the verge of getting acquainted with American merchant ships and British ships, furthermore maritime law and marauding outlaws aka Pirates, Pirates of Human Life aka Slave Traders. The Royal Navy were near and the W.D. Lawrence ship was in neutral waters. Animals and friends of Red and Andy were the only cargo, no cannons, no guns of any kind or ammunition.

Red, Andy and Scratch were on deck enjoying the nights astronomical show, the nights’ light was screaming destiny. They were feeling venture, success and mad love unfolding. Rats on the ship were assumed to jump ship because none were seen on the journey, and this gave them both a feeling of ‘No under-handing, and the gnawing of the evil side of human nature, but then they thought of sinking. What was worse sinking or be eaten alive, by sharks or humans, yes cannibalism crossed their minds? Scratch was a big cat, that no big rat wanted to tangle with, and taking care of a Mountain Lion in Africa, Africa known then as Guinea aka the Dark Continent was going to be a task for Red and Andy. Although Scratch was domesticated thanks to Sherbrooke.

Food from the homeland crossed their minds and stomachs.

Andy they say these waters are haunted by much Dutch, Red spoke and laughed.

Andy laughed and replied, “Along with Darwin, and the Beagle ship.”

Tropical diseases are things we need to think about Andy, when it comes to us and Scratch, said Red.

Yes, my poetry buccaneer friend, we are in the age of discovery, yes Rediscovery,” Andy replied with more laughing.

Red laughed and replied, I wonder where poetry will navigate us Andy?

The mystery of the rail trail is in the stars,” Andy replied as he sat on a barrel of drinking water on the ships deck. He then looked at sloops and schooners at sea.

Red noticed a ship on fire, and other ships around it relaying cargo, and rescuing people.

And so did the Captain, and he announced it was the ship Helen, known to carry the explorer Alfred Russel Wallace, and his specimens of species.

Andy I know most of these ships we see on the waters are slave ships, said Red.

Andy glanced down and said, “I agree, and we can’t interfere, we have time codes.” Andy had imagery moving in his thoughts, slaves chained, and being thrown over board as he has read before in the story about Dido Elizabeth Belle and the Zong massacre. Belle who was a slave, but became free and a heiress to William Murray aka Lord Mansfield.

The black man Mahommah Gardo Baquaqua was on a ship out there to Brazil to be a slave, furthermore and luckily he wrote a diary. The black woman Saartjie ‘Sarah’ Baartman aka Hottentot Venus was on her way to Britain to be in the Piccadilly Circus, and to be treated like an animal.

Red looked at all ships all around them, and the horrors on board, furthermore the choices the slaves had of death and slavery, the largest forced human migration in human history, and one tear was born in Reds’ eye for thousands and thousands in motion to slavery. Red spoke sarcastically, I was gonna make a time travel joke, but then my future self showed up and told me not to, because it’s a good one. The joke was about the worlds restore point, so I understood and kept it to myself so I can be there again when I wrote it.

Andy smiled because of Reds’ mentality, and Andy thought of Danger, Doom and Dreads sister, and she was master of the wild sea and the land, the land of the villages and rain forests of Africa. Andy sensed the terrible transformation. Human piracy. Every coast was a slave coast. Rum, gold and guns ruled over the spiritual, and to mention cocoa, sugar, and ivory. Andy spoke loudly, “Hatari!” And that meant Danger.

Red looked on at the Great ‘Middle Passage,’ the sea and thought of Olaudah Equiano aka Gustavus Vassa and the Sons of Africa, and his accomplishments, furthermore his travels throughout England, Scotland, and Ireland promoting his memoir book, “Olaudah’ -one who has a loud voice and is well spoken, and signifies good fortune.” Red hoped too that he and Andys journey to and on Africa were of good omens, and the continuation of mysterious signs.

Andy looked on and thought about the explorer Mungo Park and his mysterious disappearance or so called drowning in Niger, the fabled City of Tambuctoo aka Timbuktu. The meadows of gold, and Andy thought of Parks last words “I shall set sail for the east with the fixed resolution to discover the termination of the Niger or perish in the attempt. Though all the Europeans who are with me should die, and though I were myself half dead, I would still persevere, and if I could not succeed in the object of my journey, I would at least die on the Niger.” Andy thought about transportation once there, no servants but guides and horses, and the thought of his own death in Africa.

Food from their homeland crossed their minds and stomachs again, and they remembered that slaves were fed foods from their homelands to ease the adjustments. Yam slips, millet, and melon seeds and to raise goats, chickens, and guinea hens were allowed. The Bermuda Triangle maybe the curse of the Trade Triangle, slaves, sugar and molasses to the Americas, and rum to Africa. They both looked at the ships anchor chains and thought they have not heard the sound of them in weeks. Andy and Red were thankful of life, and thankful for the ships chef, as they looked at the moon in its’ quarter light, and they both knew the sea gave no quarter.

The secret commerce Raider and Confederate CSS Alabama ship aka Hull number 290 also known as the American Wolf of the Deep and Captain Raphael Semmes and John Low followed the W.D. Lawrence ship to the shores of Africa, the shores of Cape Town. The Cape of Good Hope. The CSS Alabama was returning from Santa Catarina, Brazil.

The Kingdoms of Africa, and all its wisdom were about to be upon Red and Andys’ eyes and hearts.

The Wind began to move and Red sung the song “Daar kom die Alibama”

There comes the Alabama,
The Alabama, it comes o’er the sea,
There comes the Alabama,
The Alabama, it comes o’er the sea…
Lass, lass, the reed bed calls,
The reed bed it is made,
The reed bed it is made for me,
To sleep upon…
Oh Alabama, the Alabama,
Oh Alabama, it comes o’er the sea,
Oh Alabama, the Alabama,
Oh Alabama, it comes o’er the sea…

Andy laughed and said, “Poetry wind 101, if you don’t know how to tie a not, tie it a lot. Thank you, a Billy Pawn shake up.”

Red laughed, and said, I wonder how Billy is?

Andy replied, “I wonder too, Red, as I look up at the nights sky many thoughts come to mind, Land Diamonds and Sky Diamonds, and for sure as the Kings Star aka Davids star and the Hexagram. Triangle this and triangle that, furthermore the definition of hex. All of this is a mystery to mankind or to me. Look at our current position of the earth and sky. Red, the tree of life, unconditional love for the self and others? As above so it is below, and Red why does time and space traveling come to mind?”

Red laughed and said, Because we are doing it. Like the sunshine is about to walk the waters.

I see said the blind man, and he picked up his hammer and saw,” Andy replying as he jumped down off of the barrel of water. “Love and Wisdom. Look Red how beautiful those mountain ridges are!”

The sun knows when to exploit the environment, Red replying with gleaming eyes and a smile, The great Cape Peninsula of Africa. Hope of Good is beautiful.

They both noticed Sharks everywhere in the sea, and the shores moving with life. The Chacma Baboons searching through seaweed for Shark eggs.

The tides call us Andy to work two very tight schedules, said Red ready to carry on.

We have to love it Red,” Andy replied, “I remember being 7 years old at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago, and my mother had to peel my hands from the fence bar, because I was so fascinated by Baboons, I told her there is something about them Mom, and not long after that a zoo keeper walked by with a baby Chimpanzee, and I got to hold him or her. All I can say Red is, We are following the mystery of all this, seeded in us, as mentioned in Poetry Train Canada about when I was a boy with Wild Kingdom and animal toys. I remember my uncle Terry that day too said something that them baboons will tear you to pieces, that maybe so, but I think we tore them to pieces, so who lost the connection or forced it? Stick with it they tell us, slowly we ride through time.”

Port Elizabeth of Cape Town was filled with many sea vessels, war ships, slave ships and who knows what else ships.

Fredrick Dibbley came on deck, and spoke, “Are you ready for some explorations? Slow and Hellishly Wobbly it has been!”

And they all laughed as the W.D. Lawrence anchored, and boats were lowered to make way to dock at the merchants yard, furthermore cargo boats coming to gather the animals from the W.D. Lawrence ship.

Red they are going to trip on you,” said Fredrick Dibbley.

Ya, well, they’ll trip on ol’ Scratch here too, Red replied with delight. I just don’t get it yet, because they think that the Alabama ship is here to rescue them. We are about to witness horrors not ever seen.

Red looked back north, and knew America was a long way, and these chained black men were on their way to living hell, brutal cruelty, but hell was here too, because bodies were floating, swaying in the tides.

Once ashore gentlemen, we need to purchase horses, and a wagon,” Andy proclaimed. “We did not sink into the sea, but sunk further into synchronicity.”

Why do you insist on horses when we need to get to the town of Elizabeth? Red asked.

To keep it old school and to be in the invisible mode, and plus we are mailmen and that’s the only way we will pass through customs, so we begin our service at the Cape Town station.” Andy replied laughing.

Andy this is not the wild west, Red replied, This is the true wild, and we maybe the wild game if we don’t play are cards correctly. Maybe we should be circus clowns.

Correct Red, Jesse James taught us a lot, never forget that,” Andy replied, laughing again, “And hey that’s not a bad idea.”

Ya and you are just as crazy as he is, Red replied laughing, What about a road steam tractor? We can apply for grain jobs.

Get the grain out of your brain, Red it shall be by train or horseback Red,” Andy proclaimed.

The closer they got drums grew in persistence and volume. And Scratch the Mountain Lion roared upon the ship to shore.

We are here for a purpose, Red proclaimed, as he chained a chain around Scratch’s neck for precaution, and said, Andy for further precaution if asked, I ‘am your servant.

Andy looked at Red, and said, “Unlike our species who moronically hunt, and eliminate the best examples of a species. I shall do, only for survival purposes, and the poetry train. Lets have some fun everyone, and witness the serpent eating its own tail or tale. Here we come to the cradle of mankind, here we come.”

Cape Town was vibrant with life and building. Astonishing architecture. More astonishing then that was the fact that once ashore, Fredrick Dibbley commented out, the Explorer David Livingstone was walking behind them with his servants, and talking aloud about, he, David Livingstone was tired of using berry juice for ink, and complaining about ivory, guns and slavery.

Classic, Red and Andy spoke in synchronicity, “Classic, berry juice who would have ever thought!”

The very young Poet Herbert Ernest Dhlomo walked up to them, and asked in poem fashion,

Would you have me as a brother
Or a revengeful beast?
Would you have us help each other,
Or have our hates increased?
Would you have us live despairing?

&c &c

Andy spoke, “Brother of course, Despair got his butt kicked in Canada!” Andy looked around, and said, “I ‘am going to love this place, I hear no ravens, and that’s a great sign.”

Poet Herbert Ernest Dhlomo spoke, “Brothers open your minds, you see, Nongqawuse aka the Prophetess of Doom saw faces of her ancestors appearing in the pool. They told her that they would drive all the white settlers out of the country. A huge wind would come up, and blow all the settlers into the sea. But first, as an act of faith to prove their belief in the world of the spirits, the Xhosa would have to kill all their cattle, and destroy all their crops, so the ravens are there. Would you like to see the Gxara River?

Andy looked around, licked his finger, and held it out to feel for wind, and said, “Lead the way, we did not come here for nothing.”

The young Poet Benedict Wallet Vilakazi noticed them too, and followed them, and once they all noticed him he spoke, “We are the cattle, so if I pass, bury me where the grasses grow. Below the weeping willow trees. To let their branches shed upon me.”

