A WALK IN WINTER

I'm blending into the sky. It's insipid grey
Infuses hands and face with cold lifelessness.
Barely a shade darker, the bony fingers of skeletal trees
Clutch at my coat sleeves like cadavers, begging
For life-force to clothe again their naked forms
In summer green. Oh I swear these vampiric beings
Would steal mine, should exhaustion slow my steps
And lull me into the mental absence of half-sleep.
So I push onwards...

Stumbling over hoof prints fossilised in frozen mud.
Last autumn's leaves, now decomposing,
Cling to my boots releasing the distinctive odour
Of damp mould.
Everything is slowly decaying here in nature's graveyard,
Where even mighty ferns lie shrivelled and impotent as death.
Is mine the only life in this forsaken wood?
As if in answer to my unspoken question,
The Sun slips over the edge of a cloud bank
Casting my shadow across a tiny snowdrop -
So white and vibrant
Against the endless brown.

THE CURSE OF BEACHY HEAD

 

 

All around her the biting wind howled,

carrying fragmented echoes

of children's voices: happy laughter

as they chased each other - sometimes

perilously close to the lethal cliff edge,

where tall reed-like grasses bowed and rippled

as if paying homage to some ancient God;

all powerful...and merciless.

 

 "Afternoon."

Startled, she spun around to see

a man walking his dog.

Probably hurrying home to his contented wife

and happy home she thought enviously,

as she continued to climb the steep path

to it's highest point.

Once there she stood poised on the ridge

and watched the winter sun

striking the waves far below, like

watery lightening zig-zagging across

it's heaving surface.

 

Numb with despair and self-loathing,

she felt less than nothing: would much rather

be that discarded beer can on the path

than what she was -

his living, breathing punch bag;

bruised and abused, unloved, unwanted and

devoid of hope.

At least that can would never suffer

this endless pain.

 

Nowhere to hide here, the wind

seemed to whisper in her ear.

And her broken heart began to race,

beating it's now familiar tattoo:

Set me free. Set me free. Set me free.

Then a vortex of air enclosed her,

tugging her hair skywards as the sea

over two hundred metres below

formed itself into steps leading downwards.

Led Zeppelin's  "Stairway to Heaven"

began playing inside her head.

But, does the wind blow in Heaven?

she wondered.

Suddenly a gull appeared.

It hovered directly in front of her face

and the Angel opened her wings.

A peculiar calm washed over her

as she stepped off the cliff edge

and into that Angel's loving embrace...

 

Far below, a beer can rode up onto the shore

with the tide and came to rest

amongst the pebbles.

It's crushed and battered form

glistening in the healing rays of the Sun

made it appear content,

at peace.

 

And the gulls' mournful cries

announced the latest victim

of the curse of Beachy Head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



SLEEPING ROUGH ON BODMIN MOOR

Out here there is no cosy bed,
Spiky heather only. It is cold, damp,
And the air penetrating. Darkness plays tricks
On consciousness, conjuring black beast-like shapes
Closing in from another realm - the only company
Tonight, besides my own wild heartbeat.
Oh how I miss your warm embrace.
These rustling twigs of hawthorn, wind-thrashed,
Carry echoes of tender words, lost forever
In time's endless spiral.
Yet ego keeps replaying them still
Through yesterday's poignant vision,
Now out of reach and barren as these hills.

Aware of a million spiders crawling
Through undergrowth surrounding me
On all sides. An arachnid army
Of nightmarish terror, circling it's hapless prey.
No. Please stop. Think of something else. Think nothing at all...
Dozing now. Slipping out of time present, beyond
This bitter howling wind. Dry in heavy rain.
A candle burns where we lay.
Our lover's tiff never happened here
In dreamworld, and I never cried
Nor stormed out in blazing temper
Onto the bleak vastness of Bodmin Moor.
Instead, we loved and loved, and are loving still.

DADDY'S GIRL

He revelled in their envy - 'How could he have sired
Such a beautiful daughter?'
If there was a secret, he hid it well

And never thought of it - only
Of how proud she made him, and protecting her
From dubious influences.

Then as her sixteenth birthday approached,
He planned a lavish party
With no expense spared for his princess.

Oh how they ogled
His little-girl-lost with golden curls
In satin bows;

All innocence, in need of cosseting
And shielding from
The wicked ways of a society

That would corrupt and turn her
Into one of those common girls:
Painted, too easy;

Chewing gum and smoking weed,
While rolling around
Doing God-knows-what with boys

Unworthy of her -
Fulfilling their sordid fantasies:
Soiling the purity

Of an Angel raised on champagne and caviar
To be a Goddess:
A look-but-don't-dare-touch

China doll,
Too good for any but one
Of true blue blood...


But after midnight and out of sight
Of doting Daddy,
The Goddess slipped her celestial leash.

'It was his blue eyes!'
She claimed, when swelling belly later betrayed
A spectacular fall from grace.

And Daddy, distraught and ego-wounded,
Lashed out;
Became bitter and defencive Mr. Angry:

'She always had
Such base appetites,' he wailed,
'Just like my cheating wife and that

No-good, guitar-strumming bum
Who gave her that face
And a body to corrupt the saints.

I've devoted my life to that girl,
And she's brought me nothing but shame!'

And how he wallowed in their sympathy
For the martyrdom he'd endured.