Afternoon light cascades onto ocean skin ,
momentarily turning the water a fine gold shimmer -
light dances merrily , shifting as the plane turns southwards - Equator barrier broken

Welcome to the Southern Hemisphere !

Cloud islands mirror
ground islands .

Puff ***** create architectural feats not known to humanity.  
Flowing with the wind , creating substance out of thin air
the ultimate magicians trick ,
Above , thin wisps of stratus clouds brushstrokes seamless onto sky glaringly iridescent and soft all at once.....hey look! ..... way out in the distance , towering cumulus on their way to becoming cumulonimbus thunderstorms , steady growth of stacks even out when a cold air bank has been reached....the sky writes love letters to the earth

in his cloud postcard snapshots , yet - it is a serenade from them both

Earth offers the waters , the dust needed for the molecules to bind together -  sky transmutes them in his belly - with shifting winds and earth curvature the color palate spectrum .

the offspring , playing in between two worlds
belonging to no one arriving and departing , shape shifters

whole landscapes whirling in amongst themselves , remain unseen,  save for the few souls in tin machines hurtling along in the presence of natures finest high sky views.

Azure crisscrossed with opaque whites and rapidly turning dusk eggplant purples , wild and free form mingle with voluptuous orange streams of liquid light , hiding in the shadows the ‘day’ comes to an end ...

Does natures delicate hands sculpt the static water molecules knowing that there is beauty there ,


i have yet to fathom how such a gracious glory goes un noticed by many ,

luckily , for us , as we destroy every other aspect of earths eco system - the bold sky still remains ,

In the city doldrums and slums high rises
or slums on ground
or mansion view

the sky still bears dow the art works of sunset and rise ,
of cloud shifters and shapers , movers and shakers
still offers a connection to natures heart to remind us , of the magnificence that is our world. That is our home,

although - i have been told - under the surface or in this case , above the surface , here too has been attacked , pumping deadly toxic fumes into water ways
and lung ways

knowing all the whilst that this will do more harm than good

and here is where i , still struggle - i’m writing this on the plane -

a carbon dioxide emitting , fossil fuel guzzling , corporate ******* of a business .

but i need to get places , and go long distances in the shortest amount of time possible ..

A sportin' death! My word it was!
An' taken in a sportin' way.
Mind you, I wasn't there to see;
I only tell you what they say.

They found that day at Shillinglee,
An' ran 'im down to Chillinghurst;
The fox was goin' straight an' free
For ninety minutes at a burst.

They 'ad a check at Ebernoe
An' made a cast across the Down,
Until they got a view 'ullo
An' chased i'm up to Kirdford town.

From Kirdford 'e run Bramber way,
An' took 'em over 'alf the Weald.
If you 'ave tried the Sussex clay,
You'll guess it weeded out the field.

Until at last I don't suppose
As 'arf a dozen, at the most,
Came safe to where the grassland goes
Switchbackin' southwards to the coast.

Young Captain 'Eadley, 'e was there,
And Jim the whip an' Percy Day;
The Purcells an' Sir Charles Adair,
An' this 'ere gent from London way.

For 'e 'ad gone amazin' fine,
Two 'undred pounds between 'is knees;
Eight stone he was, an' rode at nine,
As light an' limber as you please.

'E was a stranger to the 'Unt,
There weren't a person as 'e knew there;
But 'e could ride, that London gent--
'E sat 'is mare as if 'e grew there.

They seed the 'ounds upon the scent,
But found a fence across their track,
And 'ad to fly it; else it meant
A turnin' and a 'arkin' back.

'E was the foremost at the fence,
And as 'is mare just cleared the rail
He turned to them that rode be'ind,
For three was at 'is very tail.

'Ware 'oles!' says 'e, an' with the word,
Still sittin' easy on his mare,
Down, down 'e went, an' down an' down,
Into the quarry yawnin' there.

Some say it was two 'undred foot;
The bottom lay as black as ink.
I guess they 'ad some ugly dreams,
Who reined their 'orses on the brink.

'E'd only time for that one cry;
''Ware 'oles!' says 'e, an' saves all three.
There may be better deaths to die,
But that one's good enough for me.

