I stood among a crowd
of tourists from abroad
and stared into his past:

a cage of bricks and bars
as gloomy and as cramped
as racial bias in the mind.

Read Mandela’s Cell

Tom Raath's the red-haired bloke lurching off for a pee.
Craft welder. Makes wrought-iron burglar-bars and things.
His leather gloves, his visored black helmet's on the bar.

Read The Bar

Behind that weathered face of yours,
a face that held a Grecian statue's look
of gaunt contempt for all things mean,

what memories of glossy cattle herds,
of honey-coloured domes of grass
and iron-bright spear-blades seethed?

Read The Clan Bard of the Drakensberg