Geist Zine

I wonder if I’ve ever unknowingly walked passed them,

Down the streets of Georgia or Hastings;

I think I would get star struck if I ever intentionally

Strolled by, or at the very least I’d confidently stiffen

My allure and act like I didn’t care, not even bothering

To turn my head, but relying on reflections in windows and

Peripheral vision to give me a taste of what I desperately wanted to

Immerse myself into.


Geist, the small literary magazine I had

Come to idealize and idolize — to associate with

Blissful breezes that carried fresh spring scents

From petals softer than bottoms fresh from the wombs

Of mothers, who practiced natal yoga and nourished

Themselves with organic produce, reared in urban farming



Art has a way of presenting perfection

In a world whose politics cannot agree on the

Definition. The steaming cup of coffee icon

Signals for all to meditate in the crafted collection

of words who’s mental imagery  is retrospective

of every moment in time before this second now.


Because as I keel into the mind of each

Swollen brained author, I feel a beating heart

that is not my own, with descriptors so rich,

they become indistinguishable from my own

Memories, so much so that it is impossible not

to take note of my own surroundings, in order

to repay the favour of a fervent rendition–And

thus a life lived relished in the small things where

Cups of dark chocolate coffee offer indispensable pleasure

in mornings, mid day, to post-dinner, accompanied with

stories of spirit, wit, intellect and mind.