DAWN BRAUN lives in the same retirement village in Somerset-West as Maeder and Les Osler, as well as Toverview contributor Dilys Kneebone. It turns out she’s no mean poet, so we’re featuring some of her poems below. We asked her for a short biographical note, and she charmingly wrote as follows:
‘Widowed after 57 years of marriage to a wonderful man, Max Braun who, after being sales director of Cargo Motors, founded his own magazine, TRANSPORT MANAGEMENT, and ran it for 20 years thereafter. We have three children – two super sons from my husband’s previous marriage, who lived and grew up with us, and my own child, a beautiful creature and a brilliant actress. I was a dress designer for many years, and still love making clothes, as well as sketching and painting in oil. I have always loved words and writing, and have over many years written about anything and everything. Many of my poems are tokens of thanks to friends, farewells, birthday wishes, or about situations told to me by friends. I do hope other folk will enjoy them too !
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THE PERILS OF BEING POOR
it’s September, and I’m hell-bent
On this month not closing without a cent.
But the gas bottle is empty, the electricity running low
So try as I might there will be less cash flow!
I’m eating leftovers, veggies and pasta
In spite of trying, the pasta is a disasta!
Now just for spite to make it worse
Comes another huge bite at the purse
My car’s gauge is showing heat
I’m terrified it will die and I must resort to feet!
So I’m going nowhere and holding my breath
And hoping to hear repair, not death.
So kyk noord, fok voort is my motto for now
I will survive and flourish no matter how
At least I have some food, wine and a warm bed
What more can one ask for than a roof over one’s head!
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THE YOUNG LASS FROM PLETT
There was a young lass from Plett
Well raised, genteel and yet
She could cuss a little but not very well
Once very miffed she said ‘Bloody hell’
Never quite knowing what it meant
Till she travelled Namibia in a tent
There her vocab increased tenfold
Some of the words are better untold
But the worst words she could utter
And I assure you it wasn’t a low mutter
It rose in her throat, without intent
It was the bloody four-letter word TENT!
— For PJ, who loathed camping in tents
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FOR MY SWANNY
My Swanny is a wonderful child
Sweet-tempered, well-mannered and mild
Singing and dancing is her full-time act
Loved by all and that’s a fact!
BUT her alter ego, a meanie called Sharon
Has the temper of an apoplectic baron
She stops her foot and digs in her heels
And flatly refuses to eat her meals
But like morning mist before the sun
Gone is Sharon and out comes some fun
Rumours abound now she is married
That Sharon has not left but has tarried
And emerges from time to time.
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CHASING THE WIND (my friends and I are aging fast)
Nothing we are is built to last
Our boobs droop and our faces sag
Under each eye is a capacious bag
The flat tummy we once sported
Has gone alas! To fat resorted
Our eyes are weaker
Our outlook bleaker
BUT replacement is the mane of the game
A new hip here, a new knee there
A facelift, a tummy tuck, diligent body care.
Eternal youth, no more grey
Yoga, gym, Pilates day by day
Grandies who call you by name
Don’t know that grandma is the same
Who can’t knit, cook or bake
Her very existence is a fake !
FOR a grandma she still will be
Whether she likes it or not you see
All the trying and all the denying
Will not alter the time of dying!
So better by far, to become and stay
Ouma, grandma, Nonna and love it that way!
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FEET OF CLAY
Aren’t they bright, glowing and golden
Beautiful, talented, untouchable but so beholden
To their managers, agents and fickle fans
The endless entourage of ‘also tans’
Their lives are lived in a protected bubble
But Alas! No life escapes some trouble
Frail egos, false pride and a dose of fame
Are the fatal recipe that destroy the game
And besmirches the well known name
You no longer belong to you
Are these real friends? Who is who?
They long to return to the simple life
A happy one with kids and a wife.
The ride of fame is brief, then comes the fall
It’s like crashing head long into a brick wall
Gone are the fans, the money the fame
All that is left is a once known name
No one remembers the ups when you’re down
And someone else is now the talk of the town!
Pick up your life where it’s at now
Go live it as well as you know how!
— Written when I read something that referred to fame as the ‘bitch goddess’.
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IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL
Take good care of your soul
For it is the keeper of ‘the whole’
The heart is nothing more than a pump
Only love can make it jump
The eye may see all it beholds
Without your soul, no beauty enfolds
Ears can hear all manner of things
But prayer and music touch the soul-strings.
If your soul is sick, you neither see nor hear
All is coloured by doubt and fear
But if your soul is healthy, it really won’t matter
Whether seeing the mundane or hearing idle chatter
Above it all your soul will soar
And learn to thank God all the more
For the gift of health that plays a big role
But nothing surpasses the joy of your soul!
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FAMILY CHRISTMAS
Tree is up, everything sparkles,
Family is coming for Xmas hols.
Fridge is full, deep freeze groaning
Every taste catered for, let’s hear no moaning
Perfect planning with meticulous lists
Assures that this time nothing is missed.
Xmas meal, planned in great detail
Tried and tested recipes, souring no fail
All-last years mistakes corrected
This year will be the best! Xmas perfected!
Everything is eaten before Xmas day
Grandma is a familiar at Pick n Pay
There are wet towels and cozzies in every room
And audios and tapes going Boom Boom Boom
The tele is usurped day and night
Anything for peace, let no one fight
Lex eats fritos and chips, Amy’s organic
Baby ears billing, his mother is manic
Their father stays calm, he goes fishing
Oupa joins him, it’s peace he’s missing.
Nobody fancies hot Xmas fare
Oupa’s demeanour is beginning to wear
‘Give them junk food I want my ham
Or we’ll eatout, I don’t give a damn’
Just when you think this was not planned
The holiday is over and happy and tanned
They hug you and kiss you and say goodbye
You wave goodbye with a tear in your eye
Go well my children, drive safely my dear
Their voices ring out, ‘see you next year!’
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