Red and Andy looked at each other in awe, and the awe was just beginning to awe-strike more and more, when they noticed a Baboon working the rail switches at the Uitenhage train station. A signalman there named James Edwin ‘Jumper’ Wide who was wounded and had his legs dismembered from jumping rail-cars supervising the Baboon named Jack. The train whistle and hand signals from James Wide controlled and provided instruction for Jack the Baboon to work, and Jack worked with no mistake, but once Jack seen Scratch, Jack went ballistic, and fiercely ran up, and down the station trying to frighten them, and it worked. Red, Andy, Fredrick and Scratch ran away to keep from to much attention. This startled them and startled them awake. Red and Andy slept deep and good, and they looked around their rooms at the British Victoria Falls Hotel and remembered the Poet Toyota M. Safari brought them there, and he would be returning this morning to guide them to Rovos Rail, one of the world’s ultimate luxury rail trips on the famous Blue Train between Cape Town and Dar es Salaam. This 15-day private rail tour aboard The Pride of Africa stretches across South Africa and Botswana, and touches Zimbabwe at Victoria Falls, and crosses Zambia to Tanzania. From Kimberley’s diamonds to a deluxe South Africa game lodge, to Africa’s Great Rift Valley.

Andy awoke and fell quickly back asleep waiting on Toyota M. Safari. He dreampt of a life, someones life in the U.S.A. It was a boy who was hiding in the weeds near a railroad bridge waiting on his father who was a train engineer. The boy waited for the Lawson train to stop, and his father to signal with a flashlight for him to come aboard the train. His father had to keep a low profile when letting his son ride the train. He told his son, “The railroad owns so much property and they don’t even know where most of it is, imagine that, and one day hopefully some people come to their senses to organize and realize so much is lost by people not caring for what is right. Railroads are right, but. Fear, fear son, is a killer. Be courageous, and poetic, and realize money can be a show that leads folks away from the spirit and nature of their natural born intentions. True diverse people unite, not divide.”

Andy looked deeper at them in his dream, and awoke by an internet phone call on Facebook from Toyota. Andy missed the call, and thought of his dream, as he messaged back. The dream made him recall about what a friend said back in the U.S.A. “The problem is politics, or was it, lunatics in politics? Something like that but execrated from there. Oh Doom, you are in my realm, buried 7 feet under.

Red awoke, and fell quickly back asleep waiting on Toyota too, and was dreaming in a dark forest and hearing a voice of a lady. “Do don’t despise, and don’t close your eyes, ears and heart to the ancients. Be a guardian of the Kumm. You have to show respect you are on holy ground. And he heard some clicks /, //, ≠, ! and Θ, and Beware of the Owls here.” Red heard a roar of a lion, and the sound of a river. Red awoke, the river was the Zambesi singing from the open window of the hotel.

Red laid there thinking he and Andy were about to learn about the most of primitive times left on the face of the earth, a true ancient race. Why was the message to fear the Owls, when in the U.S.A. they were guided to the ‘Great Straw of Time’. Red got up, and ready furthermore excited to explore poetry, railroads here, and trains, furthermore art carved on the figures of mammoths and extinct animals on tusks of ivory from this fair land. Red had to tell Andy about the dream and message about the Owls.

Good Morning Mathias, we are stories too, that floated from afar, but log rolling by sea is not so easy, says Andy in a message and laughs out loud. I hear we are suppose to describe our moods around here, then say content. The wisdom of Wilhelm Bleek and Lucy Lloyd. Mathias files have been sent, Me and Red will be in the lobby, Good day-

P.S. We broke water, and don’t make us break out of the Breakwater prison. Wait we did, back in Canada, and Andy wrote lol in the message to Mathias

Red was reciting the poem ‘The Congo Poem’ by Vachel Lindsay as he met Andy in the lobby.

Nice,” Andy replied in awe about the poem, but remembering some what of it. “Red, 101 here, W. H. I. Bleek and L. C. Lloyd, and their accomplishments, and devotion on the Bushmen Poetry. We must explore there, with devotion and nobility but we are not,” Andy laughed and said, “Scientists.”

Red laughed too, and said, Make sure we have our, otjize paste, a cosmetic mixture of butterfat and ochre pigment to protect us from the suns rays. And I hear ya, lets go get blinded by poetry.

Andy spoke, “Mathias knows it was a rough ride, and he says there is sunshine after the rain, so ya, we need some otjize paste,” and laughs.

Red looked at Andy sadly, and spoke, The Bushman Folklore & People are intense, laws of the jungle &c &c. Reminds me of nationalities and prejudices of the human races. Saddens me Andy, everyone is brainwashed and suffering from world affairs in their own place and I see a lot of prejudice people from all walks of life everywhere believe me it is a sad disease and the sad disease of war. They are poetry’s enemies too.

Ya well, stop looking at everyone’s posts and the news,” Andy replied, “I also called for an assistant to join us Red, and they said his name was Boet Fritz, can you believe that, and he’ll be in the lobby soon.”

The Victoria Falls Hotel was the best they have ever seen they thought as they walked out of their dreamy rooms, and down the staircase to the lobby. The walls were covered with taxidermy animal heads, and these seemed to be an ironic display to them, but the African sunshine was revealing classic carpentry skills pulling in the spirit to the place. The place has a fragrance unlike they have ever known. The view outside the back windows of this overseas hotel was sea breeze moving the palm trees and they were calling. The comfortable furniture was calling too, and the art work was pulling them into the past. And there was a Railroad Bridge to be seen way off in the distance through a back door that lead to an outdoor patio and there stood the one and only Poet Toyota M. Safari. The birds were singing, and this made Andy think of the Tree of Many Souls back in Illinois, to whom a great Poet Madelynn from there shown him back in 2009.

Toyota M. Safari asks, “So you are interested in new voices?”

Yes we are very interested in new voices? Andy replies, “And yes, you must be aware, I know you know Time tells all about Poets, and it will for us too, after we are dead and gone, but know this and think of this, our love for Poetry regardless of how one feels is, if we want to read Poets in Africa in the 18th & 19th Century we shall and believe me,” Andy looks at Red, “There are gaps and Poems that may not have been great for them or the world back then or now, but the thing is this information are pieces to the puzzle. Little beautiful things people missed. The realm we found from Poets in America and Canada back in the day is beautiful, and we are all part of it, skilled Poets or not because we are all connected. Think about it, that’s how you met us. The realm lead us.”

Toyota M. Safari spoke, “Andy, you are a bit abstract… The average person here only finishes grade 7, and English isn’t a cup of tea. You may consider cutting to Bare bones!”

Andy listened, and asks, “Is abstract bare? Give me an example of bare bones, because I find what we do basic, and truthful, and I understand about the Poets you mentioned by phone, they don’t get it, and I have been told by many Poets the same thing, and not to many are, so I understand but you can’t change people, you can only inspire and hope the art of listening kicks in.

Toyota M. Safari replies, “Andy we are opposites. I personally don’t believe in dragging Poet to the surface who don’t seem good enough… If 10 read and say they haven’t liked, then it snowballs on the potential market… If a poet writes complicated or abstract or mediocre stuff then it’s an error to highlight that as a revelation. Why don’t you do an amplified version of an anthology to help the train and get them known. What exactly am I to do in the whole process? I don’t know why we must be smugglers of them to Africa…. If they have no attachment to the continent… Can’t we write the type of work to be.

Andy looks at Red and says, “I like the way this man thinks Red, he is looking out for us and the Poets of Africa, and I understand his logic and intentions, and it is true. This shows dignity, integrity and also the spirit shines.”

The song ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond’ comes to mind by Pink Floyd to Andy, and was tele-thinking to Red does Mathias realize we have a long train and we have read a lot of poetry, with listening souls. Mathias was a Legend in the making.

Red got the tele-thought: Rode on the steel breeze, Rhodes, Cecil John and ‘Yes’ Red thought back. “The mystery of the rail trail is in the stars.”

A top collection shouldn’t struggle to make a good name,” said Toyota M. Safari.

Me and Red have never published a book of Poetry of the best Poets for history or commercial,” said Andy.

Toyota M. Safari spoke, “We are not going to agree on the theory of people and poetry, but to clarify…. One, the project is yours. We are not going to fight over who owns what. I will help you identify the best, but if it involves giving space to mediocre Poets, then I can go up to some point… Africa is developing at a supersonic speed. They will collapse if they tried to tell other storyline… See Africa for yourself… To me let’s go by ruthless merit; if anyone can do write stunningly on anything related to Africa… Then he or she is welcome. We can go to mutual interests, we can agree on helping… But on uniting… I’m not in…”

Andy looks at Red, knowing Mathias does not know the realm fully, the connectedness of all Poets and says, “The project is ours, if you want it to be ours. You, me and Red and Poets that want to. We will work as a team on this anthology and get it done. We can make a fine book now, been taught well, by Charlie and the net. We just need great content and art for the book cover.”

Toyota M. Safari spoke, “Africa has much untapped poetry. Be good works there can easily get avenues…. Get solid info, on online sales and we work on projections… Just anticipate the minds of the reader and market trends. It’s not rocket science I believe… And to me writing shouldn’t be an end in itself, should it?”

Andy replied, “WordSlinging is a science of the spirit of language of all languages.”

Toyota M. Safari looks at them both in the eyes and said, “The conquest of South Africa again. Read about Cecil Rhodes and Moffatt treaty. The ghost of Cecil Rhodes demands a mukomboti drink in a golden cup as we board a train to Soweto.”

Red thinks about his dream and felt ghosts of this and that and all liking. His intuition was sprucing.

Toyota M. Safari looks at Red and then Andy and says, “South Africa was fairly advanced and conquest took years of bloodshed. Then apartheid…. And modern complex issues. I know poets from the place…. So how much can someone know about Africa ¿ These are basics to be handed.”

Andy looks at Mathias and says, “You are a great poet, and let no one tell you different, and I ‘am slowly understanding your principles and views, and I admire that. I also see you are a protector also, and I admire that too…”

Toyota M. Safari smiles, and says, “Thank you Andy.”


Andy looks at Mathias and says, “We look forward to the years with you Mathias, and if our forearms get blown off like in a shooting accident or &c, we will too write with a pen tied to our elbow joints, like John Cooper-Chadwick. And no worries Mathias, we’ll keep an eye out for those like Sirkusbaas Frank Fillis, his Groote Circus, and his Motley Shakespearean clowns and fools from trying to ‘catnap’ aka kidnap Scratch, our domesticated Canadian Mountain Lion that represents Hope and Faith. And yes Scratch is a like a gladiatorial spectacle, and was lost in the mist of time, but we found him, by the mystery of the rail trail in the stars, as we found each other. And Danger heed, here comes the Poetry Train!”

Mathias looks at Andy like he is crazy, and Red just grins.

Andy continues to say, “Frank Fillis is corporate to this madness of life’s circus,” and Andy laughs. You know the Railway Saloon Coach and the Boswell’s Royal Hippodrome and Circus Company. You see we are too knockout clowns me and Red, just tell them I ‘am Comical Andy and this is Silly Red. We haven’t performed our Breakaway Train act yet, similar to the breakaway ladder act, you know a long ladder planted in the centre of the ring, and you climb it, steadily removing the rungs as you go. Discarding the last rung and one of the uprights, proceeding to do a head balance on the top of the single pole. You shout to the orchestra for “Music, music” as you complete each trick. But in our case we shout “Poetry, poetry, and Poets run into the ring, cavorting all about us, and fireworks are let off as the climax to our performances,” and Andy laughs, “Th’Wicked Papoose Caboose Act like!”

