The Very Ceiling of Hell

motogp

Energy-skeleton frames,

Clad in glorious

Ember and faith armour,

Red white and orange

Roar and fire spitters,

Leaning down on the very

Ceiling of Hell,

Seeking the top step

Paradise Stairway

While Heaven’s sky-weight

Pulls at the soul,

Presses against slim shoulders and ankles.

The track is a flag:

The flag is  a race.

Launched from the start,

Up the lone-star hill

On lean-sprint, young,

Growling dragon dreams.

Image: www.motogp.com

22/4/2013

Lime Lightning

Nemesis-1

Why wouldn’t it work?

To just keep, simply walking?

Walking away, perhaps,

from the Paradox Candles.

Walking towards, perhaps,

The Echo Doorway.

But always walking, with purpose

Just a little pace-and-a-half faster

Than mirror-crack Nemesis.

Wouldn’t it make us,

Keep us,

Less fatigued,

More alive,

If we tried?

Why wouldn’t it work?

 

 

Image: courtesy of www.atm.ox.ac.uk

21/4/2013

Cruel April

DSC01161

Funny how green

Can bleed from red,

Life can sprout

From the frozen and the dead.

Cruel April is here,

Lamb-killer’s neighbour,

Freedom’s grim and tenacious

Marauder missionary;

Demanding faith, seed and labour:

Fees for continued redemption and

Resurrection-summer order.

20/4/2013

Finish

Terrible sounds and memories from a

Long gone troubled English evening

Tumbling over and over, reach me:

Carried on a Patriot wind.

Charity and lavender dreams shattered,

Runner camaraderie staggered

– Hopefully only temporarily –

Here in the original Tea Party City

– Where a different way to

Make a point was born.

We, the naïve, the unsuspecting

May make such easy casual-slaughter victims;

But remember  your secret,

Dark-mask shadows

Are not welcome here …

The fact that you can

Gives you no rights.

Please let this finish line

Be the last.

marathon

Image: www.telegraph.co.uk

17/4/2013

Dangerous Blues

Bright , pin-sharp cries

Of angel gulls,

Carrying on the winds of time;

Ghosts of past and

Spirits of future …

Echo …

…Echo.

These are the vulnerable blues;

I could have been so dangerous:

Back in the day.

Tides in the sky,

Clouds in the sea;

Which way is up?

Waves in the desert.

Half-way down April’s decision-river –

My darling-dancer’s coming home today –

But I won’t be there,

And I won’t be coming back.

Echo …

… Echo.

These are dangerous blues:

I am so vulnerable

Today.

16/4/2013

All Behind Me Now ?

Last night’s rain,

The fence-creeping wet-poor fox,

The savage dreams of screaming men

Are all behind me now.

But their faces remain:

Dangled before me when I close my eyes;

I do not recognise a single one.

Am I supposed to?

Were they trying to pass on

A terrible secret?

Or had they just uncovered

The unholy lie?

I have no idea …

Their words, framed by desperate lips

Were lost to me, to everyone,

Their voices stolen.

Wise men say I cannot

Dream in colour.

If it is so, then black and white are

Cruelly vivid and dreadfully revealing.

Morning-of-April skies press the

New blue pages

 – Spring’s first chapter –

Against my unglazed windows.

15/4/2013