Mid Night Poetry

Super moonface

The man in the moon is smiling at me again;

His full disc face and his icy grin.

A cool mint breeze chicken skins my surface.

Comes deep from the winters lungs with a freezing purpose.

All summer i yearned for the flames of the soul rising fire.

Now my wood is all burn’t, and extinguished all my desire.

My longest days seem to have approached in the shortest one.

If sleep was my steak, it would be well underdone.

Now we have dug our selves to the bottom of winters hole.

At least we are looking up,

with still a long way to go.

© Deon Heemskerk 2013

super moon


Sky dream

I would love to dip my toes in that deep blue sky.

Wade knee deep in the clouds floating by.

Drink the timeless mists, that quenched the souls so long ago.

High in these mountains, still a few of it know.

Would the sun warm my souls, as i dance through his garden?

Slip seeds of peace into the earth, soften souls that have hardened.

Mine it is till the frost settles on my sleep.

Wake me then, but the memory i will keep.

© Deon Heemskerk 17-6-2013


Morning fox

The blood vessels in my eyes bleed.

On the highway to your heart they feed.

Silicon in these stones, wash the skin from my hands.

Water shifts the particles of sand.

Gravity pulls the flow of the river.

Memory of that dawn sinks deeper.

All the birds seem to flying in the same direction.

Infected by the love of the sun, in this frozen section.

Todays mist dances with yesterdays dust.

Even the fox in your eyes, i trust.

© Deon Heemskerk 2013


All night

In the stillness of the night,

darkness closes and becomes my cage.

Thoughts my enemy,

or is the responsibility of  light?

The gravity pulls on the corners of my stomach.

Blanketing my soul.

Drown the sense of time fade.

It sickens me with its greed.

My hunger for a clear thought.

Trees of the day, so wicked and twisted tonight.

Tormenting my moments of weakness.

Something’s burning deep,

but fuels nothing good.

I am the same end of the magnet,

pushing away from everyone else.

My toes leaving prints in soil that no one notices.

© Deon Heemskerk


Rain of the dark

Through the darkness I hear the patter of the rains feet.

It stumbles through the trees foliage,

till the ground it will meet.

A sound with no face,

in the darkness can be rhythmic or can roar.

Gently putting me to sleep with its soft notes,

but awakens me when it pours.

The ground welcomes it,

like a dry sponge soaking in.

The trees slurp through long straws,

drawing deep breaths of water in.


the river gets angry.

Throwing punch’s at the bank,

as it heads toward the sea.

© Deon Heemskerk


Old Gum

Checkerboard of light,

warm and cool through the tree.

The sun’s footsteps,

grass forming two shades of green.

Little worlds formed in the folding bark,

for the ant and spider.

Highways formed from tree to tree,

for the little working commuter.

Little balls of yellow fuzz descend on the trees flower.

Pollen drunken hum,

on top of the cream tipped tower.

The warm sweet afternoon,

drifts slowly out into the air.

Gaze fixed tree ward,

without a worry,

without a care.

© Deon Heemskerk



Here the water is manipulated into streets.

The air is thick with humidity and greed.

Looking good is a price tag,

attached to a brand,

attached to a shirt,

attached to some manipulated or enhanced body part.

It becomes difficult to see if the advertisement and the person are apart.

Here all hope swings from a pole,

as less is more in lust tourism.

Where souls are lost in glazed eyes,

looking for the top of their gold prism.

Simple manners discarded,

as the consumerism saturates with the rising  people tide.

Come see what?

Where all humanities worst traits come to hide?

Fermenting in bloated pride and selfishness,

Giving it the right environment to breed.

© Deon Heemskerk