Maybe Poetry Train needs a band, Red replied, like the Circus does?

Andy laughs, and says, “Freaking Brilliant, but they must be grateful, dependable and loyal, and not a threat to world peace.”

Ya ya, yam yam, Red replies laughing, Keep in mind we are no Ormonde Penstone with a fountain of fire and stuff. Red thought about something, world wars ruin everything good people do, and that gut feeling came, of hope, that war would not break out while he and Andy were in Africa, for so many reasons.

I have read about this Little Rene, the un-tamable Lion of yesteryear, and unlike American Poetry Circus’s we allow our Elephants to roam free, and Red laughs. We have no Poets that will box a Kangaroo though, maybe Dominic Albanese, and Red laughs again. So Mathias, take us to your leaders, your poetry entourage, and your poetry menagerie.

Andy thought about Jung Hem Sing and his remarkable smoothness from the U.S.A. Journey. And the notion of curiosity of the effects of television here in South Africa too.

Mathias looks at Andy and says, “I ‘am watching the locomotive lazily get out of the station, the world is yet to see what will hit it.”

Andy laughs and replies, “Ya blame the laziness of the coldness of the world, remember the turtle, and its wisdom. Red I think Mathias is trying to fatten us up for the kill,” says Andy and laughs. Andy looks at Mathias and says, “Cecil John Rhodes use to say, So little done, so much to do.

Red laughs and replies, and he also said, “I have found out one thing and that is, if you have an idea, and it is a good idea, if you only stick to it you will come out all right.”

Excuse me Gentlemen are you Red and Andy from Canada the traveling clowns? I ‘am Boet Duve Fritz your hired assistant.”

Andy looks at Red and laughs, and replies, “Yes, we are, thank you. I ‘am Andy Sandihands and this is Red Regatta, and this is Toyota Mathias Safari, and he is our guide, and he is one heck of Poet. Nice to meet you, we hope you like poetry Boet.” Andy laughs and says, “Your name is very unique I love it. Boet are you a Poet? And Mr. Safari, lets go on this Poet Safari.”

No Sir,” Boet repleid, “But I wanted to be a train engineer, so I have been surviving by wisdom, like the wisdom of King Lobengula Khumalo, and he once said “The chameleon gets behind the fly, remains motionless for some time, then he advances very slowly and gently, first putting forward one leg and then another. At last, when well within reach, he darts his tongue and the fly disappears. England is the chameleon and I ‘am that fly. So Andy and Red be aware that we people hope you are not like England.

Red and Andys’ eye brows arose, and looked at each other, and Mathias smiled at Boet and looked at Red and Andy with a curious eye. Andy then thought about Lord Durham, his wisdom and kindness, the missionary crusade in Africa and the cannibalism. He also thought about what Mathias told him, that Unity would not work, Jesus the Poet tried. For the Love of God, Andy thought, Madness over earthly things. No wonder why Lord Durham had many headaches. What is worse cannibalism or mind cannibalism? Fear, people fear each other, and with past madness how can you blame them? Skills of killing. So sad Andy thought. Andy looked at Red, and knew that he too, felt Danger, Doom and Dreads’ sister, she was alive and here on the Continent of Africa.

Red sensed it too and changed the subject and spoke, So where’s the morning feast and the poetry celebrations? Food from our homeland crossed our minds and stomachs, so we have dealt with not having it so, Mathias and Boet, lets feast upon this glorious morning of foods and drink of your homeland, and to Soweto, the Mother City, we go by Train. And also lets digest this grand poetry and food slowly for one can’t swallow it whole, our stomachs and minds will hurt, and Red laughs. Gentlemen did you know Andy here wants to travel to Poets by Horseback?

And everyone laughs.

Andy stated, “We hear they have eight seated railroad bicycles here, now that would suffice too.”

Boet Duve Fritz replied, “Yes they have one at the Kimberly Museum.”

Nice, that is just luve’ duve Boet,” Andy replied smiling.

So what do you recommend for nutrition Mathias? Red asks, We hear bambara, bunny chow, chakalaka, mealie, morogo, umngqusho, and rooibos tea is supreme.

Mathias replied, “I always go for posho, meat, sausages, and buggers whenever I can.”

Sounds like a plan, said Red, Lead the way you are the man Mathias.

Rovos Rail here we come,” Mathias proclaimed, “To the dining car.”

I can’t get the beauty of this place out of my mind,” Andy says, “The rugged cliffs, wet with ocean spray. Table Mountain, and for sure Victoria Falls and the Bridge, and the spray from the Falls.”

You may have a point Andy, Red explains, Ewart Scott Grogan walked the continent of Africa, so horseback seems good enough for me or this eight seated Railway bike.

Ha ha,” Andy laughs, “For love and glory, we too must face the rhinos too. Ewart even said, He never tired from sitting by the seaside and watching.”

He wasn’t liked here,” said Boet “Because he got away with murder, but was a hero in America. He met the great Mark Twain. I will go a head of you all, and get us tickets to board the Blue Train, with four of the finest suites, and a cart for our baggage. Although the Tiffany Train is super too. Rovos Rail is amazing. I’ll see you three inside soon. It travels through 1600 kilometres plus of Southern African scenery. The land of winery’s, and safari’s.

The Rovos is prepared to go,” Mathias proclaims, “To Soweto to meet my Poet friends, and we can go to my home for a while so you two can rest. Red the red carpet has been rolled out for you,” and Mathias laughs.

Red laughs and says, Ya it’s been years since we’ve been in a place like a homestead. Nice. Red walks into the station happy as can be. Andy looks at everything, and Boet meets them with their tickets, and their luggage has been brought to their rooms by Rovos Rail Porters.

They all board the “Blue Train and Boet says, “The Tour Guide wants to meet you three so he can properly introduce you to the other passengers.”

Nice this ‘Make Her Dash Train aka the Blue Train’ is beautiful inside and out,” Andy proclaimed as they boarded, “So where is the Tavern of the Seas’ car with the finest South African Wines?” Andy asked and laughed. Andy thought about the game ‘Hide & Ghost Seek” and contemplated “Hide & Poet Seek like diamonds to extract them from where they be, so the world sees their poetic spiritual beauty. Andy thought this is why the call it the Tiffany train. Found ya.

Red walked up to Andy and says, I always knew we were Poet Jewelers, and laughs as the Train started to move.

We know what we have accomplished Red,” Andy replied, “And Mathias is a gift to us and the World of Poetry, you’ll see Red, you’ll see, a mad scramble for historical Poetry & Poets we shall bring to the world.”

Mathias looks at them two and says, “You two Poetologists and Poem Collectors, the World needs to see, read, and listen to the best Poetry of Africa, it has been to long.”

The Blue Train, The Blue Box, interesting, indeed Mathias, indeed, and all in due time,” says Andy, “The mind mine museum, the world shall see them, so let yonder to this great observation car. I want to see animals.”

Andy and Red got into the African mind zone as the train motioned on. They knew back home in the U.S.A. Poets wanted the same thing, an audience but there were those that would like the most, and they will do anything to take the spotlight. And they would judge for themselves what was right, and do wrong in the process. Online poetry was just like all things, they knew from these journeys, a free for all, so they hoped the mentality of the Poets in Africa were different.

Andy looked at Red and said, “One time when I roofed, an older man, who was also a Roofer listened to me with things happening back then in my life, and he told me “Jealousy gets no one anywhere… Just be you, and be the best you can do, be not jealous of anyone, and if they are jealous of you, they will do anything to damage you, because all in all, deep down inside, they just want to be you.” Red after all we have done and we do, it is amazing working with you, thanks for being here with me, doing what we love to do.”

It’s okay Andy, Red replied, I see what and who you are getting at, let it and them be. All I can say is they have the Me’ Me Disease. They know nothing of the art of listening, reading and for sure true Unity. Enjoy here, this beautiful no where else on earth, Africa. Put the past behind us, it’s written. They are like Cecil Rhodes, they want to find a country, and name it after themselves. Divided Poet Supremacy you can say! They do not know Andy.

Mathias, Boet, Red and Andy sipped wine, and looked out of the gold tinted windows of the Blue Train, that put the glare of the sun down and the snare of the mental snake pit that hissed in Andy’s mind, he thought about the O.P. Days, and his mongoose spirit. He also thought about the gullibility of people, and all he has gone through in the poetry world before these journeys. Andy thought about tagging these snake poets back in the U.S.A. and calling them out but he thought no, I ‘am, we are better then that. Although drama makes the world go round, but not today, not today, so Andy took Red’s advice and let it be. Andy did laugh on the inside because he knew that most did not realize that he could see through people, and their intentions online and offline, and they jump the gun, and they have no ammo. Andy & Red have the guns and the ammo, but no, Andy thought, no. We must press on, and let them follow their hiss. Andy looked at everyone’s reflection on the windows and smiled.

So who and where do we begin with our spirited discussions with? Red asked. Maybe the Poet Diana Ferrus because of what Dr. Willa Boezak believes. In 1998 Dianna played a major role in helping bring Sara Baartman home. Boezak said: “It took the power of a woman, through a simple, loving poem, to move hard politicians into action.” So the power of poetry from women? Red looked at Andy, and knew what Andy was thinking. The Poetry promoting playbook from Canada.

Red replies, Diana Ferrus believes poetry heals, and memory, personal and collective are the tools to do it. To dare not to commit the same old same old.

Nice,” said Andy laughing, “Ya, like we just talked about, some folks just do not get it! Right where we left off in Canada Red about the power of memory for Poets, and Historians. You see Mathias connections? Rather we like it or not, it is, we are connected, and we live with scars of all. And with the world we live in today, we must identify this, so back to healing. Red if we were women doing this, what would you think this all would be? Would we be more privileged?”

Red replied, In the old days Andy, I think we would get used and abused, now today, well, depends. You have female perspectives we know nothing about truly.

Being further away from Poetry may bring us closer to Poets,” said Andy, “And also Red we can’t forget about our secrets no one knows about. Maneuvering through Dangers’ Teeth.”

Red laughed and said, Yes as also Diana Ferrus says Poetry can help great arguments, so ya ya yam yam, you know we can.

Andy looks at Mathias, and seen in his eyes how important this is to him. Andy also had a talk with Mathias about starting a press, and the responsibilities. The Long Haul, slow and easy. Andy got up and asked everyone, “More wine?” and sung some of the song “Take it Easy” by Foghat. Whoo!

Red laughed and got up and said, Lets get to the lounge, a Poetry Train Africa time travel swell, ‘Lets’ Get Jiggy With It, What, “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It” a Will Smith Song. Thinking here we come, pyramid bound. Come on you two.

Mathias and Boet smiled, and followed Red and Andy.

Red caught up with Andy and said, May we need an armored train, and laughed.

Why?” Andy asked.

Well a blockhouse system, for what is beyond our control. Red replied laughing, To fence off. Let me create something on Facebook called Train Kept A-Rollin: Postings for The Wicked Papoose Caboose: Wisdom for them you about Poetry Presses.

Andy laughs and says, “Fear creates Gods. It’s actually hilarious. Follow your hiss folks, follow your hiss.”

Mathias was talking on his phone in the language of Lingala, and this triggered thoughts for Red on the Journalist & Writer Solomon Tshekisho Plaatje who translated William Shakespeare’s works into Setswana and collected African folklore and proverbs furthermore traveled around the country on a bicycle. Mathias can you translate poems into Lingala?

