Roadrunner

Roadrunner, sprinting off down the beaten track, dirt flying
mixing earth with air,
a smashing of bright colours in a red land.
With a red sun, and a red light.
Alive.

Racing between the canyons, nature’s bullet, blinding speed
no limits, no thoughts
scarring the vibrancy of the crushed earth
under the brilliance of the mid-day light.
Free.

Always running, never resting, never thinking, never feeling, never knowing
a life of ignorant tranquillity.
Dusk breathes its blue smudges, relaxing the angry desert
shadows lengthen and the rocks breathe a sigh of relief.
Mortal.

The end of the day, still roadrunner runs on.
The moon acknowledges his task by throwing beautiful rays across the night sky.
The path ahead is growing short, but there is no fear.
For in life there are no regrets for the roadrunner.
Peace.

Bad News

Hundreds of salt-less tears
Running, rolling
Tripping, falling
Down my window pane.

They blur my bedroom’s eye
Speckle the light
Which tries in vain
To warm the inside walls.

When the sun is concealed
The white darkens
And the room is left damp grey,
Within I’m drowning dry,

Under the weight of bad news .
My mind is alone;
While my body slowly breathes,
I suffocate inside.

1462

Death is unstoppable-
It never fails to free
-Controlling passion for us now
It will never be seen

The long and slow dread
Death is so wrong,-
But conveys so much power
Unforgettable

Silent but deadly
It creeps through the air
Controlling our minds
Messing up our hair

Death is now near
Approaching within our souls
It tends to be forgotten
But is never lost

The Death of Hope

Death, the burst of a balloon
What’s left fragments of gloom
Like ash they fall from the sky
From where meanings mean nigh.

We sweep the pile
Dust that was once hope
Now turned aggressively vile
Like the stench of dead antelope.

Beyond, gone from our grasp
Unreachable, yet so close
It taunts while we gasp
For what causes these woes.

I still awake every night
Memories of those days
Unable to rid them
Due to their powerful ways.

The pass over

Breaking roots, creaking leather-realisation-
-sticky- confident siblings smiles
Who’ve been there, done that -a brighter light-
leaves laughing,gravel doles.

the road ahead-good or bad-
shady fuzz, popping air-closing door-
secret contours-fake to the object-
sweet yet sour, fear

the openness of mind-if only-
thoughts, overpowering,
-vinegar- assembled -spiteful-
yet waiting.

Won’t be long

Rain swoops down upon the hearth,
Smoke – it fills the room,
Rain, it smarts like icy knives,
Smoke - breath stopped short.

The trees grow green and Bright –
a luminescent glow,
but smoke still hovers – mingles
air and breath still slow.

Walk along that sodden path
Dotted with birds and bees –
No mental torment they have suffered
But I – breath still without ease.

Thick black clouds of pain and grief,
They coarse and throb my mind
Weight – a burden and oppression –
Won’t be long. It won’t.

Something called

Something called
Robin fly – little wing -
Not fast enough.
Berries frozen green, Grey
not white – white
not blue -

A cold warm
Heated cold –
Blinded –
Confused air -
No air – just nothing
Blinded remember.

Odd they look
Bare - no skin
No Christ - no mass
Something called winter ‘Wonderland’

No wonder
Just land – just land
Desolate. Blank.

666

Dormant- it lies… Stalking prey
Strong, calm-targeting the Mind
The paralysing Venom Slays
Pounce Brutal-swiftly timed.
Fights away Hope-Strength Superior
Cocoons the carcas-devishly devouring,
Stop-wary of a plethora
It leaves…Damage done-taste souring
Gently-drifting-away, leaving memory
A lingering souvenir of the Fear
Ecstatic green acidic scent
Bitter taste, high pitched jeers-
Mental scars-weak and thin
To be re-opened at any time
A Brutal Submission, dry throat, moist skin
As Fear leaves the Mind Blind

Brae face

The sky was rude-
When I opened my eyes
Lying there belly up-
Chocking- sweet turned bitter in my mouth

The screeching silence- went on and then-
Stopped- heaven was truly lost-
Grey blobs replaced the brilliant rose cheeks-
Shivering blood drops pooled at each thorn -
And seagulls circled – I had hit my head-

The warm furry feeling of utter content

The warm furry feeling of utter content
On a lazy summer afternoon-
Like the gentle pink haze of the sun Which Kisses
a welcoming cheek, through the transparency of man-made machinery.
Peace and happiness merge together –
A gentle hum like the whisper of wheels.
The smell of rain on thirsty dust, a delicacy to my schnozzle
The soothing sound of simple words is a lullaby –
It harmonizes with the gentle song of windscreen wipers

Dickinson Pastiche 3

42

Trickling grains- course and parched
They fell, silently – on each other
Desperately burying down-
Reflecting broken shattered rays
The topmost are mourning-
Trying to prolong the inevitable
In doing so- they neglect what really matters
Worrying about what could be

‘Tis a conflict of emotions-
while time kills some
Excitement fuels others
Until death do them part
The fear-feeds off many
Death leads them astray
But when the last grain falls-
The glass turns and the cycle begins, again

The End

It was two easters ago
In school, me-
And him.

Walls-sofa-tv
Talking, crying-
Talking, crying
Drained and distraught-

Like a sickly green, sharp-
But jelly-like
Silence, taste of bitter perfume
Mould-
Like food past it’s sell-by date.

The end was coming, the end-
Was near, the end-
Came-

Emily Dickinson Pastiche 2

16

Hell’s Mouth opened-
As I reached out-
To touch not The Heavens-
But this work of Art-

The taste of poison-
Strong like the wind
I pray to carry me-
Far, far from this land

Yet something moves distant-
A shadow far between-
All my love of earth-
And Satan’s own decree-

Hearts all around me-
Digging their own Grave-
Whilst in the Heartland-
Glad to be alive-

Emily Dickinson Pastiche 1

623
The realisation of something lost-
Like a pause in empty conversation-
Like a shaded pool
With no depth-

And then-
There are only cobwebs in your mind-
Dusty, indistinct, a call from far faraway
Everything throwing amethyst shadows-

Is time a luxury?
Moment’s drag-
And hours have no minutes
No seconds-

As if a piece of your soul was chipped away-
But if every chip was a brick of courage
And sorrow was your mortar, hope your foundations
You will be restored-