Mickey-Shaun Van Tonder

Namibia, Africa

I've been writing since I was 12 and I'm a full-time poet, but studied for a chef and had my own successful pizza business at age 22. I've written more than 750 poems and had some published by "New Authors Journal", The National Library of Poetry, South African Anthology and others. I received an Editor's Choice Award from NLP for the first poem I submitted. I've been internationally nominated for Best Poet of the Year 1996 by The International Society of Poets, of which I am a member . Other writings include: "Poet's & Poetry", a book of dreams, short stories & two erotic novels. I love the sea, wood carving, engraving, music, cooking and videos.

Christmas Snow

In my dreams I wish to stray
to white covered green pastures
in which I would lay.
Press with hands in crystal snow;
the wonder out my soul'd flow.

The enchantment and mystique
of taking part in a white Christmas;
the snowmen and games
and fluffed cotton dunes
draws me into a fantasy:

One in which I live to see;
experience the magic when looking
outside to watch snowflakes
twirling down to the ground
to chat whispers in the corners.

One day I hope to be
able my reality dream to see;
And Christmas would be more
special as innocence falls
down to cover black with white.

Route To Loving Arms

A map will guide you
on the route to loving arms.
Dreams can become softly mine;
Where love can fly
on the wings of the sky.

The heart-shaped map
of my faithful soul;
the vains the route
that you can travel
to find love you crave...

Ripping the front of
my heart out for you,
I blow it in the wind
to let it drift to you;
To make you return to me...

Follow the drops of
a bleeding love - return
before half a heart dies.
But I'd rather live with half
a hoping heart, than an aching whole.

The Mystical Spell

In the heart that magic touches,
a mystical spell drifts through that
soul to urge and drive the hand
of craft to completeness in mind -
the finishing of one precious poem.

This soul cannot live without writing,
write without living to inhale breaths
of splendor that moves not the physical,
but the spirit of the poet in his creating:
Hiding, but symbolizing the truth of fantasy.