Towards Better Democracy

Good words, well written, better the world. Good literature betters the world immeasurably.

Dawdling still

Today, driving some back streets instead of the main road, I remember how I was told incessantly as a small child,

“Stop dawdling and do come along.”

I dawdle still …

When no one is looking.

Malcolm D B Munro
Monday 23 September, 2019

Filed under: art, Book Review, Culture, English poetry, history, Literature, Media, Memoir, poetry, songs, stories

When in South Africa

It must have been a holiday of some kind because the streets were deserted.

The land from the Highveld gradually slopes down to the coast taking miles to do this, as Nature does.

Durban was, and likely still is, the beach call to all in the country. A tourist spot. White pinnacles of hotels abound.

A girlfriend and her friend and myself were in my car – it can’t have been to the beach we were going – I hate the stuff.

Either way, there we were, in the glorious sunshine of midsummer, driving into Durban from an outer suburb.

There are roundabouts and robots as we drift down into Durban.

As I say, there was absolutely no one about. Church Sunday, I suppose.

Behind us appeared a fast, open, red American sports car. The fellow had his girlfriend, hair ablow in the open top, beside him.

Up he roared to the light, and halted with a squeal. On Green, he roared off again.

We have been driving at a leisurely pace and meet up with him at the next light. On Green the car stalls as he floors the pedal.

I say, out the open window,

“Excuse me, your horse is coughing.”

His jaw fell off his chin and his girlfriend assumed the look of an Adder.

Malcolm D B Munro
Monday 23 September, 2019






Filed under: art, English poetry, history, Literature, Media, mythology, poetry, songs, stories

When a small child

Actually the child is my brother when younger.

He received a Christmas card one year which had a reindeer on the front. The card consisted of several pages.

The reindeer is seen saying, “Merry …” He pauses for thought, screws up his face in concentration, and finally says,

“Merry had a little lamb.”

Malcolm D B Munro
Monday, 23rd September, 2019

Filed under: art, Book Review, Culture, English poetry, Literature, Memoir, mythology, songs, stories

Incognita Sperans – Nique Le Vieux Monde

Incognita Sperans – Nique Le Vieux Monde


Filed under: art, English poetry, history, Literature, Media, Music, poetry, songs, stories

Daft Punk – One More Time

Daft Punk – One More Time

Sunday 22 September, 2019

Filed under: art, English poetry, Media, Music, poetry, songs, stories

50% off or more – Autumn Sale of Fine Art Work

Saatchi Art

Malcolm D B Munro
Wednesday 10 August, 2018

Should you be interested in purchasing more than one work, please contact the art through the Comments column of this blog.


Filed under: Archaeology, art, Arts, Book Review, cells, Culture, Cytokines, English poetry, Eternailities, Eternalities, German literature, history, Internet threats, life sciences, Literature, Media, Memoir, Music, mythology, Paleoanthropology, poetry, Proteins, songs, Startup companies, stories

A long time coming

A long time coming
The train on the track
In the distance a puff and a pant
You hear the whistle blow.

As the train passes
A blur

Malcolm D B Munro
Friday 17 August, 2018




Filed under: art, English poetry, Literature, Media, Music, poetry, songs, stories

John Donne – Batter my heart, three-person’d God

Batter my heart, three-person’d God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp’d town to another due,
Labour to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv’d, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov’d fain,
But am betroth’d unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

John Donne

Malcolm D B Munro
Monday 18 June, 2018

Filed under: art, English poetry, history, Literature, Media, Music, poetry, songs, stories, , , , , , , , , , ,

Adrian Henri – Love is

From the Liverpool Poems

Love is feeling cold in the back of vans
Love is a fanclub with only two fans
Love is walking holding paintstained hands
Love is.

Love is fish and chips on winter nights
Love is blankets full of strange delights
Love is when you don’t put out the light
Love is

Love is the presents in Christmas shops
Love is when you’re feeling Top of the Pops
Love is what happens when the music stops
Love is

Love is white panties lying all forlorn
Love is pink nightdresses still slightly warm
Love is when you have to leave at dawn
Love is
Love is you and love is me
Love is prison and love is free
Love’s what’s there when you are away from me
Love is…

Adrian Henri –  Love is

Malcolm DB Munro
Saturday 16 June, 2018

Used under the Fair Use clause, Section 107 of the Copyright Act

                                               Dedicated to Mavis Taylor

When I lived in Cape Town I applied for entrance to the School of Theatre at The University of Cape Town. Mavis was Head of the Department at that time. To gain entrance you had to present three pieces from the empty theatre stage in the Department’s theatre to the Acceptance Panel. There were three as I remember. Mavis was one of them. I was accepted. This poem was one of Mavis’ favourites, she later told me. Mavis and I became close friends until the end of her life.

Filed under: art, English poetry, Media, Music, poetry, songs, stories, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

John Donne – Death be not proud

                                The Holy Sonnets
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Malcolm DB Munro
Saturday 16 June, 2018

Filed under: art, English poetry, history, Literature, Media, poetry, stories, , , , ,

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