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.



 

EVE

Should I, or shouldn't I?
Shall I, or shall I not?
Would it really matter if I did?
Would anyone notice my frailty -
Or even give a damn?

And would I suffer greatly
After the fact?
Or would my life remain unchanged
By the inevitable regret that follows
Such wanton self-indulgence?

What if I blame someone else
For placing temptation before me?
Couldn't be my fault then, could it?
They would be the culprit, not I,
Who instigated the act.

Or should I simply walk away:
Deny myself the option
Of guilty pleasure's frantic fulfilment?
But even then I wouldn't rest,
Would still crave it in my head.

I must have it! You mustn't!!
Oh Gods, what shall I do?
This torment now is killing me.
My mouth is watering - my waistline yells "NO!"
But I, like Eve, am weak...

 

BLACKBIRD WINTER

Photo courtesy of www.birds,deansfamily.com

 

 

 

The Sun is away on vacation.

So Mother Nature rests, tired of giving birth;

While worms enjoy a seasonal reprieve

Beneath the ice-bound earth.

 

Day from night we can only discern

By degrees of grey to black,

And the chill that pervades the darkest part

Brings a fear our bones will crack.

 

Growing weak from constant hunger,

Our half-hearted chorus at dawn

Is little more than a hoarse whisper

As another day is born.

 

Picking among the roots of plants

That are deep in hibernation,

The most fortunate ones of us may find

A morsel to ward off starvation.

 

But there simply isn't enough to go round:

Neither fly nor cricket in sight.

Our empty tummies churn and ache.

For a snail, to the death we'd fight.

 

Thin and desperate we turn to man,

Braving his cats and dogs;

For it's chirped there's bread and seed galore

On his table of pinewood logs.

 

It's true! We see it before our eyes,

Surely this must be a trap?

But the need for this life-saving easy meal

Overrides all fear of mishap.

 

We snatch and gobble, our eyes darting back

And forth should a predator spring.

Now satiated and fully revived,

We gratefully take wing.

 



ASCENSION

He was walking home on Saturday night,
Quite blotto, so thought it best
To leave the car and go on foot;
Not take silly risks like the rest.

But one of them left moments later
Blind drunk, so failed to see
A lone figure stumbling along
The dark country road past a tree.

A bright red flash was all he saw.
He barely felt a thing
As car and tree violently collided
With no more than a muffled ping.

He felt quite dizzy and a little sick
As he staggered to a grassy verge,
Then watched the commotion feeling detached
As two worlds began to merge.

He saw the blood and guts sprayed over
Both bonnet and Oaken limb
And in between the broken body
Of someone who looked like him.

Decidedly uneasy, he drifted across
To the throng who'd gathered around
The impact scene, though their efforts were futile.
Too much red was engulfing the ground.

'What happened?' he asked a bystander grim
Who ignored him. He felt annoyed
So he tried to grab her by the arm,
But his hand encountered a void.

Seriously disturbed, he began to shout,
'WON'T ANYONE SPEAK TO ME?'
But to them, it appeared he'd ceased to exist.
Yet himself he continued to see.

He wandered around in a daze for what could
Be days, weeks, even years.
Long after they'd cleared the carnage away,
He was trapped there alone with his fears.

So in desperation he thought his way home,
To discover the house was packed
With family, friends - everyone was there.
Was this some kind of party in fact?

But he wondered why they all wore black
And deep sadness hung in the air.
He rushed to his wife for comfort, but she
Seemed unaware that he was there.

The frustration he felt was soon cut short
By the arrival of limousines black.
As they all piled in, he squeezed between
His parents in the back.

It was the strangest sensation he'd ever known.
It seemed he was real, they were not.
He could clearly see them, yet couldn't touch
And he felt neither cold nor hot.

At the crematorium he perused the wreaths,
Wondering who had died;
Then found himself thrown deep into shock,
Believing his senses had lied.

For over and over he read his name
And messages from the heart.
How can it be me in that coffin there?
He thought, as his Soul fell apart.

Then sudden dazzling light descended
Through the stained glass window above.
It engulfed him until he could no longer see
Or feel anything but pure love.

Slowly the light formed itself
Into a tunnel that sloped gently up.
And his grandparents came - it seemed quite normal
That they offered him tea from a cup.

As he moved towards them, the cup disappeared
And they shot through the tunnel at speed.
It seemed they neither ran nor flew:
Were more like wind-borne seed.

Euphoria engulfed him at the tunnel's end,
In a garden of celestial hues,
And he recognised at once that he was home:
Had shed all Earthly blues.