Untitled - Alastair Spencer-Nairn (G)

The trees with their arms surround me

With a scent of pure wilderness

As we run through the forest at the

Bottom of the hill.

Watching the frogs leap,

And the birds take flight,

And the occasional squirrel as it

Clambers up the trees.

Then the clearing is gone

Like a picture on display and it is

Only a faint memory in the

Days that lie ahead.

Down by the Riverside - Alastair Spencer-Nairn

All you can hear is the shouts

And complaints from the buckets of water, The tweeting of the birds in the Evergreen trees.

The rocks, as they make

A stand, alone, quiet, waiting,

A one man army.

The light bouncing off the free flowing water And the decision of the screaming children As they jump from one rock To another, screaming with joy Until they find the slippy, Non-grippy rocks and make A fall.

The birds

Are now silent,

Respectful of the body afloat.

Hoped Out

A roaring in the ears

Rapid heartbeat, breath held

tight

The cold claw held at bay

Steady - strong.

The shadows lengthen -

The generators are on

"If the hospital can cope so can I"

Rips make themselves felt.

All else has failed;

Faith now pounds through veins

Unable to grasp the heart:

Weary and fading.

Gone.

Silence smothered like a

devastating mist,

the grey creatures lurked

as I uncontrollably sunk into discomfort,

the rigid stale bread and the stench of petrol

wriggled out of my rucksack.

A frosty chill shuddered through my body,

the cold bit my face till it was luminous red 

                           I was a target.

A sharp crack echoed through the ice as I felt my loneliness disperse.

Glacial blue eyes lit up the white sheet.

Surrounded like a harmless tender piece of prey.

There was no hope here.

Past Hoping

A sun beam on a summer afternoon

squeezing through

the mistaken gap in the curtains.

But this glorious optimism

enlightens the

smallest

fragment

of dust suspended                                                      in the air.

This bright ray soon becomes a shadow.

The falseness of dreams - harshness of reality.

The darkening depression

creeping up fast like death -

but dying

knowing you're going to heaven.

Hoping

The coldness that bites,

lonely vastness of deepest blue crashes down,

Embraces me warmly like an old friend

the cold sting of fear and despair like knives on my skin,

the

almost beautiful scent of flower reaches my senses

A golden speck of light suspends about me

giving my perpetual darkness - glimmer of light.

The light slowly creeps up on me like the sun

creeps

up over the horizon,

The light now reaches the glimmering

crystals on the ground

This beauty was blind to me.

Now I know.

Wintering

In Winter’s wake lies planted bulbs

Enclosed in the womb of soil -

We wait for obstinate buds to flower;

overdue.

The hot blood pulses in ears

Blurred and rushing.

Yet - no vibrant explosion of life,

No yelping lamb delivered,

Only the corpse of past fertilities; gone.

My stomach overturned,

The trees are barren.

A harsh gust of chloroform distorts,

Cold, acidic injection sliding down veins,

Eyelids falter staring blanky; never mine.

Tears of wine

Trails down delicate glass.