Andy then randomly blurted out, “There is no such thing as spiderwire or e-wire, like karma bs, some man made-shit to catch real spirits in the flesh or some other kind of catch 23.” Andy laughs and says, “Men get the Medea’s too! So Boet you wanted to be a train engineer, tell me about this dream, please.”

Red was at work in talks online with Publishers, Antonio D’Alfonso from Canada, Dany WR from Brazil and Richard Krawiec from the U.S.A. around the world to help educate Mathias, Poet Bill Drake, and the Poets of Africa on publishing, small presses and creating an Anthology of Great Poets from Africa.

Mathias was gazing at it all, and replies, “Let the story somehow relate to the naked bushman of Kalahari. A writer and more importantly the publisher must have an eye on the audience… That’s why I insist that to hit, we must forego the claim attempt to stick to history… We should try to go for very many layers of meanings. Mere train history is a private fancy, an average reader isn’t interested.

Andy laughed and said, “Red lets go back to America, and get the RxR’s to do this, lets quit right now, our braiding online has been a private fancy, but our Youtube Channel says different. God Bess Mathias get off the cell phone, and get a laptop and e-shovel and dig with us!”

Mathias replied, “l don’t regard myself as even very good but I don’t believe in babysitting lazy poets.”

Andy laughs and says, “You are great Mathias. I love this guy Red, he has what it takes. Boet find Mathias a laptop asap when we get stationed please. Mathias Les Claypool of the band Primus and Tom Araya of the band Slayer one time when I seen them in concert looked me in the eyes through a whole song before, so yes that is correct, select the audience, and look them in the eyes, they’ll never forget it and appreciate it.” Andy thought about his and Red’s Last Song, we are precious he thought, we all are! “Mathias true Poets can’t leave Poetry to long, they’ll return.”

Boet jumped in on the conversation, “They are like Africas’ weaver Birds, and they confuse the Cobra snakes.”

Andy laughs and says, “Brilliant, Boet is catching on. Alright Boet, give me a high five!”

Slap! Their hands meet with wisdom, and understanding.

Red smiled and spoke, Andy we are about to be taken to a whole new level. Each generation inherits Andy.

Andy smiles and says, “Keeping me on track are ye?” and laughs.

Boet pulled up a video song on his laptop called “Rock the Horse Song” by the Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert, and it was grand.

They are in some ways, a lot like the Inuit of Canada, said Red, They have managed to live off this harsh environment for hundreds and thousands of years, and yet, they seem friendly.

The Bushmen own time,” said Boet “Unlike the west, the Bushmen do not believe in rushing.

Ya Ya Mathias,” said Andy laughing “You hear that.” Andy had a notion, and remembered he needed to contact all Poets in the Facebook Poetry Africa Group for their locations, and websites and channels on the internet for up and coming sharing, promoting and learning.

To answer your question,” Boet replied, “I come from Sierra Leone, and I wanted a life of tons of iron and steel. To chug my way into the history books, but while living a lifelong dream of riding the rails other things came about. I did not follow my bliss to be the first of black train engineers in Africa. I guess it was more of a fascination for me, but life did get in the way. I have always struggled to make an income. I would have loved to be just a fireman too, to run back and get the wood, throw it in the fire of the train. I ‘am my own rough beast in my life. Well, I believe we need teachers that care about the students, and challenge them to go past the standards, and shoot for the stars! In any subject and career the student is interested in. I never had that.”

Andy looked at Red, and asks, “Hmm who does nowadays? Colleges are just a money racket now. Curious, does Egypt still have free college education?”

Yes,” Boet replied, “But it’s what is fueling these revolutions. There is no work for these educated people. It’s all backwards.”

Red spoke, Innovation, volunteering, the key point is that formal education doesn’t necessarily lead to knowledge and skills the individual can use productively. Examine the beauty advantage, and its impact on office politics as why Andy mentioned earlier, and why we and members of talked about Poets need to get their act together. Operation Jester was one of our plays from our playbook, and still is once funded.

Andy spoke, “As the old saying goes, It’s not what you know but who you know, so branching out and thinking solutions for others is probably the best way to swing from branch to branch as the saying goes, I ‘am hanging in there, and they say, That’s all you can do. Now, getting off of ones ass and innovating is. Again Fear the mass murderer. Ha Danger! So if you want a good Poet you have to do it yourself.” Andy laughs his ass off and saying, “Just joking, we need a pool of money for the literary arts to scramble for.” Andy laughs again and says, “Oh we can’t, we can’t because gambling is legal in Illinios. Everyone is a genius at what they have the biggest interest in. On what they love doing. Modern education simply doesn’t let people like us express it. And if they do, we are very limited on it. If all they glorify is taking tests, all up and coming generations will be very limited in creativity and innovations.

In others words Andy is saying we are all in Danger, of Dread and Doom coming back from the grave and, kicking some serious ass if we all don’t figure something out, Red stated firmly. Evolve & resolve to solve! Or play the same ol song It’s a hit, “History Repeats Itself Ping Pong.”

We need free access to tools,” Andy replies, “Like RVs, movie making equipment, high tech software, and anything like that, the average person can’t afford to use to get something done. Heck most things are junk anyway. And for the record, Poetry Promoting is our career choice, not a bad option. Good wisdom, you see through all the worlds bullshit,” And Andy laughs his ass off again.

Someone in the lounge played the song ‘It’s Alright’ by the Traveling Wilburys’ on the Jukebox, and everyone sung a long.

Boet smiled and said, “Well, this job is close enough,” and laughs.

The bartender who looks like Wizzo, asked us if we read ‘New News Out of Africa’ by Charlayne Hunter -Gault. And we replied with a ‘No’, and he hands the book to Red, and said, “Keep it” you’ll love it.

Thanks, Red smiled and replied, Ya we’re traveling clowns from Canada, trying to make our way. Appreciated & charm’d. Ah writing is performance art Red thought, and laughed inside. Not literally, but really, silently really, soothing Red felt.

The bartender smiled and asked, “What are you working on?”

We are working on a new act, Red replied, Something new for the circus of the un-flated paranoia paranormal mind raid, for illumination of course. We have the attention span of two and half centuries, and we have done it, we’ve removed the fuzz to give the world a literary buzz. The thing is we have thrown away all of our costumes, so we are naked sort of speak. From what we hear and see, our new threads and deeds should be of protest.

Boet was catching on, and catching a buzz, and laughed at what Red said. Boet then spoke, “This is the life, poetry and trains. Why the hell should we spend our life breaking our back for a company that only looks at you as an expendable slave? I somewhat get it, Poets are like the Bush People. Sure, we have a lot of gadgets, but millions of people suffer from stress, anxiety, depression, and a feeling of emptiness. These concepts are unknown to the people that live like the Bushmen tribe. Look at the countless millions that have been slaughtered in wars and conflict in the ever-increasing quest for more resources to make a few people very rich. Our so-called modern advanced society is neither sustainable nor ethical. I have a lot of catching up to do, but I get it somewhat from your personalities and things you been saying. The evil circle has begun. We already have been given everything we need to live a rich and healthy life, but when someone becomes a food producer, they will try to protect their land, and when they grow financially stronger, they will use their un-proportionate power to expand at the expense of others. Like the Bushmen and Poets, we all humans should live 100% off the land in harmony with nature. All went down-hill since the advent of agriculture.”

Andy laughed and said, “Welcome to the brain grain train.” Andy then made some click sounds. “tsk tsk tsk mop mop, I wonder if I said, Poetry Dada or Poetry Mama? Me, I ‘am just a toddler in the great clickable sandbox” Andy laughed. “There’s something deep within our brains that are at work when it comes to language! Like Poems, Clicks change lives, Poems change lives. They’ve changed mine and the lives of many people and Poets I admire. If you are happy and you know it, clack your tongue! Take a click moment! Ha Ha hA hA nock nock! Angelic baby, oh dissolving time! Beauty, beauty, beauty. Hey lets all go to the observation car in the back, and click chat to the adapt app. Dream like, alright, to be surprised by the comforting visions of the future phenomenon.” Andy knew they were looking into the windows of the past too.

Red laughs and says, Andy right now reminds me of Nicolas Kostyleff.

Boet replies, “Never heard of him. Andy reminds me of Flinders Petrie,” and asked them if they ever heard of Mr. Petrie, and they replied ‘No’ in synch, and as they walked to the back of the train Boet continued to talk, “Flinders went to Egypt in 1880 to survey the Great Pyramid. For the next five decades he was at the forefront of the development of archaeology in the country.”

Andy and Red browsed the books sitting on tables as the Blue Trains’ Tour Guide came into the observation car, and introduced himself, Israel Moss. Thank you for the warmth and service, Red replies, Life time memories being born. The staff has been most generous.

Time stands still” Andy replies, “We are privileged, thank you. Luxurious Train, we are blessed.”

Israel Moss smiles, “Gentlemen I have a book for you to enjoy. It is yours to keep. Antjie Krog and the Post-Apartheid Public Sphere: Speaking Poetry to Power by Anthea Garman. For many white people, her message was too strong, too uncompromising, and far too challenging.”

Red and Andy smiled, and looked at Mathias. Andy smiles wider because he knows Mathias is about to time stamp time with his poetry.

We are learning how to listen here Israel Moss,” Red replied.

Andy right away found an online speech by Antjie Krog, entitled, An Inappropriate Text for an Appropriate Evening – Read Antjie Krog’s Keynote Address from the 2015 Sunday Times Literary Awards. Andy looked at the book Red was holding and the one ‘New News Out of Africa’ received earlier the bartender gave Red, next to the poetry trains fire box laptop, and smiled. Andy then looked at Israel Moss, and smiled and said, “Thanks, we have a lot to learn.” Andy looked out the window, and thought about his passions across the sea, they were still burning inside of him and there.

Boet was sitting comfortably in a chair and read the poem ‘The Great Day’

by William Butler Yeats from his phone.

Hurrah for revolution and more cannon-shot!

A beggar upon horseback lashes a beggar on foot.

Hurrah for revolution and cannon come again!

The beggars have changed places, but the lash goes on.

Boet too was reading this online article, and they both let these words sink in, The irony, as Neville Alexander noted: Is that those born free from racial classification are now forced by government practice to classify themselves when filling in forms as white, coloured, black or Indian. The whole paragraph was strong, and they read on as Red talked to Mr. Moss.

Personally Antjie Kong wants an image, the image of a sweeping paradigm shift able radically to change, showing whites in an equally radical act of outreach. And after all that has taken places, this is still empty! Andy glanced up at Red and said, “You have got to study this, well I do, we do.” As Andy read on, and read this out-loud so all in the observation car heard him and these words, “Relations of comradeship, of solidarity, of love, relations which prefigure the sort of society we struggle for.” & Out-loud “We need to have all the conversations, deferred from 1994, with as much courageous imagination, new vocabulary and wild dreams as possible.”

Israel Moss smiled and said, “I know that, read it before. ‘I respect anger. Anger is often where important change begins.’ Gentlemen enjoy your time aboard the Blue Train.”

Andy was off in Poetry Land, thinking about the poem by Yeats, and thought, yes, the message Yeats was sending about revolutions? Mystical or Symbolical, “The damn answer is in Physical, we all need to hit the brakes at the same time. Damn it,” Andy again spoke Out-load, “At the same time, hit the brakes. I have told this to many. Why did I name my Turtle Tesla.” And everyone started laughing.

