JUNGLE KING
He’s roaring fear,
You’re stupid if you’re not afraid,
He’s built to destroy,
That’s how he was made.
See the tail flicker,
A single black weave,
See his mane waver,
In that soft breeze.
Hear his call,
It shatters the quiet,
Hear that first note,
Of the bush’s wild riot.
Look at his steps,
Don’t step where he goes,
He owns this wilderness,
As anyone wise knows.
Fight not his anger,
Contain not his power,
Track with the wisdom,
Of a man’s final hour.
Rejoice not when he falls,
But pay the King respect,
Majesty never truly dies,
It is their spirit you can never get.
~KENDAL-RAY KASCHULA
BLACK DEATH
He is a brute of a beast,
Hulking and strong,
He is the mark upon a hunter,
For the hunts that went wrong.
He is a head of sweeps and curves,
Bends to the sky,
He is the width of boss,
That between his ears lie.
He is fog in the morning,
Clouding from his nose,
He is the steady hoof-steps,
That no one really knows.
He is the turn when he sees you,
The loop that circles back,
He is that steaming train,
That from the thickets boils black.
He is bellow and thunder,
For quarries must die,
He is the never forgotten story,
Of his very best try.
~KENDAL-RAY KASCHULA
BUSH GOLD
You’ll never see much,
A slight golden ripple in the light,
You’ll never even know he’s there,
Until his grunt shatters the night.
There’s gold like money,
Like coin and treasure,
And then there’s gold like him,
The kind you can never measure.
Finding him is a game of chess,
As I was told,
And he’ll move quicker than you,
And he’ll never willingly fold.
Step with ease,
Don’t hurry, but don’t be late,
Every move counts,
If you want to call it checkmate.
God help you if he’s tired,
And knows that you’re near,
He only fights to win,
So he’ll hardly fight you fair.
Watch his eyes,
They glow in the dark,
Watch his whiskers twitch,
Watch those spots tremble-hidden but somehow stark.
He’ll play the game,
And he’ll go till the end,
He’ll never give in,
For his life is his to defend.
~KENDAL-RAY KASCHULA
AFRICAN GIANT
There is a silhouette on the mountain,
See it? It moves….
There is a noise on the mountain,
Hear it? Almost soft enough to lose….
There are more now,
Than before,
That lumber with an unexpected grace,
There is a grey to their blackness,
And weaving trunks on the face.
See swooping ivory,
A polished, glorious find,
Still unburied treasure,
The type that must be tracked,
Not mined.
There is an invisibility to them,
Move and you’ll see,
They know where you are,
They say they can dream where you’ll be.
I followed these creatures,
Through brush so thick you must crawl,
And they rise like a great mist,
Mightier and greater than us all.
They appear by magic,
They leave with no trace,
What was once a trail,
Is an un-trackable place.
You find them sometimes,
When you least expect you will,
And there is a strange sensation,
Of facing that which is more equipped than you,
To kill.
They are large,
There is no other way to say it,
And there is a tremble in their charge,
And there is great fear for those who face it.
Ears back, head down,
Treasure sweeping the floor,
A trumpet that pierces,
A war cry and call.
So majestic, so strong,
So steadfastly defiant,
We can bow down respectfully,
For the African Giant.
~KENDAL-RAY KASCHULA
SILENT DEATH
If death is silence,
Then it is that unseen ripple,
That moves beneath the water,
And proves that safety is an illusion-traitorous and fickle.
It is not a Warner,
It does not live by fair play,
It is simply the winner,
For those too slow to get away.
We read them in history,
These brutes and these beasts,
Dinosaurs of epic proportions,
Completing epic feats.
He is their cousin,
Their brother,
Their son.
He is their student,
A star pupil in work well done.
He is sly, and cruel, and some would say mean,
He is a cheater,
An abuser,
The one who never gets seen.
He is criminal and crime,
He is a wet death,
He is roiling and rolling,
He is pulling out your breath.
The water is still,
Then the volcano will erupt,
The water is spraying,
Still again-the ending is abrupt.
The water will waver,
And ripple and churn,
But the blue is died red,
And above the mourners yearn.
These victims are lost,
The graves life empty,
And he still swims beneath the surface,
His own great entity.
~KENDAL-RAY KASCHULA
