Albatross

Nervous sun
in random glows,
Dappled yellows
flickering,
Night or day,
no-one knows
Why the land and sea
are bickering.
Sail, the ships
of olden days
On the naïve eyes
of a child,
Sunsets setting
skies ablaze
Behind nimbus
running wild.
Balmy southern
ocean breeze
On islands
wet and warm,
Blowing
unsuspecting trees
Into the eye
of a passing storm.
Raising, surging
waters spill
Like tides tethered
to living rain,
Extinguishing
the sun at will,
The unhindered
hurricane,
Sweeping people
off the shores,
Condemning them
To the sea,
While an albatross
above them soars,
Wandering, waving
Nonchalantly.

© RJVHorton 2015

A Feller's Opera

She sits upon
a bracken grave
with arms like
twisted thorns,
weeping in the
undergrowth
the soprano
widow mourns,
singing
haunting melodies
portentous
and forlorn,
the dying forest
will gaze no more
on sunsets
nor misty dawns.

Her haunting voice
will echo
'tween hollow trees
she calls,
a crescendo of
crotchet splinters
over timber
acres sprawl,
to summon
silent her aria
as mighty oaks
then fall,
to rise no more
in glory,
to stand no more
so tall.

Whirring,
snapping,
crashing down
as the whip
of progress cracks,
rolling,
beating
like a drum,
carving its
gruesome track,
a tympany
of lumberjacks
wave their batons
like an axe,
to the rythmn
of a wooden heart
as the wistful
chorus hacks.

Sweet the sound
of wailing song
across the land
does sweep,
devastating
landscaped eyes
in eerie silence
shall weep,
'tis her prelude
to the end of time,
that was never hers
to keep,
she sits upon
a bracken grave
to cry herself
to sleep.

©RJVHorton2014

Broken Wing

Creature
black,
feathered kind,
stealthy,
deft,
on ledge did find,
hid in fear
behind broken wing
he did not fly
nor song did sing,
window,
sashed,
did open wide,
blackbird trembling,
brought inside,
wing did strap
with stick and lint,
that brought to eye
a grateful glint.
on wrist did sit,
tipped back head,
on bread and milk
with finger fed,
for many days
did tend him well
until he told me
how he fell,
did trap himself
in poachers snare,
meant for rabbit,
meant for hare,
his life to end
was soon to be
so broke own wing
to set self free,
in panic flew,
so high,
so fast,
did crash into
invisible glass,
could not sing
nor fly again,
did think to die
on window pane.
To blackbird said
" we built a city,
for those who fly
and crawl, no pity,
with traps and glass,
bombs and guns
to break the wings
of our little ones"
his head did drop
to cry in sadness,
to live and die
at the whim of madness,
then sat on sill
to grieve the view,
did close the window
and away he flew.

© RJVHorton

Clever Fool

Sit, you lad, upon a gate
Imagine it's a mule,
Faster faster, ride it straight
Oh, you clever fool.

If only you had a watch
You could ignore the setting sun,
As your sister plays hop-scotch
In a time when childhood was fun.

Time, when the world was more
Than the dreams you mistook,
When everything was to explore,
Not just pictures in a book.

I am sorry sweet child,
The mule is limping lame,
Nothing short of being wild
Can play a part in your game.

Sit, you lad, upon my gate,
I wish I could swing by your side,
But, my son, it is now too late
To love you now I've died.

Poor old man, tired in your bed
Dreaming of a life so cruel,
But you play as a child instead,
Oh, you clever fool.

© RJVHorton 2015

The Performance

The curtain rises,
Swishing its many disguises,
Every face ever worn
Ever since you were born.

When audience's show
They sit down, stand up and go,
In and out of your life
Like your mother and wife.

The music is strange
Like your costume change,
One minute a rhapsody,
The next a parody.

I wish I could pretend
The dream could never end
But the boards you tread
Are only in my head.

A little more make-up perhaps
To hide the missed lines and gaps,
Such swagger and finesse
In your childhood sequined dress.

To whom are you playing?
The crowds that are beying?
Ignore them, my dear,
Dying is only a fear.

Critics can be cruel
To such a pretentious fool,
I can't always be my best
When sincere and undressed.

They'll never know
That you've fallen or how low,
Just be what you want to be
Because I know you are me.

The curtains shut,
The audience tut tut...
"Overacting!" they shout
As we try to get out,

But hey! I'll dream some more,
Life or death for the encore?
Artists don't have to conform,
But please heart......just perform.

© RJVHorton 2015