Red most Poetry Youtube Channels are equal in fan base,” Andy added.

Red smiled from ear to ear, and said, Andy play a poem from Antjie Kong.

10/4” Andy replied, “Antjie Krog reads from “Begging to Be Black” – two letters to her mother” coming up!” The poem was heard all through the observation car of “The Blue Train.” “Whoo, we on it Mathias, we on it,” Andy pronounced. The grappling with the relationship between past, present and future. The difficulties South Africans face in grappling with the legacies of colonialism and apartheid, and the fact that there is a process of un-homing and re-homing. An Inappropriate Text for an Appropriate Morning. Where’s Run D.M.C. ‘That is’ Andy thought, the way it shall, not should be.”

And everyone sung “It’s Like That” by Run D.M.C in the observation car!

Andy started laughing and said, “Pillage the Privileges, Un-Savage the Savages, Salvage, alvage all age. Hey- Poezji Walki, I wasn’t born a Poetry fan but I ‘am what a Time Conquer be, a Poet, lover, ha ha. You too Red, ha ha.” Andy also thinks and was pulled to and the song came, as his spirit in Africa knew the sun was going to be faster here going down then where he and Red started all of this, because place was place, and acing was ace itself. And the song was ‘Lonely is the Night’ by Billy Squier.

Snap out of Andy, said Red, You have Poetry Man. Red laughed, because of the word play, Salvage, and thought ya our duty was lonely with all we knowz.

Andy talked to a passenger about how to tell time with a pen or pencil, with the sun or moon, and shadows and light, even on a moving train. The Mind Compass. Andy let the documentary ‘Free At Last’ play on the Poetry Trains Firebox, as Red mingled. And They thunk.

Mr. Walklemon Whipagla introduced himself.

Andy was happy, he became a time monitor on the Blue Train, with his wisdom of time and poetry-ishings good duende, he excused himself, and went to the facility and puked, because of the stress of what he knows. As he ralphed he thought, Why are poets their own worst enemy unlike mankind? Salvage savage age- And as he rinsed & wiped his face, he looked into the mirror, life is not a flash before his eyes, lifes’ lives flashed before them and he, and finding the pole of love, the time straw he and Red knew, he thought how far can one be from it, chain-less or free. Yes rainbows were earthly, so how can all look into these eyes without poetry?

Red looked at Walklemon Whipagla as he mingled, and Boet knew what to do.

Boet found Andy, and Andy snapped his fingers, and gathered himself. He looked at Boet, and sung, “Ya give it all away, and everyone wants you. Ew… Hey I just wrote a poem for Mathias, where’s Mathias?”

Boet laughed as they returned to the observation car, and Andy sung, “I’ll stick around, Poetry my kind a lover. I want to make you feel the way I do… So how’s it happening Poetry Train Africa? I’ll stick around, and close my eyes and ears to beat the time!”

Red heard that, and thought we roll at our own pace, ya can’t force feed poetry. Death a life concept lucidity silence screaming. Red then spoke, It’s the grass yall, Andy is okay Ladies and Gentlemen, and he laughed and quoted C.W. Fields, “Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people.” He’s a little fuzzy wuzzy. Been run hard keeps a ling.

And everyone started laughing.

Red smiled and said, He reads, and has this thing about beating time. Edie Brickell & New Bohemians wrote a song about it called ‘Beat the Time’ so here and there he does thaz, or so he thinks. And everyone started laughing again.

Andy replied “Don’t count on it. Some can’t stand slopes, steep is the mountain which we climb, and smiling does no good to the soulless.” Andy walked to his roomette and thought of the song ‘Small Hours.” by Metallica and to think & rest because there are many poetic poets to read and hear.”

Andy sat in his roomette listening to Antjie Krogs’ wisdom by reading and listening to her poetry, furthermore the collective we, with the power of forgiveness, and time, time allowed to educate, and furthermore the knowing for all races that there is a we, as in the word weaved. Andy then thought about birds and animals, and must look at all of them while he was here in Africa because they were spiritual messengers, in life and dreams, keepers of sacred spiritual significance, plus long ago as a child he wanted to be a zoologist. Andy made notes to return to Antjie Krogs’ wisdom, and he looked out the window to be amazed by Africas’ beauty. “Maybe I ‘am home here, but how can I say that, my spirit feels like it is,” Andy spoke to himself, “I know these people won’t like me saying that, because of what white people have done, and issues they have now with foreigners.”

Red, Boet, and Mathias were talking about translating poetry, and a Poetry Train Africa Anthology. Mr. Walklemon Whipagla was listening and Red observed this. He seemed to be a hunter. They then talked about the poetry of Rudyard Kipling.

Mr. Walklemon Whipagla interrupted them and asked, “So what do you know of the Boer War poetry? Or the Poet, Kingsley Fairbridge?”

Red replied, Not much as of yet.

Let me recite the poem, ‘The Hunting of Shumba’ by Kingsley Fairbridge,” said Mr. Whipagla, “My father was Senior. Yes I ‘am a Junior, and I was a child of Fairbridges’ Furtherance of Child Emigration to the Colonies. My father was an impoverished child who lived in the London slums. Fairbridge brought him to Johannesburg to be trained to be a farmer, and as Fairbridge dreamed, my father shed the bondage of bitter circumstances, and stretched his legs and mind.

Red noted this and smiled. Red also sensed peril, peril inside of him, and Mr. Whipagla, spoke, “I know two more poems. Let me recite them.”

The Rail Head

by Kingsley Fairbridge

Where go the broken songs? Where go the lives
That flash’d, and pass’d? Where goes the man we love,
If he should die? Where goes the valiant life
That labour’d and was buried and forgot?
— Where go the very days that even now
We grasp and love … they sink, they fade away, —
And we remain, and wonder, and are dumb.

White heat, the glare of sand, the shouts of men; —
Here at the rail-head are the incomers
Fresh from the sea; and here the inland men
With wagons, carriers, or their naked selves
Hasten ahead machinery and food.
Here at Chimoio is the terminus —
Here waits the rail and peers towards the West,
Nervous, unknowing … And they speak of war:
Up on the high veld there is Death abroad …
Death! The bridge-builders laugh — the linesmen smile —
The stricken, yellow faces turn away,
The hungry, blood-shot eyes seek out the hills —
Dim on the sky-line — where a man may die
Other than by malaria and drink.

&c &c

Red looked at Boet and Mathias, and raised his eyebrow. Red was feeling why just about everything was labeled dark here.

Mr. Whipagla took a drink of his martini, and recited the poem,

His Road

by Kingsley Fairbridge

Behold, my son, the wheel-scarr’d road!
Be shamed, and be afraid,
For we, the first, were greater men
Than those for whom we made.
We wrought in death and hunger,
We fought the veld — we few!
Behold, this effort of our hands,
This road we built for you….

&c &c

We link’d the Known and Unknown, —
The Known that did not care! —
Cared not, we knew, but labour’d on
For spoils we should not bear.
We sow’d, ye reap. We had our cake,
We cannot eat it, too;
Yet, in the image of our hearts,
We carved this road for you.

&c &c

This useless thing of sand and grass!
Unsightly bridge and frail! —
Dead stumps and riven stones speak not
To those who use the Rail.
But, son, no single mile we made
Without long toil — we few!
Remember then those dauntless hands
That built this road for you!

Mr. Whipagla finished his drink he laughed and said, “Well gentlemen, welcome to Africa. I get off the train at Johannesburg. The poem ‘South African Exhibition, 1907’ is a grand one too, but I can not recall it. I ‘am going to return to my seat, Totsiens.”

And Mr. Whipagla walked away.

Andy got to thinking about what he told his mother before. I like all people, like I do all birds. It’s confusing though. Do birds like other birds? You don’t see a half bluejay and half cardinal flying around. Andy thought about physical attraction toward females of other races, and he did and still does have feelings like this. He also remembers what elders said too, One should stick to their kind, and was put to him he thought kindly, nothing derogatory. Ya but what if you are mutt like, Wapello and Irish, and Andy laughed, and continued to read.

Red, spoke some wisdom, speaking on writing and truth of Rudyard Kipling, mimicking his voice and body language, ‘We who use words enjoy a peculiar advantage over our fellows. We cannot tell a lie. However much we may wish to do so, we only of educated men and women cannot tell a lie—in our working hours. The more subtly we attempt it, the more certainly do we betray some aspect of truth concerning the life of our age. It is with us as with timber. Every knot and shake in a board reveals some disease or injury that overtook the log when it was growing. A gentleman named Jean Pigeon, who once built a frame house for me, put this in a nutshell. He said: `Everything which a tree she has experienced in the forest she takes with her into the house.’ That is the law for us all, each in his or her own land.’

Red then took drink of his white wine, and said, A certain optimism scares me, like Kipling, me and surely Andy feels this way. Lets say, a reverse analogy, prejudice as a knot in timber, but this forest is from inside the home, an over taking, a teaching with fear tactics upon ones growth.

A Puff-Adder,” Boet replied, “A deadly serpent, like a ringhal, a venomous spitting cobra.”

You could say that Boet, Red replied, Dominion over palm and pine, but this power is transient. So yes, we can not tell a lie. A lie like prejudice, spreads like fire. Burning all the forest.

Andy comes back and hears this and says, “Yes and the birds, like our spirits will never have their, or our kingdom. The physical world is not a blind forest anymore. Life is a soul struggle anyways, so why add to it. We are now the world of Kiplings’ tomorrow, so what reasons of art and emotions would we tell him today? Would he or any other literary giant have mercy on us? Do you have mercy on them? Or each other? How can we be an effective echo? An effective echo through the forest or home wetting the fire of prejudice so there is witness to the water of love. We are Kipling’s new modern wonders, all dominant strains of blood draw. He had sympathy for us. Grasp love, because it is ours, not just yours, or mine, ours. Let love break in upon you, in fact love does not have to break in, because love is itself, the key, so if love wants to, love will get in, but it’s better to let love in by ones own free will. Heart, we all have one, best to share it, don’t ya think. Like songs of the birds all through the forest.”

Everyone was contemplating all that was said.

Rudyard Kipling always have appealed to me,” said Andy “I still have a collection of his works from my teenage years. His ‘Just So Stories’ impressed me. That’s why I ‘am really excited about this journey.”

Red spoke, In the Days when everyone started fair.

Andy looked at everyone, and thought, this conversation is sitting on everyones head. Were they changing their hearts? Andy thought. In most cases diffusion simply creates uniformity, but multiple chaotic matters gives rise to non-uniformity. Love reaction is Hate diffusion. Auto-activate, and watch love inhibit

Red spoke, With no slothful breathes and heathen intentions, love shall; not if.

Andy asks, “So what are Burdens of Poets? The weight of power of Hubert H. Harrisons’ poem, The Black Mans Burden’ was a reply to Rudyard Kiplinging. The When Africa Awakes book is pretty heavy isn’t it?” and Andy laughs, and says, “Red maybe we should postpone for a while, and learn how to diffuse bones with nerves of steal.”

Red laughs and agrees saying, Stop the Train, Stop the Train!

Stay calm Red, stay calm,” Andy proclaimed, “I believe we need to be in prior law enforcement. Oh ya we are, we are poetry police,” and Andy laughs.

Boet blurts out, “Keep writing poetry and no one explodes.”

There was a round of applause amongst the passengers in the observation car.

Red done a cake-walk dance the aka mock strut, and sung, “Jeopardy” by the Greg Kihn Band.

