THE MACACO IS HOW I LEARNT THAT

everything in life is achievable in steps. Let me explain. Lets go back a year and a half to an early ‘winter’ evening. The end of a class. The grass is damp beneath our bare feet as we stand, listening to our teacher’s conclusion of it, asking our questions before we returned home for the night and dreamt capoeira dreams. The macaco was what we learnt that evening, and I was captivated by the fluidity of the movement and its gracefulness; a back handspring that rolled like a carriage wheel. I wanted to learn it. I really wanted to learn it. ‘How do we do it?’ I asked, attempting again, straining to bend my back and be completely upside down, struggling to kick my feet up over while maintaining control, falling over.
That is when we were taught about steps. Steps, he said, is what gets you to the top of the stairs. To the end of the road.
‘It is not One giant step’ he warned, wearily.
‘it is one step, followed by the next, and the next, and the next.’
He crouched into the macaco’s starting position. Squattting, left palm on the ground, right protecting his face.
‘When you first this move,’ he said. ‘You might start like this.’
he looked over his left shoulder, shifting his weight to his left hand and, using the momentum of his position he ‘jumped’ lifting both feet in a ‘hop’ to where he looked behind him. He was never upside down. He just hopped sideways. It was unimpressive. I was getting bored.
I copied it easily.
‘Don’t do anything now’ he said, ‘listen’.
‘You start like that, and then that becomes this.’ he hops a little higher, a little more upside down
and then this. and then this. and so on

The macaco is how I learnt that

everything in life is achievable in steps. Let me explain. Lets go back a year and a half to an early ‘winter’ evening. The end of a class. The grass is damp beneath our bare feet as we stand, listening to our teacher’s conclusion of it, asking our questions before we returned home for the night and dreamt capoeira dreams. The macaco was what we learnt that evening, and I was captivated by the fluidity of the movement and its gracefulness; a back handspring that rolled like a carriage wheel. I wanted to learn it. I really wanted to learn it. ‘How do we do it?’ I asked, attempting again, straining to bend my back and be completely upside down, struggling to kick my feet up over while maintaining control, falling over.
That is when we were taught about steps. Steps, he said, is what gets you to the top of the stairs. To the end of the road.
‘It is not One giant step’ he warned, wearily.
‘it is one step, followed by the next, and the next, and the next.’
He crouched into the macaco’s starting position. Squattting, left palm on the ground, right protecting his face.
‘When you first this move,’ he said. ‘You might start like this.’
he looked over his left shoulder, shifting his weight to his left hand and, using the momentum of his position he ‘jumped’ lifting both feet in a ‘hop’ to where he looked behind him. He was never upside down. He just hopped sideways. It was unimpressive. I was getting bored.
I copied it easily.
‘Don’t do anything now’ he said, ‘listen’.
‘You start like that, and then that becomes this.’ he hops a little higher, a little more upside down
and then this. and then this. and so on

bubbles

scatter visions
misread expectations
bubbles burst
panic power
jobs everywhere and nowhere
all at once
like clouds and rain
so let me remember
what the core is
and let me take the
necessary steps
let the list live on
and step by step
I will carry on

rain

rain falls like a wall
the world watered and
falling in pieces and
calling, no- shrieking
and yelling like an angry
man stomping with big boots
and waving a large spade in the
air his face contorted in rage
and then flip the page and it is
rain, watering the world like a
watercolour, giving life to life
washing everything anew

2015

and so silence settles
like the dust over a leaf
and the thudud of this beats like in an
underwater effort, trying to make new
footsteps on a wave-washed shore,
but the waves are washing and the sands’
too soft and the sun is setting-
mosquitos linger on the past like
a damp sweat too heavy to make a change
when the dust falls and we
embed ourselves into a new page and
gravity pushes against us but we hold on
to the edge of the page as the fan blows
and it pulls away trying to make new anew and
new until there is nothing left but empty pages
in a big book
and then here we are, in a fresh 2015 that smells of new pages
and unwritten words.
Discover its potential