Necked gropes as he grasped her hopes and crushed
As burning, they spiralled, kicking then hushed
Sure I chased you
And never found you
But you kept that spark alive
But it hurt when I pulled,
and all the bits bled
It made my heart ache, and
it stained my hands red
This air is the air of an oven,
it is so deathly hot.
For days the sun has been crisping the microbes.
A boy has disappeared from the village.
2AM and the foothills of the Pyrénées
lit with light flashes between the dark spaces of trees,
foliage on foliage.
Sparks of light glitter the mountain sides.
Up here- mountains before us, village below us-
it’s like an ant farm, lines of lights
following the twists and turns between
row after row of houses
scaling slowly into the mountains
for the third consecutive night.
The day it happened,
we’d walked into the foothills,
Tree of life bends now tree of death,
Will for one, all for naught.
When will arid soul give way to soaring rains?
You stalked my walls and found them wanting.
Then you, with exquisite ease,
Complicit I bade the watchmen wait,
For a signal of your purpose.
But you so carefully and quietly,
began picking and removing, unpacking and exposing,
unwinding and reclaiming all,
that you could posses.
Is it wrong that I still long to belong?
To share every care and touch your hair?
To pillow fight, fly a kite, hold me tight,
whisper secrets in the dark, swing in the park?
The day was sad and wearisome,
It chilled me to my core,
I’d known that something would go wrong,
Though I could not be sure.
I’d felt so tired and lonely, still,
My heart had ached for him,
Beneath the Christmas trim.
Dear Mr Cameron, please help me do
You see I’m really struggling at the hands of you
You’ve taken all my money, my pride, and dignity
Leave me to wallow in a pit of poverty
I’m trying to swim through quicksand
With sand bags on my back
But the punishments relentless
Roots finding no soil
A mind lingers in turmoil
An endless journey
Unable to flee
The sky is crisp and clear and blue,
His breath is on the air,
He silently walks through the street
With sunlight in his hair.
His eyes are cast down at his feet,
He hurries to get home,
Afraid to stop beside the park
With the blackened dome.
Yes a soldier now that was a thought
I’d never had before
I didn’t fight, I’d never fought
And I’d never been to war.
But myself, and millions of others
Decided to heed the call
And despite the tears of our mothers
We trooped off all proud and tall
Together as mates from our towns
All over these sceptered isles
We left young and happy, but soon frowns
Replaced our naïve smiles.
she bobs up
and down, violently
tossed by the waves, frantically
snatching rapid half-breaths-half-gulps-of-ocean before she’s
plunged ten feet
propelled back up, an insignificant
buoy caught in a
cyclone’s raging passion. his arms
grasp at her as
forcefully as a prayer expands out against
her chest, calling
for ocean to swallow the
naked groans and shrieks yanked
out into the unforgiving air—
a plea that she might
die this moment, escape
the body convulsing and writhing,
My own ears whisper truth
But my eyes deceive me
To watch you
Plucking the chord
For it to belong
Tired of all these miseries
She seeks some solace,
Tormented with questions
She’s a hobo, now turned soul-less,
Wandering in the crowds
She searches for one single face,