For mind you, 'twas a sportin' end,
Upon a right good sportin' day;
They think a deal of 'im down 'ere,
That gent what came from London way.

This is number six of ORLOK's poems*

When I see a fat smiling face
On a plump young ******
I am consumed with lust
To rip out her neck
And to **** the lifeblood
From her throbbing veins.

And then my drooling jaws
Slide down her floppy ****
Heading southwards
To where the business is at
For a further tasty mouthful
From both ends.

Finally I administer
The coup de grâce
Which is to say
Putting it bluntly
Eight inches of vampiric ****
Up the dirtbox.

How can Belfast be so cold?
a breeze in a summer front
the unpredictable British weather
Of intermittent warmth and dull
drizzles of a torrential fizzle

The titanic stands erected
stilled by the western winds
In stiles as robust as steel
as shadowy silverly specks
reflect on the unused puddles

Southwards to the coastal shores
where green shimmers magnify
and blue waters justly testifies
of the beauty of the north-eastern waters
flowing from one glen to another

We swam in wombs, with painted hands,
spreading the Red across throbbing walls.
the floor, Blue,
and the mess between, we made Orange.
Parents swam beside us, younger, dumber, but smiling.
In the vibrant sea, the some of us danced clumsily,
tripping the kaleidoscope fluid.
As the parents moved, though, their wrinkles returned, and they asked questions.
They swam southwards, the colors were too bright for their aging eyes.
They sunk like slugs into the blue, ‘till it rotted a stocky yellow-brown.
I tried to find them, and paint over their telling marks,
but in that putrid brine, I couldn’t find a single blonde hair.

Some amount of time passed, and the south returned to its older shade.
I felt the urge to explore the ordinary depths;
I shook as I stepped into the cobalt,
but soon became too busy to be scared.
I planted my feet on solid ground,
and in slow-motion, marched my way towards an elevator.

Snowy sentiments silted up
the soft sediment of my senses,
sifting silently my dreams
of sensitive seduction,
solely to send my thoughts to shores
with coloured sands and stunning steep sights
with sweeps of sea, that swell so high
the sun scintillates the surface spray
shimmering and shining,
spreading over the horizon,
as the soughing of the wind swings seagulls,
swooping serenely southwards,
past the slabbery seashells
and slap-happy waves that swish up the beach,
soporifically smudging seaweeds
against the sleeping surface
of the smooth glacial rocks,  
spattering silky foam in spots
of saffron-tinted shapes, over their structures,
surreptitiously sinking into the saline cracks.

Margaret Ann Waddicor February 2013.

There’s a writer on the block
  Inspiration’s on vacation
Gone on tour with culture shock
  Desperately seeking a situation
Far from the incessant ticking clock
  
Words are flowing like glue
Sniffed but so unwritten
The scent of inspiration flew
Southwards and unsmitten
By paucity’s shallow written hue

Heavy as leaden thought can be
The vacant empty page
Stares blank in mirrors at me
The mocking unwrit rage
A parallel universe in a vacant sea

A world of solid silent inertia
  Invades the imagination
And dulls the poetic drama
Each page gauged in vexation
Such a perfect portrait of a tabula rasa

The origami of crushed paper
A testament to frustration
And a tsunami of written failure
Mocks the myth of imagination
Reducing it to an unremembered feature

And then the keyboard sweetly sings
The ink is beautiful flowing time
While the percussive alphabet rings
The wine soaked harmonies of rhyme
Sweetening the song that poetry always brings.

drips southwards
with elevators in rivers
and your finger-claws riding around my
neighbourhood
i will be friendly

when you interrogate me
i will sweetly tie you up
with bow and myrrh
you could be a christmas present at autumn equinox
meaning always keeping the wrong fête in mind
i will resort to dating only palms and knees

total antagonist
repetitious permissive
fantastic utopian
analogue submissive

ask me in time how to dim two lights at once
short buildings
with folded stories

mail me to underground aquaria
see who will take me
honeysuckle my inner thigh

fishnet tights
resist my eyes and trust yourself
******-corner revealed
spotted tattoos in verity
you have four minutes

the fourth one being most crucial
in my crystal castle
medieval Medea versus myself