A Patch Of Black Grass
I set fire to a patch of black grass
Burnt by an unforgiving sun
Peeling back layers of over-ripe skin
On the seeds of this still-life painting.
This day is a fast rolling ball of fire
Chasing me down like a rabid dog
On the heels of a desperate clown
Walking an ice-glazed tightrope
In loose fitting second hand shoes,
All semblance of balance
Tossed aside for the thrill of the kill.
The patch of black grass,
Now embers and ash
Shows traces of teeth and make-up,
Fading, fading away
Into the gaping jaws of dusk.
The night is a slow rolling ebony ball
Striking the last pins of day
Scattering them like distorted doves
Trying in vain to coo,
Stuck in the throat
Of a paralyzed nightingale
Living in a backstreet alley
Littered with dead paintings
And patches of black grass.
Black Onyx Lake
Above the lip of a black onyx lake,
I walked as a ghost in a foreign land,
All around me in a state of flux:
Sand dunes shifting;
Sky cracking open;
Moon in free-fall
Above the lip of a black onyx lake.
I saw stars being born,
Burning out, disappearing;
Angels in flight touching down on the lake.
I saw high-wires and guidelines
And cities constructed with gauze;
Rainbows shedding their colours at will.
In a moment of madness
The sun kissed the moon;
And imagination’s children were born,
Spilling from the crack in the sky
Onto the poets, musicians and artists
In reverent and sacred free-fall.
I stood as a ghost
Turned inside out
Eyes filled with stars,
Moon, sun and sky
Above the lip of a black onyx lake
Bearing witness to both sides of the dark.
Harbour Of Living Wounds
In a harbor of living wounds,
Taking a slice of the past with me,
I board the winds of change.
With past to the mast
And blood on the sail
A hunger moves through me
Cutting my thoughts
Into chunks of quicksilver liquid.
There are currents beneath;
Stars in the mist
Balancing on the lips of the night
Calling in dangerous whispers.
The dogs of my days
Nip at my heels.
A cat jumps over the moon.
I throw off my ghosts
To the wolves of darkness.
No longer treed,
Walking naked through strangers,
They know me for who I am:
A ghost resurrected
By flames of the night
Burning in burnt out scars
In a harbor of living wounds.
A black luminous disc
Than the brightest white
Opens the hole in my soul.
The disc key
Blazing me into a dull aching flame.
The atmosphere tightens
In rings and handcuffs.
I’m tethered with feelings
I don’t want to know.
On some level, I’m being reshaped.
Beneath a sheet of tangled words
The scent of fresh roses oozes out
From the twisted corners of need.
A black and white organdy piano
Plays songs for the uninvited strangers
Locked in intimate embrace
And intricate dance steps
On a crumbling black luminous disc
Falling through the hole in my soul.
Dripping with whiskey
And sanctified flames
On some other level
String Of Streetlamp Glow
Beneath the string of streetlamp glow
I wander through an echoing rain.
A gloss and shimmer streak
Across the slick wet streets.
I’ve spent a lifetime
Walking these glossy streets;
So many days and nights
Reflecting in the river’s sheen.
Memories drift by:
The serene days of dreamboats
Gliding on stained glass mirrors;
The nights of chaotic shipwrecks
Dashed against jagged rocks,
Blacker than black;
A lighter shade of ebony,
More smoothed at the edges.
The distant past,
Echoing footfalls behind me
Beneath the string of streetlamp glow.