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Leigh May 2015
The story of a tiny gift, half chewed and fear-stained
Left on the alter outside the back door:

When first stunned with a slap or a precisely timed
Bite, a vigil is held -- wings twitch and flutter.
With a curious tilt, widened eyes record
Muscle spasms; calculating the
Flight risk; metering the force of the next
Outburst; prolonging the fun.

A game or performance art?
The victim's peers yell and screech
From the rooftops - do they know
The show is for them?

After few manoeuvres more it matters little
As a tiny neck snaps between missing teeth.
The audience scatters and the corpse is left behind
As an offering for those who feed the beast.
.

The joys of owning a cat.
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Leigh May 2015
He took a heart and he plucked its
Strings recklessly to compose a second quartet -
Of love! Of passion! Of chaos! -
With sounds dredged from a hollow
Box inhabited by his masterpiece - Kamila.
Not the young, flattered, other man's living wife,
But the manifestation of his desire to depict
Longing;
An artificial, delicately moulded, fervent
Wanting.

One of the great classical passions -
Up there with Dante and Beatrice -
Tarnished by a most deceptive
Embellishment in exchange
For radiance.
His melody - although bracing a lie -
Sings to the fizzle in your chest and
The tingle in your fingertips --
A lullaby to the desperation he required
To convince us it was at all possible.

"And in your withered heart you know it's crap."
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I was driven to write this after reading the short play 'Performances' by Brian Friel. His take on the true sentiment behind Leoš Janáček's intimate letters to Kamila, which inspired and bolster his second String Quartet, is thought-provoking. Friel's idea that the letters were written to a perfect image of Kamila as opposed to the imperfect person in order to inspire the work he produced struck a chord with me. Pun whole heartedly intended.

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Leigh May 2015
Clunky hands tick round
To beckon the rooster's crow --
No crisp morn summoned.

Perhaps sharp teeth sliced
Spilling chunks on moving gears --
Springs once sprung severed.

Though ticks still trundle
Their purpose swings freshly void --
Dense clunks breed gloaming.

With no shredding bay
Ending rapid eye movement --
Endless night transpires.
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I wanted to write something with Haiku verses.

Voila!

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Leigh May 2015
Construct your steel fortress
To keep the sanctimony,
Stones, and bottles from causing
More damage than the message they carry.

Chain your armoured Land Rovers
Around the outlying mobs
Just as the Holy Cross kids chained
Daisies to hang 'round their necks.

Don your plastic faces to match
Your plastic shields and be sure
Never to forget your baton, bias or bitterness
Lest you be left vulnerable or human.

Load your guns with rubber
And only pull triggers when provoked
To be absolutely clear just when it's
Okay to open fire on a child.

Hold your faith in your palm,
Grip it tight every chance you get
For it will guide you through the
Nightmares -- ones in which you'll soon feature.

"Great peace have they who love your law,
and nothing can make them stumble."
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Leigh May 2015
An insistent past solidifies a present crumbling at my feet --
To rubble so fine it rains through desperately cupped hands.
20W
Leigh May 2015
Around the backs of houses:
Overgrowth cloaked a
Horde of little rascals with
Pockets full of pennies.

Some were almost as tall as the
Highest stalks and jumped
Once a minute to gauge the number
Of silly long strides left to spring from.

Eyes fixed forwards, soldiering
On to the treeline and then just
Beyond - Through the ditch and
Brambles, emerging onto stones:

Ten feet towered with a
Steep ascent as a clear warning
Raptly ignored by the imps --
The chasers of thrills and stories

And melted misshapen metal -
Wherein lies the innocence of their
Treacherous endeavors. Those
Pennies would return mangled and bent

Enough to weave a tale of valiance
And near-death peril so captivating
It couldn't possibly be spun;
For in your hand you held a token.

"The world vibrated and ear drums
Exploded, running to cover from
The screaming, steaming demon:
Dublin to Belfast express!"
They would say.
Leigh May 2015
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Let's go searching.
With hand over heart to
Set the pace, you can guide our
Way through goosebumps. We'll search
Close and thin for meaning
In fears we're yet to shed.

Let's go falling.
We'll feel fuzzy headed
When the bough breaks
With a crisp crunch and
We'll leave to chance
Whose fall needs fixing.

Let's go shaking.
We'll let blurry white stars
Propagate in petri dish
Pupils; A shudder
At the brink with
Nails buried deep.

Let's go dreaming
Dreams of finding
Soft sands stretched limitless:
A place to land
Where respite paints
Over sanguine lips now still.
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