
Is
An
Ancient
Art
Listening
Is
A
Subtle
Lifeline
A
Whispered
Breath
Survival
Bell
Once there was
Absence
Now screens rain
Abundance
What will become
of these rivers
whose content spills
Flooding every field
With Poetry?
You’d think with all my strength and will
I could break free this flimsy cage contains me waiting
You’d expect I would try
But conditioning takes effect
And you being such a convincing master
Instead I pace my allotted circle wide eyed with expectation
I comply with temporary surrender
Bravado Fear Submission
Seeing the basket meant to carry vegetables or flowers
A joyful attractive thing not a container to save you
The unsavoury experience of splatter
Your authority soiled by my blood.
There is a man without a face
I saw his portrait on a wall today
His hair is black and all in place
Don’t know his name
Don’t know his trade
Don’t know the reasons for his fate
I think a lot about him
Wonder how it feels to vanish with no trace
What it’s like to be a man without a face
The crowd is
the crowd
You’re either in
or you’re out
The crowd is
always the crowd.
I wander slow
past Mary’s door
I pause to see
her tapestry
hanging still
in her dark window
Mary’s door
locked from the inside
Mary don’t
live there no more.