What was the thing I saw
in the dimness of fog forest?
Tall and straight and still it stood,
its head bowed in supplication.
Its person was that of a dark Angel,
and the flowing mists imparted
an artist’s brushstrokes to it.
In my awe, it saw me not,
for it was of another world.
Category Archives: free verse
The Owls are not what they seem
I’m wary of owl eyes
You have them
(Has no one told you?)
and a nose
not button-cute
but commanding
All in all
bird like
but one of prey
Formidable
is what I think
(Unfairly?)
I don’t know you
I shy away
from your art
What has made you?
Do you love?
Do you live?
Do you feel.
Homeless
What’s pulled us so far from shore
Tethered no more to the drumbeat of the soul
Senseless we fish further afield
Stymied by the junk of jetsam
From others who’ve been here before
And shout for joy at fools’ gold
So easy for the taking
Then turning to tarnished tinfoil.
Shaman dishonour
remember,
as you swell.
you’re only a man.
your fool’s cunning tells you
that we are littler.
you’ve been down the dark alleys
and have seen the envious,
the intolerant,
the self-righteous,
the quick to anger.
you know the words,
the inflections,
the dismissive gestures
that will bring that flock to heel.
to rally under the banner
of a standard bearer without the torch.
You’ve set the bar so low.
The world sees.
What a day for a daydream
When old imaginings
rise to their seasons
A slam of thirteen spades
Warm milk and molasses
Stop the rush
Drop the day
Believe this religion
Thank the artist, and
feel the velvet of self.
How to be insensitive
The held back tears
of a smarting sting.
The shame overheard
in a chance eavesdrop
(that slow knife, rusting in place
and broken off at the handle).
The social dread,
the uttered stutter.
Where do we put such medals?
Because
they’re not becoming of a man.
Some days
Some days,
it’s the tilt of a chubby face,
bright sun on rosy cheek,
smiles a daring smile.
Holders of doors,
thankyous said.
A girl with a broken wiper
gets help in the cold,
and someone lets you in on the highway.
Some days,
we’re in the matrix.
It brings on many changes…
Hell’s voodoo.
It’s pricked our doppelgängers.
And, with a squirm,
we’ll taste the fruits
of our continents of secrets.
We’ll stare, in prurience:
The men from the boys,
the women from the girls,
the free sinners from
the chained saints.
The Vice,
The Versa.
Waiting
In this room
some are on drips
There are monotonous beeps
comfortable chairs
foot room
One or two souls
have bright colours
Another is nipped in the bud
From down the hall
timed screams
And me
Well I sit
alert and interested
seeing
with the sad puppy eyes.
A cry in the dark
A certain Ouija
still conjures you,
wavering but fading.
It was not long ago
that I could see you clearly,
in sober thought,
connecting perfect pixels
in the 3D puzzles.
What you said,
how you moved with odd gesture.
All reimagined.
All lost.
No second chances.
In the dull I sit.
Aremyfeetofftheground 