And others followed Red, and clapped.

Mathias was in poetry mode, as he said once, ‘The bitch of a muse wants him to just post everything she tells. Andy and Red kept everything in Mind and Heart, and they wondered if Women Poets looked at Poetry like this, and they laughed inside in synch mode.

Mark Twain came this way Red,” said Andy “Influenced many here, as Edgar Allen Poe and his ‘The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym’ but not as much as of yet ha ha. Poe was a trickster we know, a master, as explained in his “The Philosophy of Composition,” Poe explains that poetry and prose both must communicate a “truth” through a “unity of impression.” as Mark Twain knew too, people loved to be fooled. But it was their truth, of their place, their up bringing. They for sure knew unity.”

Red replied, I ‘am seeing, why weren’t we informed of Toni Morrison back when, oh ya I know others with the Me’Me disease. The truly interesting thing about it all is that they wrote in a time when the truth about race was not impossible to discuss or write about. So let me remind you about the Facebook webmaster appreciation and tinkering lag. Poetry is not cultural engineering, like race, poetry is real!! You can see it in their eyes once you mention poetry.


Andy replied, “The U.S.A. would be stronger as we talked about with our black trucker friends on the net in Arkansas & Georgia shall we say, We all truly come together, a beautiful bliss it would be, as a people not a nation, and when I think about this, I think about those who fought in Vietnam, together as one, and there is only one person I know that will tell us the truth on this, and that is Poet Dominic Albanese, so we need to chat with him soon.”

Boet spoke, “Nelson Mandela read the poem ‘Invictus’ by William Ernest Henley for uplifting while he was in prison. So I find it ironic and cool that respect finds ground through all in Poetry regardless of time, history and race.”

Red smiled and said, Just like Poetry of War as Henry Newbolt claimed, can be greeting as he said, ‘It’s a kind of Frankenstein’s Monster that I created thirty years ago.’ The intention of this kind of Poetry was to stir the heart of the reader as in rivals on the battlefield.

Andy questioned, “Wonder if William Ernest Henley felt how hardcore his poem, “Song of the Sword” is? I want to shout out, and write out and say, Humbug by Jingoism.”

Boet spoke up, “Wow, poetry is some powerful stuff. Ha ha more then I realized. What’s next? Ha ha. What’s admiring to me is, Poets, Literary Writers, who never give up at what they love, being a commodity or not. Living the dream of sorts. Fascinating is what it is. Carry on gentlemen, Boet Duve ‘Luve Fritz at your service.”

Red and Andy looked at Boet, then Mathias, and then at each other and smiled. Poets & Humans, male, female, gray, green, &c &c.

A train used to go to Rhodesia to see the Zimbabwe Ruins,” said Boet, “Now, you go to Zimbabwe to see the Rhodesia Ruins. We will be there soon.”

We have one Red,” said Andy, “ Ha ha, a adventurer and a dreamer of dreams Poet, Roy ‘Zulu’ Blades’ Cambell. He loves ancient towns Boet. Taylor says, The role of the Poet is not to join their Peter Pan games but to look beneath such frolics for the source of spiritual renewal. We need to get Borsalino hats like him Red,” and Andy laughs. “Mathias, do all in all, this is a Wayzgoose, ha ha, loving it.”

Roy spoke Zulu too, Red thought.

I ‘am reading too,” says Boet, “I love this, ‘Truth is a coy mistress who lets no mortal posses her utterly. Yet the Poet is more favored by her than are the dull, prosy souls who cofound petty detail with wisdom.’ by Russel Kirk about Roy Cambell in, The Sword of Imagination: Memoirs of a Half-Century of Literary Conflict. “So Mathias you have been chosen,” said Boet laughs. And this one, ‘At certain strange epochs,’ says Innocent Smith in Chesterton’s Manalive, “It is necessary to have another kind of priests, called Poets, actually to remind men that they are not dead yet. Powerful statement.”

Mathias was listening but also reading the news, about today’s Africa trade and investment treaties.

Andy laughs and asks, “Red are we desperate to achieve literary credibility and reputation, without quite understanding what these things are,” Andy was laughing more. “Oh it is killing us to tell a joke against us, ha ha.”

Red replies,Yes I see, and he’s like you, a horse lover. This is why critical thinking comes into play, like being a street football quarterback and the ground is not your friend, and the blessings of poet/editor friends and the post office and telephone people rock n roll, furthermore the library of congress. Besides racsim, Poets face class issues (and race and gender), the have, the privileged and the have nots, the un-privileged. The you you, the me me, and the yo yo, excuse me, but them and these days have to go go. Guess you have to have the groove and all the time in the world too. The Poet Condition and Society at large. That’s why I like true Heavy Metal front-men, they get it, place, the spirit of the genre Old school promoting you give what you get.

Unpaid internships in the publishing industry, no really, oh wow, where’s Mr. Welchberry? Ha ha, and his mastery of the truly blind submission process. Ah ha ha.” says Andy. “I can see for miles. Maybe we should have had a séance in Canada too, ha ha. Are we librarians in the new furure Red? And yes, the price of admission is having the groove, that is funky funky all through time, as in when you hear it you just know it. Poet you can’t back down, you must crack down. Poetry makes me Voorslag, a word to serve as a Whiplash, ha ha, Poets back then faced the same as today and Andy did a beat box, and sung the song ‘I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)’ by Daryl Hall & John Oates.

The Blue Train sure is making some dust, said Red.

As true love, anti-racism is the pain of forgiveness without apology, so that is unconditional, and the condition is man-made $hit… Teeth are for eating, and eating $hit maybe for a while, but eventually they have to go, health, hellth, don’t get any of that $hit on ya, and carry on with yourself. Me knows what pliers are for, to unite in blood,” said Andy.


Andy looks at this book online. Turbott Wolfe by the Poet William Charles Franklyn Plomer and it says the book remains a powerful chronicle of the intimate human consequences of racism, and the Poet William Charles Franklyn Plomer claimed that the novels distinction lay in its realization that racial relationships were not merely political or economic, but emotional. This was a novel ahead of its time based on a non racial world. Love, Andy thought about love and consequences, furthermore the wisdom of knowing to disregard opinions, because what if it was love and not of lust. He then thought about blood transfusions, probably a tip of an iceberg. He then thought about complete heartbreak, seemingly into which no one really cares about and yes loneliness, and of course the beauty of children, and that’s where consequences come through the door he thought, the childs’ future dilemmas, but the world has changed from the 20th Century, or not, he questioned? Family, when a woman loves you, it is ‘family’ to her, Andy thought, Furthermore parenting love, love for self, the child/children, and others. As Plomer asks Divine humanity, or human divinity? Andy then thought about jealousy, some of any color, some people regardless envied peoples happy relationships, and some try to break the bond by all means possible. Andy then thought of the message of the great Poet Jesus and that was to love everyone, and surely this brought along the thoughts of the violations of the 10 commandments. Murder comes to mind, and one being finely pure of the heart, furthermore how would anyone truly know ones heart without memory film sort of speak? One would have to know one for ones entire life, he guessed you can say to judge, or righteously judge. Was it all in the eyes as Andy was taught as a child? Yes as a child, how would I feel if a child of mine loved someone of another race, and the answer was easy. If the person loved my child truly, that was all that was needed to accept, a positive tolerance one could say. So is the only hope for the peaceful co-existence of mankind, was that each of us must accept and respect the other persons truth? To not be condemned. Andy then thought about the fire of Scorn that destroys things, and the water of Love, that endures all things. Rich, poor, surrounding bleak or not, personal angels or demons. Strength and weakness, ugliness and beauty. Where is the love culture? World wide Hospitality? Where does life unfold for true love? As a the Poet Bill Drake pointed out, Gander, the jails are open twenty for seven, and churches are not. And thought, Poets should ask, ask the world, What’s wrong with us, why don’t the world want to read us. As of color were Poets invisible?

Red looked at Andy to change the subject, because Red knew things in America were going to surface to Andys’ Heart. The Poet Herman Charles Bosman was right when he said South Africa has an authentic stamp. A heavy atmosphere, strange and dark.

Boet laughed and said, “I hope you both can run fast, and through the thorn bob trees. Leopards are fast you know.”

Red laughed and replied as the Poet Lionel Abrahams says, We must endure, the extreme moments of history often defeat poetry. But if poetry endures, it has to go where journalism and historiography do not have to go, into the core of the individual experience, where the politics, the economics, the conflict and disruption are not just thought but undergone and felt.

I like the umbrella trees here.” Andy replied.

We have Queen trees,” said Boet, “They are the sycamore fig.”

I like the Boabob trees, said Red.

They have a Baobab pub in Modjadjiskloof,” said Boet, “Yes they made a pub out of tree.”

Andy raised his eyebrows and thought of the Muse of Poetry. Poets as her babies, maybe, and racing against time, it is after all, it is not the Historian, but the Poet who deals in the eternal verities.

They noticed Giraffes in the distant landscape, and as they all now had their heads in the trees, thinking about living with people.

Lionel Abrahams’ poem ‘Chaos Theory of the Heart’ is intense, Red added.

Hey do you think people who come upon a Poet realize they are a Poet?” Andy asked, and added, “They are elusive, Leopard like too, like the Mountain Lion. I say this because Poetry does migrate.”

A Leopard would not want to be seen,” Boet replied.

The Poet Lionel Abrahams does write that Poetry does change things. His poem ‘A Dead Tree Full of Live Birds’ is humbling, because I was just thinking as I get older, what if I can’t move my limbs anymore or speak, and mostly will my mind and memory work, so as I read here from a Tony McGregors’ article on Lionel Abrahams from an article back in 1995 by Poet Francis Faller, and Red laughs, A Poet Wisdom Relay, ha ha, ‘For Abrahams, ripening is a function of the memory. And here lies one paradox: memory is both a blessing and a curse. The poet would be blessed if future generations were to recollect, not his ‘self’, but the humanistic, enlightened principles for which he and his forebears strove. Red adds, a she here needs to be added. She or- He has no hunger for ‘nes’ and novelty; ‘there is enough already greatly given, slash, waiting to be unforgotten.’ so here is my thoughts, Red adds, Deeds, deeds of ones life time, can, or slash, will they keep on enlightening or haunt, furthermore regrets? So our modern term, ‘Keep it Real means a lot correct? Red asks.

Well, look at what we have done Andy,” Andy replies, “Lionel Abrahams’ poem, ‘A Dead Tree Full of Live Birds’ is like a book somewhat, and by our hunches, instinct, we knew this. Move the train, Lets see the world full of alive Poets and past Poets, full of life and wisdom, so yes Red, I love your Poet Wisdom Relay happening. Here in Azania, radicals call South Africa.”

I shall return,” says Boet, “I ‘am going to get us some, Herman Charles Bosmans’ Willem Prinsloo’s Peach Brandy,” and Boet laughs.

Mathias followed Boet, and Mathias has been busy with Poets of Africa online, and promoting too, letting them know the Poetry E Train is coming.

Red, Lionel Abrahams poem,’ A Dead Tree Full of Live Birds’ & Africa’s Queen of Trees the fig has similarities,” said Andy, “The Poets that feel writing poetry is a curse is amazing to me, while others feel it is a blessing. As we interview Poets, we get a better understanding of their spirit. The last stanza of the Poem is about respect, to read, and to be read, before life & time runs out.”

Red was in contemplating mode and spoke, We need to start writing to the Poets of Africa.

