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Sam Manty


Cape Town, Western Cape, South Africa

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Yin Yang


Sam Manty

Bi-sexual ambition
will you come to fruition?
I have my perfect male mate
but seek some femme dusted on a plate.

My yin and yang is male and female
my dark and pale -
life is like a dull grey snail
impatient wait my cunts innate.

Cells are dying, hair turns grey
can not keep my thoughts at bay
even though I pray, I may be gay
seems I need both girl and boy to play.



Sam Manty

Finger lingers lazily down
Press fluffed puff
Flesh awakened muff
Parted lips, digit grind-slide.

Blood filled sac,
Pleasure pack,
Rhythmic knack,
Orgasmic track.

Clenched distorted limbo,
corpuscle’s stiff carpus,
tranced rubbed vulva,
as sweet as thick malva.

Pictures, pictures, porno spew.
Triad, bi-ad, solo too -
interlocked visions escorted through -
fingered hot spot erupts in liquid goo-stew.

Down there


Sam Manty

No apology
for that place
down there,
that slit of life.

Leisure resort for
rounded full moons,
bathing at high tide
forecasting life.

Flute mistress, play
hypnotic trance notes -
racing spermatozoon
charging with life.

Waiting coiled hormone
pre-set to strike, at rats
from the piper,
drowning in life.

See me


Sam Manty

Pull back your curtain
so I can see you.
I will not touch,
although per chance to
sweep your cheek
against mine,
I would trade a fair deal.

Necessary opposites
I, the moon
- yin and dark
You, the sun
- yang and golden

Yin on yang
Yang on yin.
Pubis bones sliding

From afar I hover
Never in your orbit
Always shying away

of the glare that you cast.



Sam Manty

Glance at the door
Are you there?
I almost expect you.

I know now,
that I can’t will you.
No matter the extent of angst,
No matter the yearning,
No matter the thickness of moistness.

I know now,
you will never come to me.
Never feel my softness
Never know my touch.

I know now,
you won’t go away.
Always on my walls,
on my mind.
Away from my life.

Each year
regret sets deeper
and you fly away



Sam Manty

Rushing to women
from my husbands bed;
not bi-sexual yet.

Post-coital linger
slime drools and still he
holds it there.

"Take it away," she thinks
and finally he moves,
dripping on her thigh.

Eye Contact


Sam Manty

For depth, the listener
is forced to look beyond, behind
for hidden signals,

usually lacking.

But your eyes
soft brown -
alight from the outside

say there are no tunnels to travel through
warmth and sensuality
ooze at the forefront

Our interactions pass in a haze,
later I analyse in private,
relive your words.

And then for eons
I carry you with me,
willing you to know me

lacking you in my life

In your arms


Sam Manty

Saw a tree today
with massive arms
reaching around the universe
and stilts to hold
the weight of them



Sam Manty

Each year the same rot
"we make our own fate"
the intellectuals debate
Sleep in the bed that you make

I thought if I willed hard enough
she would hear me, a message
through the airwaves carried
by the clouds

I don't believe in universal energy
anymore. Life is what it is.
Or I am duller that I supposed
All hoping, dreaming and wanting

I will die unfulfilled
unsexed, unsexual, un-biaded

At the tip of my finger


Sam Manty

There are no limits
for the masturbator.
The subject matter
between head and finger
asks no permission.
For this evenings session
find an astounding splatter
of pubis erectis
permitted entry for stimuli
is anything and anyone
including you
in my mind
I can do all that
I please to you



Sam Manty

At the tip of my finger
I place you.
The rythmn slowly increasing
as long gliding slides
gain pace at the thought of you.
Quickening scenarios flash through
of pubis bones griding
rubbed vulva to vulva
and then frozen
pleasure pulsates
through every gland
hot and throbbing

Happy birthday


Sam Manty

Through the door walks my nemesis
behind her back I turn a finger jesting the air
"hello" I greet, monotone
then slink away to the solace of bed
allowing her to claim energy from my home.

Alone the bile piles up
blowing up my
nose, leaving evidence
to judge me moody, sullen.

Phone rings
see my face in the mirror
crimson patches like smudges on birds.
Singing on the line, its mom and dad
"Happy birthday to u, happy birthday too ya"
"Thank you" I say
"Having a nice day dear?" they ask
"Yes" I say with masked voice.

I kick at the world,
See skull against wall
splattered brain.
Shouting out "Haya" chopping the air,
needing to slam.

My baby cries, ‘fuck_up so early"
But I go to her.
Small arms around my neck
smiling , demanding nothing.
"You saved me" I tell her,
but I think she knows.

