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Roars

Thy heart; no edge to quell its beat,
Nor quieten its call,
Past flaying arms, where evils meet
The innocence in all.
Though hate runs free, to fuel the fears,
Of wicked, senseless cause,
Over the cries and thunderous tears,
Here still, the lion, roars.

Dedicated to and in memory of the victims of the Forbury Gardens attack in Reading, June 20th 2020 – James Furlong, Joe Ritchie-Bennet and David Wails.

A Why Is Rarely Greeted

The wretched inevitability of shutting eyes.
Sapphire skies crack beneath ashen clouds
And break into ever slowing heartbeats
That rise up in careless pleats
Above shallowing breaths and settling sheets.

A pace of change unwanted and uninvited,
Blights the beauty of such unity united
As the blackening tempest in protest
Tries to break the unbreakable.
Senses clamber for sense in such senselessness
But a why is rarely greeted with a why
As memories abound in colour drain into dry greys;
Rays of rainbow light permeate on occasion
But an invasion deep has worn them into a thin smile
That carries such little weight now.

Hands tied in thick roots dig deep into the earth,
Spreading their heartache out through exhausted muscles,
Settling against cold stones and growing no more.
In the thaw of despair, cooling hearts split the sky apart,
Clusters of unrealised dreams rupture
As a supernova of falling stars embrace the passing
Of two of the brightest of souls.

Rolling vistas rich in the enigma of purpose
Slow and subdue to reveal swells of acceptance
Rising and breaking upon the very walls of the universe.
Time finds its solace at an apogee long since passed,
The last essence of two lives so utterly lived
Fade into the infinite hum of silence.

But the faintest of ripples remain,
Their ebb and flow lap upon boundless golden shores
Beneath the repainting of cerulean skies.
Here, two solitary grains of diamond dust sands
Lay side by side, glinting and sparkling together
As before, as always, radiating their insuppressible light
Before the embracing warmth of an everlasting sunrise.

Dedicated to and in memory of our dear friends Tom Trainer & Joanne Clinton, leaving together 26th July 2018

United

Thy arm; in twisted triggers tied,
To desolate the air,
Where glass in splinters, diamond eyed,
Rolls bloodied, stair by stair.
Young joy despised, as envy claws
Lest freedom take to flight,
But from the horror of its jaws
Will innocence unite.

In memory of the victims of the senseless and abhorrent Manchester terror attack, 22nd May 2017.

Broken Glass

Who would have thought
that the fist you put through the glass
would go straight through my heart.

Battle Of One

To the death, we say,
Breath licked with flame, spits to my face;
His face.
Racing temples pump furious blood
Through ferrous veins,
Manes rise, eyes blister with relentless rage;
Eventless.
Then, clenched fists draw clotted blood
Through plum knuckles.
My neck buckles,
His neck,
Cracking bone like tinder,
The interweave of puffed ribs and scarlet skin
Glisten with fetid sweat;
I reach out and grasp for his throat.
My throat.
Grapple the split apple within,
Choking war cries gurgle,
Swung pendulums of validity, rapidly decrease,
Cease at the meeting of flesh.
What a mess.
His bleeding cheek drips pearls to the floor,
My poor face, fissured and drawn
Squints through the swell.
Muted fury galvanizes the pain
And again and again the torrent comes.
My torrent,
Extended illusions from which I cannot rouse,
Lousy pickings, plucking the meat
From my bones
And casting them at his feet.
My feet.
Cherry-picking hate under copper skies
Before the endless battle of one
And the blind gun pointing inexorable turmoil
At my dissevered mind.