Yes, okay,” Andy replied and laughed, “Contemplating is like being a Giraffe, with our heads way up in thoughts of poetry, and Giraffes like to be in groups.”

As they rolled on up and down the Railroad they notice water tables near villages in the way beyond.

Mathias and Boet returned with drinks and Boet said, “I was just thinking, and there are many Poems engraved on tombstones here in South Africa, most weathered away.”

Mathias looked at them and said, “It’s almost time to curate this anthology and we are near Kimberly, then onto Johannesburg, Pretoria, Port Elizabeth, East London, and Durban, plus many small stations along the way.”

Everyone, I have to warn you, the Electric Owl has picked up on some serious poems here. The Poets of the 21st Century, Koleka Putuma, Puno Selesho, Julie Wang’ombe, Genna Gardini, and Makhafula Vilakazi. And we have not even surfaced Poetry Train Africas’ untagged/unknown yet, that Mathias has found. You know us Red we don’t show favoritism but this Mutombo Poet, ha his Poet boots on. His poem ‘Poetry Saved My Life” ha, is, the new is- lightning. They all are… Mathias was correct we have not even heard a word of the poetry here. The Electric Owl picked up on Poet Tarryn Doherty way back in Canada.”

And they all smiled.

“By the way Red great music selection,” Andy replied. After a few minutes of riding and contemplating Andy spoke, “I wish we knew the language of Angels so we could do better, because we too define this better: clean slate – an opportunity to start over without prejudice, and from the writer Olaudah Equiano, to create better ways to get as we have said as across too, ‘Every rational mind answers, No. Let such reflections as these melt the pride of their superiority into sympathy for the wants and miseries of their sable brethren, and compel them to acknowledge, that understanding is not confined to feature or colour. If, when they look round the world, they feel exultation, let it be tempered with benevolence to others, and gratitude to God, “who hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth; and whose wisdom is not our wisdom, neither are our ways his ways.’ I wish we could meet the one and only Vincent Bridges. Must be a photo finish via Poem or something because, wagons have no drag-ons.”

Mr. Walklemon Whipagla returned to the observation car, and Andy looked at Red, and they got that, why; and they both tele- thought this dude must be a Anti-British archaeological scholar, or a want to be one, with all the answers. Andy laughed inside thinking about his Grandfather, and he once told Andy, once people like this take control the whole world will fall apart. A Anti-British archaeological scholar was just satire for a slimy snake up in our business, because they can’t be them self. Ah Andy thought, and spoke out load, “8 fingers down and 2 thumbs.”

Andy I just posted a photo of Victor Maitland the bad guy from Beverly Hills Cop film on poetry trains wall and said with a quote from the film of course, What If the 1% of the 1% was a Poet? Victor was not named this for nothing!- ‘Really? That would be neat trick.’

“Did anyone click the like or a comment?” Andy asked

Nope, Red replied.

“You did that to see how deep the sleeping was.” Andy proclaimed.

Yep, Red replied.

“Let me comment, a Slayer song, ‘Read Between the Lies’, not because of faiths, ha ha, because of the Art of Listening,” said Andy and laughed.

Mr. Walklemon Whipagla gave Andy a dirty look, and Andy gave Mr. Walklemon Whipagla, a I can see right through you look.

Boet looked at them and said, “You two are strong, like a left and right hook.”

Red laughed and said, We are ambidextrous. We have learned a lot from candy asses. We are Super Poetry and Railroad Promoters, with a sparkle of a penny and we like to keep it that way. You see Boet in the long run the Wicked Papoose Caboose is coming.

Andy laughed and said, “No word from U.S.A. Or Brazil.”

Imagine that, Red replied.

“Imagine that,” Andy replied, “They are busy with American Politics, even Axel F told us America is screwed.”

Red spoke, Oh the braking system, oh when will it be fully applied? No need to post about that, been there done that.

Mathis spoke, “Red and Andy are great Protest Poets too.”

Poet Harry Owen says ‘Politics only exists because of people. Political Poetry is essentially Poetry about people.’ Red added.

“Red we tried this in Ontario,” said Andy.

I know, Red replied.

“Book & Author Promoter Sara Knight and is awake,” and Andy laughs, “Maybe ‘She talks to Angels like Vincent Bridges.’

And Boet played ‘She Talks To Angels.” on his laptop.

Red winked at Andy’ That Wicked Papoose Caboose wink. Andy went into online conversations with Poet Dana-zoe about and WordSlingers ‘My Human Leakage Test’ Book as the train rolled on. Andy winked back and tele-thought you have to love real Poet friends, like Olan L. Smith and so many others.

Boet asked “Here in Africa there are Animal Poachers, I wonder if there are Poet Poachers too?”

Andy laughed and replied, “I’ am sure there is, web spinning, under ones skin peeling some thing like that.”

Red looked at Mr. Walklemon Whipagla and smiled.

Andy scanned the online feed, and said, “The Poet Fannon Holland is wide awake, and he sees the political ‘BS’. Red, the Poet Keorapetse Kgositsile has a serious point that was never heard of, or raised up on these journeys, and that is the Poetry Audience aka fans of Poetry aka readers have to make an effort too. You have to love that.”

Red explained, Yes, as I read Keorapetse and saying, All cultural explorers start off from specific roots which color their vision and define the allegiances of the work of art they produce. What a great way to look at it all. Reminds me of my first baseball game playing it after watching it on T.V. Then going to a real game. The Audience has their favorites.

Yes,” Andy replied, “The innocence of a young one playing catch with oneself, fast pitch against a brick wall, or swatting the ball off of a tee into a net. Just loving the game, and growing. As the growth Keorapetse says, and meeting a Poet, a Player of Poetry. Inspiring.”

Keorapetse Kgositsile has also seen the changes here in South Africa, Red added, And Keorapetse says, But any Time is with us. And if we take control to shape our attitude and reshape our memories, that time is always now, our time for the best possible uses of our lives. We have to love that.

They call Poets Jesters here. Jive Jestor Red,” and Andy laughs.

Some reading took place and the Art of Listening by all on the train.

The poem ‘The Fate of Revolutionary Poets’ by Allan Kolski Horwitz made Andy cry because the realm was seeping through. The Theater of Pain, the comedy then the tragedy. Andy looked out the window thinking and spoke, “Poetry saves lives for many reasons, Poetry saves Poets from committing murder, so Poetry must I repeat saves ones life from suicide. So Poet shot, cut, bang bang, sling sling the words onto paper, to the hearing forest, wake the Poetry audience up to collaborate with the Poets!!!”

Boet says, “I like what Allan Kolski Horwitz says, He’s an anarchist in socialist clothing! So we are burning the Poetry Train oil,” and Boet laughs, and says, “Yes, wow this reminds me of the Midnight Oil music video, ‘Blue Sky Mine.’ We are hauling future poetry oil, nice, this stuff rocks man. I get it. I ‘am glad I was called.”

Red looks at Andy and laughs happily.

Gentlemen, says Red, You have to love this, this wisdom coincides with Keorapetse Kgositsiles’ wisdom. Horwitz says, ‘With the brutality and stupidity of this system pushed me towards radicalism. No one creates him/herself alone. The family constellation, the culture, the language and above all, the class, into which we are born, shapes who we become. My acceptance of historical materialism as a key tool for understanding human societies and the individuals they produce was a seminal point in my intellectual and psychological evolution.’ Again, says Red, ‘The Poet relay. Red laughs and says, His perspective about Poetry is wide and wise, he wants young Poets to search for their highly original potential, and the youth should not swallow other culture as blindly.

Sweet, ya ya,” says Andy and looks at Mr. Walklemon Whipagla and his pants. Andy then looks at Red and says, “Botsotso’, meaning tight trousers. 19th Centurians in Canada wore tight clothes. Red looked at Andy then at Walklemon and he was wearing bell bottoms. And something again was happening.

Andy smiles and carried on with the documentary, and says, “Allan Kolski Horwitz came up with a great idea, and Andy thought of someone back home, who thinks of ideas but not this one, oh the arena, ya ya. Horwitzs’ idea for a poetry zine in a newspaper insert, brilliant, must be one of those things, of who you know,” and Andy laughs.

Mathias was in poetry mode silent and ever so mind listening. Thinking and encouraging Red and Andy for ‘Protest Poetry’ as the Poet Donald Parenzee proclaims, to encourage lateral thinking. Because during times of war and conflict, Poetry allows others who might not be in the centre of the issue to see what has really occurred. And ‘We All’ are in a massive World Wide psychological war!!!

And Poets were as the Poet Mambo Ntema says ONEBLOOD. Poetry to awaken. Poetry to the public sphere, to the public sphere, but not only that. The worlds Poets should litter the grave sites, the grave sites of the Great Poets that started the Poetry relay.

And everyone got quite and gave respect and thought, ya ya, Poet Mambo Ntemas’ ONEBLOOD!!!!!

All thought inspire the world before it’s too late, and Red started a playlist on Youtube.

Mr. Walklemon Whipagla looked Andy and said, “You have an attitude.’

Andy looks out the window and says, “Ya Ya, it’s a Poetude. Mr. Whipala. It comes from the dirt. Have you ever been laid out down on the dirt by Life alone, telling you, ‘Hey What are you going to do with your life?”

Mr. Walklemon Whipagla replies, “No, I can’t say I have.”

Andy smiles and says “It’s a inner drive, driving to write, that drove to read, that ride to read drove me to hear, that hearing, has got me listening, and that listening drove me to the gate, and that gate opened, that opening lead me to the Lady, the Lady of Poetry, the Realm of true Wisdom. In this world you excel or be expelled. The Lady is the Gifter, and the Gift is the Angelic Alphabet, translated as Poetry. And my Poetude will rub of on you so you are warn’d! It’s in the blood, and I found mine. And Mr. Whipagla, we have not traveled 100 miles in the 21st Century here in South Africa, and already the Lady has shown us, shall we say if you were listening, that; African poetry oral or written is also witness to these forces, to this interconnectedness of human, animal, plant, and inanimate environments and the cosmos. So I know not much about Imperialism but I feel some linear strike from you, and I have news for you, bands of bravos have already tried, and them arrows are way back yonder on that dirt I mentioned.”

Mr. Walklemon Whipagla replies, “You two are not Circus Clowns.”

Andy laughs and replies, “Make a bet, most of the Bleach’d World thinks Poets are clowns, and that is what we are, and even better then that, We endorse it all. I bet you think I ‘am objectionable, undesirable, and obscene.”

Mr. Walklemon Whipagla looked down and bit his lip.

Andy looked at him and said, “We are here to uplift the Poets of Africa and their Poetic Audience! Get us. Let me play a poem for you Mr. Whipagla, a poem by a Poet, down from Louisiana named Huggy Bear da Poet. Warn you here now, the poem is lethal.” Andy looks around at everyone, and plays the poem, ‘ A Time to Kill. And it’s a poem okay, okay.”

Andy looks at Mr. Walklemon Whipagla, and says, “You don’t have to agree, but metaphorically speaking this train is burning, this poetry train is burning hot, we have Poets loading the fire box, and we can engage like a rocket. And after this Poem I ‘am going to leave it all of this be, because this Poetude was given to me, and I lift with my gift!! This is what I do with my Life!”

Andy looked at Red, Mathias and Boet with confident assertion that poems, plays, stories, songs and paintings do matter in the real life of political confrontation. No sooner then that Andy jumped up and said, ‘What?” There were young men jumping on the train and climbing to the roof. Everyone got up, and looked at them as they hoped on the train. One passenger asked, “Are we being robbed?”

