Alf Hutchison

As seen through the eyes of those who witnessed first hand,
and liberated the scenes of the Holocaust
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To the memory of all who have fallen in war.
At the going down of the sun,
And in the morning …we will remember them
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Master Jack was old and grey; time had passed him by,
Wizened hands betrayed his age, still a glint lay in his eye;
Physique so very frail now, had fought a thousand ‘wars’,
Waiting now upon God’s will; Jack’s life had lost its cause.
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Written Mother’s day 2009

What thoughts that day…went through your mind?
Sweet gentle lady; born one of a kind,
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A photograph appeared on the cover of TIME magazine in 1994...a malnourished dying child trying to crawl to a UN aid post a kilometer away...watched over by a vulture just waiting for the child to die...


Kevin Carter zoomed his camera lens, that day in’94,
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Majestic he mounts the thermals high,
Serenely sailing yon clear blue sky;
Alone he circles, wings abreast
Far above, his mountain nest.
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The clay beneath her muddy feet, welled up between her toes,
A squeal of unencumbered bliss, from her young soul arose,
Dancing in the rain alone, arms spread-eagled wide,
An aged mother looking on, shook her head and sighed.
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Crown of Thorns

Acacia, crown of desert thorn.
No priceless pearls or Gold
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At the moment of conception,
God’s miracle is sown,
The seedlings of an unborn child,
Within that womb are grown,
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Dedicated To a South African poet on Poemhunter...Cindy Kreiner Sera

With carefully chosen words she draws,
On an African canvas which she adores,
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A TIME

A time of tribulation great,
Is coming to this world;
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Alone upon a hilltop,
Stood a piper boldly grand,
A soldier far away from home;
Scotland his homeland.
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Do you feel the pain of nails, thrust through your tender hands,
Do you feel those evil thorns, a crown twisted in bands,
The excruciating agony, of iron pierced through your feet,
The shame of being spat upon, on a Roman pebbled street,
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Freedom fighter or terrorist? Depends whose side you’re on,
Africa’s ‘freedom fighters’… proud pirates everyone,
No freedom was ever gained for Black folk’s kith or kin,
Their fight was not for liberty, but to loot now from within.
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Sixty four wagons in laager; the night mist cold and bland,
These Boers were merely farmers, going north in search of land.
Surrounded now by Zulus, their presence was foreboding,
Twenty thousand warriors; drumming, shouting, goading.
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Should the young children
Suffer for our sin,
Does it not grip your trembling
Heart within,
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Can you recall where you were, September nine/eleven?
When all hell did break loose; from Kamikaze heaven,

In disbelief, you watched aghast… another plane, another blast.
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Friendship
By Alf Hutchison

To whom do you turn when sad and forlorn?
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‘Father please take this cup from me’,
Echoed His cry from Gethsemane,
He prayed aloud and He did fret
Droplets of blood ran down as sweat,
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Come with me, hold tight my hand,
Whilst I show you my beloved land,
Africa’s blood washes through my veins,
From Bushveld glades to savanna plains.
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