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Snake-stonesA saint credited with the myth,
Of turning coiled serpents to rock.
Science speaks and tells us;
These snake-stones are simply sea-creatures,
Imprisoned by geology.
Goth WeekendWatched over by crumbling ruins,
Atop ancient cliffs studded with snake-stones,
The coastline below becomes dotted with black.
History, literature, myth and legend,
Food, drink and chocolate coffins,
Lure in a crow-life flock.
Sombre in wardrobe, high in spirits,
Braving the off-season weather.
You have company,
Shall we sit and chat?
Make it a civil matter for an afternoon,
Tea with biscuits ( pills?)
--you can help pour,
Brown liquid (its liquor but we will pretend its tea,)
Its only polite of course,
What about them?
Of course-- help yourself.
I made them;
They’re not very neat (although I did my best)
They are over-stuffed and untidy.
I tell myself --
‘Not everything delicious can fit between
Two neat rounds of bread.’
(Just like life.)
Although they tell me it should,
I should be ‘daintier’ I should fit in perfectly too.
--there is nothing delicious about those sandwiches is there?
Its alright leave them (everyone else does)
You don’t have to be polite.
(not good enough again)
A piece of cake then?
Cake--I’ll get the knife and slice a wedge,
--what’s that you say?
(blood on my sleeves)
That’s what it is--
Certainly not blood.
Hold on tightI feel like ivy;
Clinging to something,
That is rapidly crumbling apart
As I desperately try to hold on--
That my clinging grip--
My tight choke-hold,
Is causing faster disintegration
Of my support.
‘A family tree can bear a lot of nuts.’
I wouldn’t really know,
Most of my vague knowledge of this strange plant
Is very much incomplete-- missing.
What I do know is;
Branches certainly do not get any younger,
Although some of them will reach out to other trees and sprout new twigs,
Dead branches can tell nothing,
Ask your questions before they are truly gone--
Especially when the live ones refuse to speak to each other,
Although, they rustle leaves behind each others backs.
Axe-like arguments have lopped off branches.
Some branches go rotten while others blossom,
( its hard to tell them apart until you need them for support)
Every gardener knows;
Harsh pruning through necessity (or pride) is often needed.
VacationI want to take a vacation from myself.
To a different place,
Somewhere where I am unknown,
Start fresh for a short while.
Or just become someone new.
Grow into that chosen role,
Without the weight of rumours, expectations or prejudice.
I want to take a vacation from myself,
Or maybe just loose the old me for good.
A survivor in your desert,
I want to cross that isolated space
That you have adapted to--
(even though you made it for yourself)
I want to embrace you as a friend--
But I fear doing so
(because of your prickles).
(Late) Spring cleanThe cobwebs and frost
(or they ought to be)
The first blossom caught in the wind--
Not snow flurries.
Nature seems lapse this year,
When it comes to removing Winter’s dust sheets,
And beginning Spring cleaning
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