Boet explained, “No, they are Train Surfers, and this originated near here in Katlehong, one of the largest townships in South Africa and plays a key role in the history of the struggle against apartheid. After two decades ago, this place still serves as an epicenter for anti-apartheid’s guerrillas. Today, for many of these youths, the situation of segregation remains more or less unchanged. Train surfing represents the search for social redemption. These young men are Staffriders. Also there was a magazine in the 70’s & 80’s named Staffrider who had a nonracial policy and had two main objectives: to provide publishing opportunities for community-based organizations and young writers, graphic artists and photographers; and to oppose officially sanctioned state and establishment culture. I know this because of my babysitter when I was a boy, and now that I remember her favorite Poets were Francis Fuller and Eugene Skeef.”

Mathias laughed and spoke, “I told you, you were going to get some voices.”

Red laughed as the Train stopped to exchange more passengers.

Mathias laughed and said, “We get off here for a while we are in Soweto.”

Andy got off the train, and watched the Train surfers climb down off the train, and one young man crawl out from underneath the train, and walked over to them and asked, “God Bless, how can you all play with death like that? On top of the train seems not as bad as holding on to one under the train and stuff, geez. I knew a boy when I was young who lost his legs trying to jump a train. Try reading and writing, creating exciting things so readers get addicted to reading you.”

The young men did not say anything as of yet to Andy.

One young man looked at Red, and called him a coconut, and said, “He’s not a kaffir,” a white racial slur. They wore tie-dyed t-shirts with the word Kaffir printed on the front of the shirt as an attempt to heal the past and present, to make peace.

Boet spoke, “Can’t we simply stop calling people by their skin colour or how they look like? We are human beings after all not labels! Mandela taught us about forgiveness. Education is the key to getting ahead.”

One young man said, “Be wiser than the Serpent,” and looks at Andy.

I know somewhat of how you feel. My name is Andy Sandihands, and I ‘am an American Poetry Promoter. What did you want to be when you were younger? I ‘am sure someone asked you before? What is your names?”

My name is Lucky,” Luck replied, “and this is Dino, and Crisis.”

Mathias said, “We are going to my friends, and you Train Surfers are welcome to come.”

Lucky replied to one of Andy’s questions, “A fireman and thank you. We have a saying, Talk to us, not about us.”

That’s a great line of work, regardless of what people say,” Andy replied.

They agreed. and they walked along with them to the friends of Mathias.

Lucky said, “There are no jobs, no training, no way out of poverty, and most Africans understand that life is not made of entitlement but of hard work. Blaming others for own failures does not help. Africans must take responsibility of their destiny, unfortunately if you take as example the Afro-Americans the future is of pessimism. The fact remains that there are systemic reasons for poverty in South Africa. People can be and are definitely victims of circumstance, and when it comes to poverty color should not matter.”

Red spoke, Racism is the false belief that a certain group of people are more superior than the other.

Lucky replied “Right, like we have to take our country into our own hands, just like Japan.”

Andy spoke “Every where I have been to in life where my brother and sister black people are, I have never had an issue, I have been welcome inside their homes, although sadly to say, I had a bad experience in Ft. Worth Texas and that surprised me coming from where I have come from. It’s all in the eyes, all in the eyes- and Arlington, Texas at that time was a all loving place.” Andy looked at all the roofs of the shacks, and knew dang it, the U.S.A. wastes way to much roofing material, and what ever is left can be sent here.

Mathias laughs and says, “You may get thrown out of town. South Africa is a human basket case. The most dangerous place for a black person to walk at midnight is Capetown, but no body dare says it. You criticize what you are safe from… unless you want to be a martyr like Faydah.”

Andy changed the subject, and said, “I used to want to be a pen dealer, with a mobile store, so I can set up shop anywhere. My favorite is Papermate, the infamous Flair pen. So what is yours?”

Lucky replied, “I like Applebee or anything from Write Gear.”

Andy smiled and said, “Now we are getting somewhere.” He thought, Open discourse and transparency is the best way to make progress. Being colorblind doesn’t fix anything at all. Teach children where you or they come from and the reality of the world and help them become better people because of it. We all need to talk about racism in order for us to fix it, no one is satisfied with being silent anymore. People don’t have to throw themselves in front of a speeding train to prove that they are not racist or to be anti-racist either.

Poetry Train Africa Chapter 2 South Africa, Meteorite Night

Poetry Train Africa

Chapter 3 Botswana, Poetfeldt and Regions Beyond the Cave of Prolificity (Cave of Dreams)

ya ya the C inside the Circle John E. WordSlinger

Poetry Train Africa is the Third Book of Poetry Train Stories

Poetry Train America and Poetry Train Canada

all acknowledgments and &c &c here so join us on the journey:
a webcast

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Cape to Cairo Documentary by Minnesota Sea Grant and Dr. Athelstan Spilhaus and Louise S. O’Connor

South Africa in the 19th Century by Jim Jones

The British defence of the Pretoria – Delagoa Bay railway D W Aitken

Britain’s global trade in the Great Days of Sail – John McAleer

A Study of Poetry’ by Bliss Perry pages 262-264 the poem ‘The Congo’ by Vachel Lindsay

The Bleek Collection by Lucy Lloyd, Dorothea Bleek, and G.W. Stow

The Keeper of the Kumm by Sylvia Vollenhoven

The sad story of Lobengula’s children

Written by Chakamwe Chakamwe

The Legendary Treasure of Zimbabwe’s King Lobengula by Forbidden Treasure 2016

Three Years with Lobengula: And Experiences in South Africa By J. Cooper-Chadwick

The Boswells: The Story of a South African Circus By Charles Ricketts

For Love and Glory, Crossing the Heart of Africa by David Maxwell Braun of National Geographic

From the Cape to Cairo; the first traverse of Africa from south to north (1902) by Ewart Scott Grogan

Great Railway Journeys – Rhodesia Zambezi Epress Michael Wood & Mike Palin

Desert of the Skeletons by New Atlantis Full Documentaries

The Iron Man by Yvette Kimm

Egypt’s Revolution and Higher Education By Troy Camplin

‘New News Out of Africa’ by Charlayne Hunter -Gault

Antjie Krog and the Post-Apartheid Public Sphere: Speaking Poetry to Power by Anthea Garman

An Inappropriate Text for an Appropriate Evening – Read Antjie Krog’s Keynote Address from the 2015 Sunday Times Literary Awards

Begging to Be Black’ Liminality and Critique in Post-Apartheid South Africa by Stewart Motha

An Inappropriate Text for an Appropriate Evening – Read Antjie Krog’s Keynote Address from the 2015 Sunday Times Literary Awards by Jane Rosenthal

How the Leopard Got His Spots by Samuel Arbesman

How the leopard got his spots: Turing’s theory by Andrew Haynes

How The Literary Class System Is Impoverishing Literature

On the Systemic Economic Barriers to Being a Writer by Lorraine Berry

Roy Campbell: Bombast and Fire by Joseph Pearce

On the magazine internship crackdowns & a response to Coyne by Claire Seaborn

Bell Canada cancels massive unpaid-internship program by Zoe McKnight

Turbott Wolfe and the emotional aspects of the colour-situation by Gareth Cornwell

The Cambridge History of South African Literature edited by David Attwell, Derek Attridge

A Very Bitter Love-Making Women as Points of Cross-cultural Encounter in William Plomer’ s Turbott Wolfe by Stephen Naudé (Johannesburg)

Two of my favourite poems by South African poet Lionel Abrahams by Tony McGregor

Revealing the Leopard | Nature Documentary by The Best Documentaries

The Herman Charles Bosman Literary Society

Moolman, Modikwe Dikobe, Jane Fox and Uys Krige by Patricia Schonstein

The Keeper of the Kumm by Sylvia Vollenhoven

Specimens of Bushman Folklore By W. H. I. Bleek

Bushman dictionary By D.F. Bleek

A Bushman Dictionary by Dorthea F. Bleak

Reynard the Fox in South Africa: Or, Hottentot Fables and Tales By Wilhelm Heinrich Immanuel Bleek

The First People of the Cape: A Look at Their History and the Impact of By Alan Mountain

The Cambridge History of South African Literature edited by David Attwell, Derek Attridge

“A Very Bitter Love-Making”. Women as Points of Cross-cultural Encounter in William Plomer’ s Turbott Wolfe by Stephen Naudé (Johannesburg)

As a child is born without fear, so is it born without prejudice. Prejudice, like fear, is acquired” Marie Kilile by Megan Leed-Williams

Surfing Soweto – South Africa by Journeyman Pictures

South Africa: HIE Dhlomo – 1903 – 1956 by By Thapelo Mokoatsi


Es’kia (Ezekiel) Mphahlele, “On Negritude in Literature” by

South Africa Words and Lingo & Translations by Mambo Ntema

Bushmen in a Victorian World: The Remarkable Story of the Bleek-Lloyd by Andrew Bank

“Scorched Earth” (Anglo-Boer War) documentary (2000, South Africa) By redblackwritings

Specimens of Bushman Folklore by W. H. I. Bleek and L. C. Lloyd

The Wild Animals – Chimpanzee in Congo by

Chimpanzee accumulative stone throwing by Hjalmar S. Kühl, Ammie K. Kalan, Christophe Boesch

Why do chimpanzees throw stones at trees? by MPI-EVA PanAf/Chimbo Foundation


Anti-imperialist writings by Mark Twain – 10. King Leopold’s Soliloquy, Part 1

Slash- Beneath the Savage Sun

Desert of the Skeletons (full documentary) by New Atlantis Full Documentaries


The Big Bang is not the beginning of our universe — it’s actually the end of something else entirely by

-… …-


Poetry Train America, Custom Leatherbound: Available

Posted in Animal Poetry, Bullet Train Poetry, Charles C Gragg, Historical Poetry Books, History Poetry, John E WordSlinger, Poetry, Poetry E Train, Poetry Promotion, Poetry Train, The Art of Selena Howard, Time Travel Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 24, 2013 by johnewordslinger

Poetry Train America, Custom Leather-bound





Case Pieces


A little glue


The light brown cover is a special bonded leather from Italy. The corners ( red, yellow, blue and tan) are Verona cloth


Measuring Head and Tail Bands


Applying the head band with some glue


Head And Tail Band Close Up


First Off- Tracing the copy on baking paper with charcoal pencil- in reverse.

Then the image is dampened and transferred


A Burnishing Tool is used to do the headline


Title close up of the burnished leather


Then the  Authors Name


Blank Back cover


Finished Product



To Read an excerpt click here-

The book is about 3 men who travel the U.S.A. in the year of 2012… To write a written documentary on Poets and the Railroad in our times… When they sleep they get taken back in time to the 19th Century, when the roads were built, and they have such great experiences, and meet key Poets, and figures… Upon waking they have conversations about Poets from the 20th Century, and RxR events… Then it goes into their written documentary on Poetry and Poets now… Main Characters that Andy and Red and Train Marshal Charlie journey with in their Dreams, and they are Mad Bear, Jung Hem Sing, Mr. Welchberry, Patrick O’Hara, Jimmy New Orleans, and many more.


To place on order please call 815-915-8332

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Inside Product Details

Standard Copyright License
June 13, 2013
Hardcover (casewrap)
Interior Ink
Black & white
3.46 lbs.
Dimensions (inches)
8.25 wide x 10.75 tall

Poetry Train America

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