We went to a play last week

Actors strutted around

Among a set of tall buildings

Made of actual stone of grey

And billowing smoke

And noises

And crowds.


Upon the great stage they talked

About their ancient ideas

Like wars

And politics

And freedom.

In one scene an actor yelled

and swung a mighty hand

and struck the other man!


And though we knew

It was really just acting

The idea that one

Could hit another

Shocked all of us in the audience
So powerfully

And a few people even left

The theatre

In tears.

But there were funny bits too

In the play that night.

A character said he had a car.

His Own. 
Personal. 
Car!

And together they were to drive

Both of them

Off to an aeroport.

Like with all the steering,

And foot pedals,

And everything.

And in a very sad part

Someone treated someone else badly

And called her names

Because of the colour

Of her skin

And because she had come

From somewhere else.

And all our eyes were wet for a while.

One man used a device

Which was an ancient komputer.

Two flat parts with a hinge

And it opened upon his lap

And one side glowed brightly

To illuminate his face

And he presses a bunch of button-keys

To spell words and things

Because that’s how they told the

Komputer

What to do.

And we all laughed.

when it was over a bunch of us asked the man that was hit if he was okay was he really okay it looked terrible and did they really have to do that awful thing in the play and was the other actor a bad man and he said no, it was alright and the other actor was a nice man and that it didn’t hurt at all and he said he was sorry that it scared us but it was the violence of the time and the people of that time and we said we kind of understood.

And we all felt better


But one lady

Still needed to hug him.

And his eyes

Were a little wet too.

Laughable
Affable
Reachable
Near

Damnable
Mandible
Crucible
Bone­

Icicle
Tricycle
Sensible
Fear

Inevitable
Dependable
Dispensabl­e
Stone

A throwaway.
Not for posterity.
Not for unborn archaeologists
To extract caked with mud.
Not to be hidden from the sun
Under a millennia of detritus.

Just for now.
Just for this bit of time
When nobody needs you immediately,
And nobody expects you to deliver,
And nobody is depending on you.

Just for these moments.
Just to share a bit of your space-time
While the sun finds a gap in the branches
And drives the chill from the room.
While the office has emptied for lunch
And a breath can be taken in peace.
While the hum of the bus/train/plane
Has lulled your fellow travellers to sleep.

Just to see some words gathered
Purely for their affinity to one another.
Just for the love of pictures
Painted in your head alone.
For when just one more read through
Is purely for the pleasure
Of sitting awash in an idea.

Throwaway.
A handful of words.
Just for you.

Come down from the mountains
In coarse weave and wool,
Come down at the break
Of the iced inky night.
Upon smoke-spouting horses
Come down to the river
And drink deeply of its cold and black.

It got here before you
Melting, tumbling, weaving between stones
Coursing and dropping without caution.
And while you lay languid
Upon meadow grasses
And the bay shuffles, hobbled,
And crops at the green,
It will pool deeply at the bend in the river
And be gone before you awake.

No voice could call
From my sandpaper throat.
The script written
In a watercolour ink,
Left the pages blank
After the rain.
Clutching a weathered branch
On an overhanging rocky ledge,
Legs dangled into the abyss.
Finally, a reaching arm
From the quicksilver mirror
Pulled me back
To the rabbit hole within.

There is something
                    Electric
                  in the air

As a new,
     ...original
                ...idea
       is conceived
        in the belly
of the World.

The morning breaks like a jagged jam jar, the sun burns through like a stinking cigar, the time moves forward like a lethal lahar, and yet another day is burning.

And another one now, they just keep coming, there's no escape here, your brain needs numbing, you're tangled in wire and perplexing plumbing, and none of it's worth what you're earning.

Sometimes we think we've got a pretty perfect path, but as you get close it instead wreaks wrath, still we all want what the other half hath, but material goods don't quell yearning.

You could do more, you could work wonders, your heart says yes, but feet bestow blunders, as one thing leaps another thing thunders. It leaves your whole world churning.

But a light will emerge between the tall trees, the heat will fade with the fall's brisk breeze, you'll find warmth where you formerly freeze, you'll find inspiration returning.

Because humanity thrives on problems perverse, people have recovered from way, way worse,  a chasm wasn't made we didn't try to traverse. 'Cause the things we beat down, set us learning.