Goddo Faggotte

Rookie - 264 Points (Frontier Country, South Africa)

Goddo Faggotte Poems

1. Underline 9/28/2015
2. Hopelessness 9/28/2015
3. The Thunderstone 9/28/2015
4. The Cliffs Of Forever 9/28/2015
5. We, The People 9/28/2015
6. I Will Not Cease From Mental Flight (From The Preface To William Blake’s Milton: A Poem In Two Books) 9/28/2015
7. Heritage 9/28/2015
8. Reflections On A Seatide 9/28/2015
9. Dying Together 9/28/2015
10. A Resting Place 9/28/2015
11. Panem Et Circenses (Bread And Circuses) 9/28/2015
12. Ars Moriendi (Art Of Dying) 9/28/2015
13. Valkyrie 9/28/2015
14. Id 9/28/2015
15. Discontent 9/28/2015
16. Séance 9/28/2015
17. Unheard In The Dead Of Night 9/28/2015
18. Truth & Death 9/28/2015
19. Canticle Of The Earth (Pax Et Bonum) 9/28/2015
20. The Captain 9/28/2015
21. Thatch Bats 9/28/2015
22. Memory 9/28/2015
23. River Bed 9/28/2015
24. Life As Sand 9/28/2015
25. Sun Beetles 9/28/2015
26. The Lamb Of Kasteelberg 9/28/2015
27. São Paulo 9/28/2015
28. Office Party 9/28/2015
29. Jackal Moonlight 9/28/2015

Comments about Goddo Faggotte

  • Luke Navarro (9/30/2015 8:29:00 PM)

    I suggest anyone that stumbles on to this gents page, give him a a read.
    Enjoy your work much, thanks for sharing.

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Best Poem of Goddo Faggotte

Jackal Moonlight

The Nama welcomed me with a handclap
(Ai Nam se Kind)
to their Desert of Diamonds.

The ‘middelmannetjie’ our quartz guide
All the way to the mission station at
Khubus // Kuboes
Picaso’s Cubist Heaven.

All geometry and angles,
Light and shadows,
Planets and Stars.
Hul agterplaas ne’s die maan
The back of the moon
A Lunar Landscape.

The diamonds of the Richtersveld
Are born to desolation,
Hardened by Loneliness.
They shimmer in their solitude.
Then ripped as an unborn foetus
From the womb of Mother Earth.

The Kalahari ...

Read the full of Jackal Moonlight

We, The People

There are no tigers in the zoo.
Bored children demand “real vicious beasts, ”
having tired of genocide, live beheadings
and the beating up of migrants.
Sequence and resurrect the down-trodden,
a man-eater camouflaged as a moth-eaten rug,
we must have a live tiger behind bars again.

The confessional is abandoned,

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