Monday, 15 August 2011

Dragons Dawn #1

All is quiet yet outside
a rumbling is forming
the city beast awakes yawning
belching burnt fumes into the sky.
He scratches with vibrations
of a thousand engines
his eyes open as the sky lightens,
sluggishly he moves life blood
trapped behind the red light cholesterol.
His glass pane scales shimmer
reflecting pink mackerel sky,
his tail ebbs its watery way north.
He stretches far trailing suburban limbs,
leafy, sleepy to start, yet his claws are
sharp angles of inner urban deprivation.
His bite a frightening realization
combining wealth with pain
he slowly unfurls his living carpet
of wings waiting for flight again.

Saturday, 13 August 2011

Sweet release

Feelings caught in stifled space
held within the muggy monotony
moving in treacle motion
rotation, always forwards.

Gazing heavenwards, scanning
brittle patience snapping
seeking the change
bringing the reprieve.

Sailing in, riding high
suppressed heat rising
meeting sky iced thoughts
bubbling formation begins.

First a subtle stirring breeze
parched yearning increasing
slowly the cool spirals
kiss sun burnt stems.

Heat pulsating from core
each grain, molecule, heartbeat
begging to consume, feel
cool fingers trailing through.

With the first touch it starts
electric sparks as droplets fall
each hit making dust dance
entranced the song is formed.

Lost in abandonment
sweet release calls
washing away tensions
cleansed, almost complete.

Waiting is finally over
tumultuous vibrations tear
at seams striking home
burnish stroke hits stone.

Tuesday, 2 August 2011

An interview with Death (Part 2)

In between the seconds, the spaces,
the void, found within tick to far off tock,
we sat, we talked...
"Why is it that you keep coming back?"
I pause to examine the shuffle of silent thoughts:
"I hoped you could answer that"
Looking away I see the circular table
on it stands the hour glass, suspended grains
held motionless, their timeless fall arrested.
"I am your fear, your fascination, your fate, all
you have to do is wait, is that right?"
The dust motes echoed the yawning gap
as my mind fought to free the words:
"Sometimes the truth can follow the
the wrong path" I breathed,
with that the first tock struck.

Inspiration

In searching she steps into the stream
chasing dreams as they swim swiftly by
ever hopeful her own will appear in the ripples. 

Turning over the pebbles she continues
scanning the bed for that elusive colour
that memory of long lost happiness, hidden.

Silver shards of salvation dart deftly passed
into shady darkness, my net is made for
butterflies not souls she wept silently.

Further in the flow is faster, with
careful steps cautious of falling
she follows the zephyr of fate
"please wait" she cries out.

Wading in the watery depths watching
stars blossoms waft downwards
she is washed into the current
wishing she carried you with her.

At last she is lying on the river bed
she is sleeping now, she is not dead
her net is full of pearls just waiting
to enter her head when she is awakened.