season heals season
- as the years faster pass -
are we mending ?
Are we passenger ?
Are we story ?
Are we heated energy
or friction and grind ?
season heels to season
a scraping yield
i love you on the lips
paradise hills and november
and it's temple
template of our own world of wild tales .. sometimes
sometimes silent running sometimes engine purl
under our dark star
the wind rises ; blood and black lace
the pace of our isle
raw and in keeping
sometimes the lighthouse taps
blinking metronome and we use habits of coherence
and practicality and partnership
in some dark corners
on another earth
seats an uninvited guest
(i feel.. sometimes)
moon garden/ paradise hills / november / wild tales / silent running / dark star / the wind rises / blood and black lace / isle / raw / the lighthouse / coherence / dark corners / another earth / uninvited guest /
traffic trodden crab apples
and choke cherries
sluice the sidewalk
not one wasp observed
the wasps this year are found
not around human food or trash cans
( sugar drunk, bat angry or absurd )
this year they thrive around cut grass
and chippings from outdoor furniture finishing
with this appetite
what are they prepping for ?
standing pin with military tension
a dead suit
torted stance in the mirror solvent
commandeering a flect stare
more punish than my double could lance me
the ticking heat off a parked car
has summer resigned ?
flying ants are 'the business' today
clumsy as ducks in landing
unclear of their randy goals
they bat about scorching streets
who re-marrowed this hollow tree ?
thought themselves of mythology ?
processed death into the dying **** ?
blunt blackened hope
buttering up what god ?
what mischief maker ?
: Loki the crow with his promethean nose ?
covering his crooked actions
the defiling of a life
a coward of failed coupling
congress a night down the pub
the gender polar pair collided
sottish upon their union
genitals bragging through urgent gaps in clothing
but that urgency deflated
it muttered away
he felt baited
he committed to ******
crude amateur throttling
a ***** sogged brick
an indiscreet botch up
and a stolen wheelbarrow
to ferry her away
'The Mourning Tree'
despondently sifts for nourishment
its gummy combs of branches
sashing particles from the night solution
the tree ; a cavity
too verrucose and fleshy to whittle the winds
or fife a tune
a rubbery craggle foreign against the landscape
should rather make out its' habits
off the floor of a deep sea trench
roughing in the corpse
head first down the gullet thirstily
skirts up and claustro
between spread limbs
to ***** puckle in the hollow tree
evicting the bird of Minerva
‘whoing’ into the charged sky
the night blackens further
brooding on the event
who re-marrowed this hollow tree ?
married themselves to a mythology ?
force fed life engorged within deathly seed ?
upended crime in lieu of a sacrifice
he offered a glass of woman
to oder the night
he strummed teasing fingers
raked them humming
through the heady resistance of the air
electric creeping warmth over the skin
erecting the hairs
an arena as fraught equal between magnets
clouds cut the moon
moon cut the eye
sinful kiting to mend a link
he makes sparking incantations to the gods
one scatting madman
one corpse woman
that same bled night
where the furrowed fields
meets natures disarray
children approach this woodland border
children with empty baked bean tins
that they joined with lengths of string
trying to reach out their ears
extend their timid range
to sprites, nymphs, pucks or faeries
an older kid strikes up a cigarette
one of the younger ones squats to ***
and be mocked
one brave girl of ten years
runs a tin and the line into the woods
it jerks taunt after about thirty paces
she wedges it in a tree fork and runs back
the children crowd the receiver tin
upon the hollow wisdom of small gods
that mask their shame in the dark
influenced by ‘ Who put Bella down the Wych Elm? ‘
misuse of the word 'sashing'