Pilgrimage Plus One …

Month of the dark-sun day

Is come and gone;

Excitement and pilgrimage are over,

Faith may still exist,

If just a little paler than before.

All hope is left behind.

But I am still surrounded by the masses,

The now-uncomfortable neon buzz

Of people’s expectations hemming me in:

Pressures, white-noise and demands.

My hair-trigger patience, screwed down too tight,

Stretched so fine for too-damned long

In denial deference to their suffocating presence,

Their petty wants, the ignoble trinkets they

Think to need, those truths they believe they do not,

The hunchback minotaur shadows that,

Drip by drip, stain their pale-limbo souls,

the noises they make – insect clamour – without speaking,

While they invade my precious spaces, steal my breaths.

This be new-hook moon territory, and

I wish to be done

With the all the demands they impose.

Another Breath

For the moment –

Though you and I

Are both the poorer for it –

You are the power

(And don’t we all know it!);

You who shout from the screens,

You who worship the silver.

But we the patient peoples,

Of the Tribes of Trees, know

That this moon will change,

That these tides will turn.

So we pull in another breath,

Turn up our collars

And wait.

Iron Frustration.

 

Been away. Not travelling; just absent. Been away. Again. But this time my feet stayed in the same place. My muse went away. Again. Was it my fault? Of course … but I guess she needs space too, to visit her own sources of inspiration. Away.

While I dallied, uselessly, and useless, between weak guitar runs and wet days that leaked bad energies. Nothing came. Nothing came out right. Again.

Did it ever?

Been surrounded by books, often my favourite company. New stories, plots, characters, facts, you’re a reader you know what I’m saying … but everything was going in,

in,

in,

in:

no sparks, no fires being set off, no leaps of disjointed thingummywhatsit coming together.

No bl”%*y writing!

Couldn’t see the thoughts for the iron?

The phases of the moon … which was honey when it should have been bone?

Bad karma, not enough sleep, not enough you know what else, too much this, too many that … and introspection never pays the going rate.

I smile to think it, but patience is over-rated, just sometimes has to be enough.

Image:imperomedia.com

 

Nike’s Angels.

Steel skeletons,

Scales of carbon grace

These day-bright dragons

Have geology’s patience

As they rest in squat-mode

They preen and purr at

One another, at shadow-clones.

Then, launched by a flash,

They growl orange and white,

Green and monster-black

By the first split-second corner.

In this fierce black-top fandango,

Sitting on the shoulders of every bend

Nike’s endorphin angels

Are urging you on.

Defiant speed and dare-jester balance

Are appropriate respect for tradition’s heroes

And the tomorrow-champions.