To The Dust

He’s head-down, hanging on to the last loyal gasps

Of his grim-boned, stretch-necked mare,

Tired from the flight,

After the last fight.

Passed the two hundred notches mark;

Rifle responsibility heavy on aching

Rein wrenched shoulders.

It’s not going to last much longer –

It can’t –

Surprised he got this outlaw-far.

The road goes ever on, that’s for legend-sure,

Just no guarantee who’ll be on it

Or which way the wind’ll blow;

Though he realises that only now,

Too damned late, but with a wry smile.

The blues, the reds,

The lines and the grey …

How had he managed to

Evade them for so long?

The horse stumbles, blood

Flecks from flared nostrils

Splash to the dust.

It’ll stop hurting

When the pain has gone.

4/3/2013

The Timefall Changes

Feeling the timefall changes

Blowing in the fresh old winds;

The insistent gravity pull and

Push of generation.

What do I want most:

Woodpecker or web?

I have fierce deep roots,

Of which – push me –

I can be aggressively proud;

And experiences have forged badges

Pinned to the fabric of my life.

But my soul has never

Blindly carried a flag.

16/11/2012