Till death do us...

awakening
consciousness filters
through woozy senses—
succumbs to a shroud of
terror that engulfs, consumes,
any semblance of sanity;
as rough wood remains

unmarked by shredding nails
panic scrapes across torrid
vocal chords, unable to even
ripple sound as suffocating
death lurks in rhythmic doef —
doef — doef — of soil slowly
obliterating makeshift coffin

(All rights reserved.)

Stolen

six young girls…
breakfast cereal smiles
malleable playdough
trusting in a woman
where did you go?

ring a ring a rosies

a pocket full of posies

six young girls…
lured by a woman
many years ago
drugged and raped
where did you go?

atishoo, atishoo,
all fall down

six young girls…
snatched by a woman
many years ago
did her lover kill you?
we’ll never know.

(All rights reserved.)

This poem is dedicated to the following girls who were abducted in South Africa during the late 1980s.  They have never been found.

Tracy-Lee Scott-Crossley, Fiona Harvey, Joan Horn, Rosa Piel, Odette Boucher, Yolanda Wessels

This has been substantially reworked thanks to the input of my poetry friends (from Facial Expression Poetry Circle) - Luke Rapture Elk, Maggie Garavaglia, Julie Watkins and Beth Winter who helped me improve on my original poem... Thanks guys.  I think it is so much better now.

Dawn

beyond white
tinged with grey and pink
rain-washed blue
peeks through

fresh breeze dawn
punctuated by
sporadic bird calls

unwelcome sound
of city traffic
flips my mind

back
back
to a time

of innocence
when chirruping hosts
nested in
bluegums
wattles
acacias

fleeting silence
between darkness
and dawn
alive with joy

tranquil past
rarely revisited

pain of
going there
runs too deep

awakens
longing

feeds
regret

 

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White Dove

The white dove glides above the lawn
a beautiful sight in the early morn;
I watch with envy each move so free
and wish that beautiful dove was me.

Oh, how I wish that I too could fly
up and away in the clear blue sky;
governed by my most basic needs
and free of man’s hates, lusts and greeds.

I’d spread my wings, I’d rise and soar
never to be bound to the earth anymore;
I’d fly with the wind and hide from the rain
and once it was sunny I’d fly on again.

Oh, beautiful white dove, lovely and free,
I’ve wished and wished like you to be;
but no matter how hard I might try
unlike you, white dove, I can't fly.

  

(All rights reserved.)

The Vicar’s Wife

Dignified funeral,
a massive affair —
all the church members
dressed in the blackest

black or the darkest grey.
Sombre mood — much as martha,
the vicar’s wife, had exhibited
since the vicar’s passing. Living

in a cottage behind the old mill,
spending her days doing good works,
still receiving parishioners as though
nothing had ever changed.

At the ‘right’ time, the womens
guild moved quietly through the
small home, ooh-ing and aah-ing
about martha’s high standards as they

savoured the smell of furniture polish
that reflected loving care on every surface.
Methodically the ladies sorted martha’s
possessions into piles. Charity, garbage,

martha’s friends, ‘don’t know’, donations.
Within a few hours they arrived in the only
bedroom and boxes slowly filled as the
remnants of a pure life were examined.

susan gibbons gleefully lowered the box
from the back of the top shelf, ‘martha’s toys’
scribbled on the side in bold black ink. She
opened it with a smile of anticipation

before dropping it, squealing in sheer
horror. Or was it delight? annie o’reilly,
spinster, fainted as a massive, rigid,
plastic penis rolled towards her feet.

Soon the entire town knew that whilst martha's
days were spent in service her nights were
spent in self-pleasure. What happened to
her sex toys? The womens guild took them...

 

(All rights reserved.)

Fringe Benefits

Titan Tom

did them all

before lunch

the aunt

the half sister

the stepmother

individually and

then as a group

he went home

exhausted

the sight, the smell,

the sound of her

washed over him

how was the shoot?

it was all good

i’m just fucked

can you manage just

once more for me?

breathlessly against his lips

always babe always

Mark, aka Titan Tom,

followed his wife

to their bedroom

where there wasn’t

unrelenting pressure

to perform

where there weren’t

any cameras

or lights

or crew

only

two people

in love

plus a gross or two

of work issued

condoms

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Alice D

Black snake
heaved
breathed
slithered
while he straddled it's
speckled spine. Then,

rearing, it's eyes
blinded his
with piercing noon sunlight.

Tortured metal
screeched
sheered
dismembered
as he drove head-on
into the eighteen wheeler

end of trip

 

(All rights reserved.)