Bronwyn Writes

WHY - Bronwyn Desjardins (14 December 2008 at 02:51) Why can I not silence the doubt? What dark and blood-thirsty beast is this that claws at my trust? Why do words come fast When mistrust is cast? Why does love silence my pen? Pain gives license to words and poems come easier then. Is it love I despise? Or her ability to render me speechless and hypnotize? Malevolent darkness, happy slumbering daylight; I cannot tame this beast of the night. I sleep not deep, In my dreams I weep. Sleep deprived and hungry for what is not, I watch you sleep and claim my lot. The difference, I can no longer tell in my state of sleep deprivation, Between what is truth and what falls foul in my desperation… To find the answers I seek to my cries of “why?” 

My Father's Son - Bronwyn Desjardins The pungent, sour smell of horse manure and the stale smell of urine fills the air. I startle him as I enter the stable, hay crunching beneath my black Doc Martens – red laces. His head turns in my direction, his eyes searching my face for a motive for this late intrusion. I reveal the steel blade I’ve kept hidden until now. Its ominous presence is reflected back at me in his mustang eyes. I have the upper hand. Equine muscles quiver in fear. I step toward him. My assault is swift and violent. The gelding surrenders and slumps to the floor in a dark fit of screams, a stallion no more. In my hands, I hold his pride – sticky and crimson – his stolen manhood. I am my father’s son.

Ode to Bluebells - Bronwyn Desjardins (In Memoriam: Eric Laver) Sunday, 7 December 2008 at 00:46 Bluebells swell deep Where hearts fell asleep. Once a carpet of blood swept fear, Now a sea of bluebells dear. They ring for the men in silence Who stood up against, and in gruesome violence, Despite the pounding screaming Of the pulse that raced unfailing. Where you slumped from your blue-blood driven mission, Blue blossoms come into fruition. Long dead, these men and women who battled here, Now honour and perfumed peace replaces their fear. Blades of green intermittently peak and stutter, Standing up for the names this generation does not utter. Parents, siblings and children of whom Are too, but barely a faded photograph hanging in a room. No longer do canons roar and bullets sing. This field’s harmonious silent blue ring, Reminds all to forever give thanks To the young men and women whose blood fertilized these banks. Bluebells blossom dear In a field once carpe

Sudden Death - Bronwyn Desjardins by  Bronwyn Desjardins  ( Notes ) on Wednesday, 10 December 2008 at 11:40 Public Friends Friends except acquaintances Only me Custom Close Friends University of KwaZulu-Natal See all lists... Snoops Access DEnied Weight Loss Mauritian friends Pietermaritzburg friends Kloof friends Family 2 Bryanston friends Family Poetry Words Work/ Hobby friends Writers women Writers protect Writers2 Sandton 2006+ Muellers fam + kids AHS amanda patterson Bryanston High School Kloof High School The Wykeham Collegiate Sandton, Gauteng Area Family Acquaintances Go Back A naked room. My head is swimming. Spinning. The cutting, cold steel of the cuffs coax me back to sobriety. Little square room. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 1:30 a.m. The sound of the clock on the wall. Hypnotizing. Above, a rusty, rotating fan does little to cool the stale, interrogating air. I glance to the left – reflecting back, a blurred, unfocused, pale, stained face. “I know

Schoolyard Bully – Bronwyn Desjardins Friday, 20 February 2009 at 00:37 See me here, no? I didn’t think so. I’m here every day at her side – my teacher, blind. Oblivious. The last to be picked from the crowd, The blue-eyed girl with the sad smile. The games you played, Well, I never learnt the words. Pretty pink party dresses, Your hands pulled at my tresses. Can you believe we shared the same name, you and I? But at opposite ends of the school yard, There was no way I could find courage to defend. You with your buck teeth – sad, afraid (I see that now) a bully at the core. And me with my cock-eye –alone, afraid (no more) behind the door.

Words don’t surface with the same familiarity now, Hesitating and tongue-tied, they retreat impotent in my mind’s crevices,  Fearful and stammering, they recede in the blinding light of my heart’s delight. My intelligence, confronted by joy, exhibits a blank canvas That I labour and yearn to paint for my reader, But the words fade and wilt in the presence of such intense rapture. I seek and find not the language to express, The ecstasy that leaps and carouses within, Newborn and undefined, rollicking and spirited – my bliss. Perhaps, then, it is fitting that this feeling remains untainted by definitions, Free from words or language, to frolic euphoric – unchained and unrestrained, Forever my haven of un-penned delight to relish and savour – my joy undefined.