Majestically, she strode to the edge of sun baked sand, like an hourglass held up by time, before she became still; her long legs equidistant
man lay heel to toe with a savage sun – humanity encrusted with parched earth, it had partially eaten him –
a dried out white dove clung to an exposed ribcage; a much needed perch for a wasted observer tired of flying, tired of singing, lost in his search for peace. Its feathers, etched from fine, dried clay – were fissure like veins devoid of faith – baked outside of death, badly in need of rest.
Her elongated shadow buried them both before she knelt on the earth for water to pour from dainty, silver rivulets that ran her body, which was smooth and flowing sand
he watched her rise, striking the sky with her cool, black silhouette but on the floor it lay outstretched – as an amber pool of honey; he placed in it his hand to taste her
immediately, he was quenched, fed. Arid skin of dust and clay fell away, as did the shell of the dove, which had replaced his heart – its wings shattered into a thousand pieces like baby soft powder dusting the gritty, sparkling floor
in the breeze, billowing white clouds conjured a magnificent topaz bird; its plumage was a thousand lights of peaceful nights held in its tail eyes of beautiful iridescence – tail eyes that had once glimpsed peace in a thousand colours: turquoise, ocean green and gold …
quill feathers wafted the zircon grains of the sand, writing new rules, posturing and reshaping –
beautiful but cruel foundations of peacock ore too brittle to walk on, created swank waves of peacock blues,
and it strutted till a thousand feathers fell on the sand rising once more as blood red poppies that poured in an avalanche from the gaping mouths of soldiers still inside tin helmets – grown men like babes still fighting inside their dreams
he tried to pick the wild flowers for her but barbed, razor wire snagged his crumbling fingers, and hidden behind those were children’s faces pressed against wire mesh on the shores of green, unpleasant lands lapped by oceans that gulped and gagged; force fed a rigorous diet of helplessness and hope each time sand was flipped inside the hourglass
he gripped her waist, but, his reflection caught on her glass bosom, it shattered her hourglass frame
she was released
a thousand more grains of sand flowed like the salt of his tears – sprinkling gently from a watering can’s wise rose to try to feed the presumption of green leaves between his toes
his flaking sinews were pulled to his chest; he wore a crude hole where the dove had nestled – dust stung his eyes and, his tattered hands rose, forming a bridge that the sun rode across to join him at his journey’s end
red jewel fish swam ahead of her in shoals of beating hearts – riders corralled the sand storm’s cloth approaching like a whirling dervish; her titian hair draped those black, almond desert eyes,
and their glinting sunlit flecks consumed time in their frenzy – she placed the convergence of jewel fish; a plump, red heart, within his rib cage,
she was a belly dancer for a while on the sand’s hypnotic gyrations prompting creatures with a spin of time to play music inside of their shells
her lips were kissed by one thousand butterflies, and her open palms let loose a chorus of titanium white doves; all of the notes to harmonise with man’s discord – all willing one more time to fly away in a relentless search for peace and to sing for another one thousand years –
time enough, she thought, before they’d need a place to rest
A ton of wealth,
Kingdoms come and go.
Hatred and vicious swipes
rule today’s world,
obliterating the love,
tearing at faith –
the faith we have in ourselves.
Oceans rich in abundance,
with our filth
and disgust –
as much as we are disgusted
Just stop pillaging
we could leave
this planet whole
Pour my blood on thick,
Lay petals on gossamer nets
of human error and folly,
pinned there for all time
on a journey stilled by reckless
acts; all wildlife captured
become ageing slaves in limbo.
We share destiny.
Is this our eternity?
For those delicate petals,
fake dew is instrumental
when forged consciousness
dripping as tongue
numbing, dumbed down thought
slides easily off the precipice
as words from a vacuous mouth
our bleeding ears.
I want to scream
like it’s written here,
words carved in ice,
tears form ravines on
mezzanine floors –
to make the rafters
swing and hit those bass strings
finely tuned with lofty notes
that only birds can pluck
between electric volts
those shocks that send shivers
soaring through the air;
when politicians sing
like cuckoos – let’s
plug in our guitars and play.
Twisted fibrous strings
command frivolous play
at jointed limbs.
We dance and are jigged –
when each jarring movement
is in turn deliberately
fraught with venomous tugs –
Each jolt brings attempted revolt,
but the puppeteer snarls –
our lifelines become gnarled,
entangled in his bitter torture.
Unravelling his capture he spins
and mocks until we are unmeshed
in shock – ’til we don’t know if we are
coming or going.
Wooden shoes clatter,
when smaller figures, who don’t matter,
play to an audience
into the pockets of the puppeteer’s
Swift but doleful we have become,
dancing to the puppeteer’s hum.
Lifeless, hung out,
no route of escape.
We dance and we clip clop
man made, pulled
and lulled along
by a succession of tyrants
who just want
to see us wriggle
and squirm like
the moth eaten marionette –
always ruled –
gone in seconds.
Race with butterfly nets
across fields with jam jars aloft –
Keep badgering your local and central government until they get to grip on industry and look at rhe real issues afloat here. We have a right to clean air and water. They do not have a right to extortionate profit making at the expense of humanity.
Could we plunge our hands
into damaged sinews’
frayed blood vessels
and find warmth in hidden spirit?
Have a tug of war and pull out hatred,
intolerance, indifference and anger,
to find the stuff we possess
but which remains hidden – buried
with the goodness we were born with –
tucked inside our own medicine chest.
There are things there to help us heal,
bind wounds, accept and love,
even force untainted oxygen to
cancers benign at birth
but which grow steadily malignant
once fed from the mouths
of devoted kin and a world rapidly
oozing its centre.
In a time of universal deceit – telling the truth is a revolutionary act – George Orwell
Rib cages burn
with the pollutants of politicians
curled inside their darkness.
Inside of ours, conscience and despair
battle it out –
defending ourselves against the brutal
and cowardly thumps to our innards,
bruising softer organs
so injuries cannot be detected
on the outside.
We take these jabs and kicks
with every breath we breathe,
when we’re forced to inhale
and sickening philosophy
and the stench of populist autocracies –
for shame, more weak minded people are
We are loathe to breathe
this putrid air – its stench
is rapidly suffocating us,
snuffing out normality
keeping in line with policies
deigned to compromise us
and the air we breathe,
and water that runs clear
and life as we know it.
Don’t let them win
and destroy your life
and the future
and the lives of billions.
and the truth.
Fight for your right to cleaner air…
and the rest.