Mother and Friends


Sam Manty

Moving towards her ready to attack
----- a porcelin budda
with tummy to prod
like a bald man with head to rub

Firing questions, data exchange
due dates, gynie pains,
natural squirt or surgeon section
mouths reply like girl-scouts

Evaluation of sexual state
----- front homme hang or
femme plumping around -
‘Oh safely deliver either we smile’

Scruitinise body shape
---- exploding breasts
protruding tum, ‘adding
kilo’s, sagging bum’

War story recall
----- astride olympic
mothering advice
‘tis all worth it’ they say

And then they want it all again
---- without foreplay this time
a new set of tummy-touch,
dramatic soap-opera relay

But by then we’ve had enough
---- tis time for the rebuff
‘a common miracle’ we say, ‘being
knocked up ain’t that tough’

They don’t allow for retreat
---- head to head they chatter
dressing up the matter, it seems
masculine views never matter

Self Portrait


Sam Manty

I am a
fearful pussy
with iron-clad pubis
steel-wool frontage
lips shut tight



Sam Manty

Every year the coons come
we call them the Cape Minstrels now
the word coons was hurtful

the phone rings it’s my sister
why does she feel so glad
about things, so up?

I feel guilty, a failure as a
wife. I have no will to touch
my man’s organ, to suck and fuck

I tend my child but cannot
manage days of engagement I must
escape, breathe alone, just be

can tiredness infest the body.
My eyelids darken, encircled with
black, too tired to be happy

I smile with my lips but my
eyes have died, I’ve turned into
one of those Ayn Rand despondents



Sam Manty

There is nothing to say about my life at this time
I’m standing still, beating off days when my
child falls ill, moans excessively, is clingy and glum
Force myself to engage intermittedly with my
husband, when all I crave is an eon of silence
and sleep.

At work at least I am alone. I can shut my door and be what
I choose until the phone rings, demanding attention
I answer feigning interest. I work for money not that
I know what to do with it. My investment skills
are timid.

I want to sit and watch the birds, walk until
my hip bones grind. See, hear and touch no-one,
allow stillness and time to mingle, think
nothing, yet allow a mirage of new thoughts
to ensconce.

Not forever mind you, I’d miss people too much.



Sam Manty

Will this be the
last I write of you
transitory interactions
leave me broken
floppy, depleted
Against you I
am smaller than a toad

In your presence I
freeze, cease up like
a taut mouse in fright

I watch the people
hoping you will stride
by so I can voyeur
play eye spy

Perhaps it’s because you
have no regard for me
See me as child, my
fingers to dull to map
your treasured moistness

Dipped in paint
Erotic Exotic Hypnotic
you are more powerful
than me



Sam Manty

elasticity of the skin
declines suddenly
apparent over-night

it’s not sagging skin
and set lines so much
but time passing

the point of it hazier
now, confined to

and the nudging
realisation of my
average passing through



Sam Manty

"love you"
just like that,
causal like, but it hit my crack

Been agog, aflog, ajog
with her, close to a decade
of nodding through

Trees still breeze
drills still fix, people cry,
demise, surprise

but my space widens.
A tenure of yearning / burning
compressed, through a stream of online blether

Then abruptly the flow slows
and the parley concludes.
The email goes; corroding those woes.



Sam Manty

swift cheeks in
social embrace,
sweat rubbed on arm
your scent later gone
laconic in your life
melodic in mine



Sam Manty

swift cheeks in
social embrace,
sweat rubbed on arm
your scent later gone
laconic in your life
melodic in mine



Sam Manty

Cash comfort
worker mind
gaining assets,
Still feel small though

Sperm injection
belly swells
pending mother,
Still feel small though

Adult tier
titles placed
social foible
Still feel small though

Life partner
someone to trust
mutual living
Still feel small though

A perfect dream
of being big
Still feel small though
Like a girl up a tree.



Sam Manty

They asked:
what do you dream about?
She said,
owning a company
flying to Paris
helping the AIDS kids.
I shut up, averted,
avoided my turn

I philosophised rather
regurgitating Shakespeare:
the stuff that dreams are made of;
to sleep per chance to dream
and my moment passed.

What did I dream about?
They said picture it,
visualise _
and it will materialise

Was it that simple?
but I knew better
Real dreams were intangible



Sam Manty

Are the surest externally
All threadbare internally?
It might not seem
But I am a timid thing
Holding a weighty life
Which I have chosen



Sam Manty

So I saw her.
As is custom we
ignored one another,
then moved in
for the embrace.

which was firmer
than usual.
Hard cheek bone
pressed against mine

her across the table
bafooning and charming,
I dismayed.

"she is part of me"

I did not reach out
Grab and plead
Clutch and need
I just sat

Legs up
against the table
Revealing her calves
Flirting, yet not


away from her,
thoughts rush in
stealing my mind

I live to see her.

When chance permits...
I arrive,
impact limply
and leave.

She schmoozes,
rends me -

I am the scenery in
her masterpiece,
a yellowing tuft of grass;
She, the full portrait
in my tiny life.



Sam Manty

I write
because I cannot live my life.
Contours undefined
I am of no colour
What I want most is not mine.

I write
because this life will never be enough.
I try to live it anyway.
But nothing happens
Is duality repellant.

I write
Because in writing
I can escape
Be something I am not
Desire the unattainable

I write
Because with words
There is release
Emotions out of body
ejected onto paper

The ostrich who barked


Sam Manty

What trash is that an ostrich who barks.
Everyone knows (silent k)
That’s impossible.
But language is crazy
How do they know
For sure that the
right noise was
to the