The Crocus Road

The small, out-of-history,

Far away lights in these

Big, darkening skies make

Reassuring noises; the shadows

Do not clash and threaten.

The horizon is a pale-line queen

Swooning beneath a ripped-tissue

Curl of early-spring-promise  moon.

The crocus road is longer, much longer

Than I could have expected and I start

To fall towards a gentle, butterfly death.

The Dreamtime Fire

From the warmstones that circle

The dying dreamtime fire

Rises a ghostdance drone.

Fast falling sun is a scalped skull

On a medicine horizon pyre.

 

This is the Eve of Retribution;

Tomahawk, drum and lance-chant zone –

Vendetta’s insistent dark-whisper tools,

Revenge’s twisted-logic shadow rules …

And … escalation echoes travel swift

Between dog-fox scout and

Sabre-blue troopers:

Each and every one:

Today’s-war fools.

 

20/3/2013

Metamorphosis

comet

On a March-frost night when

A comet nobody has ever seen before

Will change the skies, alter science;

After the horizon wide

Heaven-sunset-bonfire ride:

A little to the left of the moon

And just above the hills

There’s a story nobody’s ever heard

In which a star turns into an urchin.

 

“Who are you?”

The caterpillar asked … and

Alice made another mistake –

Thinking she was being questioned –

When in fact the creature

Was talking to itselves

(All the ones it had already been,

The final one it was yet to be).

 

Because maybe what you are

Used to seeing in the mirror

Is not your true form.

There are un-numbered swarms

Of shock-to-the system forms

Behind the familiar mask …

If you but dared to ask the

Carroll-caterpillar question;

Dared to remind your self how wantonly,

Disrespectfully you took so very,

Very much for granted;

Dared to remember

All that you have lost.

 

13/3/2013

 

Photo source: en.wikipedia.org

Charlotte’s Grandchildren

 

 

In the distance, below the horizon ridge

A honey coated horse is head down grazing;

At rest,  firm edged shadow leaning long

Down the gentle February slope.

It is nearly possible to hear the explosions

In the atomic heart workings of the sun –

On a day which balances preciously between

Passing winter and welcome spring…

And Charlotte’s grandchildren are

Taking to the joyful jester-hope skies.

 

spider

 

Photo source: http://dkphoto.photoshelter.com/gallery/Spiders-Garden-Crab/G0000PHhyD69UrU4/C000057PyqgyM.nI

 

Sad Arrow

DSC_0267
Sad arrow rips
Feather fall from
Horizon-to-horizon-grey
Heavens; my heart is a
Lead-skin, slow drum.
Ghost-lit snow has
Settled on the stream:
Concealing all we
Thought we knew,
All we thought we had,
Or had dealt with;
No signs of the past –
The water under the
Monochrome bridge –
Of what we held to be
The future, so foolish-confident
It seems from here,
From now –
If it existed at all –
There is no sign.

Every winter-heavy step I take
Away from her is
A kiss, a caress
I will never feel.

It doesn’t always pay
To trust the truth
Or to doubt the trust.

18/1/013