Poetry

Leviathans

For giants who once wandered the earth,

their bones are sure elusive.

Yes, the snow may be deep,

the sand too quick,

the volcano about to erupt,

but you’d think their brilliant remains

would declare themselves like beacons.

Not so, once again to the map I go,

so scribbled and crossed out it’s barely legible.

I hear the doctor snort, and casually he hands me the real map

and removes my brain scan from my grasp.

Poetry

Beyond the naked eye

Yours is the shaded bench placed beside the stream where tired walkers rest their feet whilst watching the ducks at play.

Yours is the mansion with the ivy climbing high to the window of the first floor bedroom, where its creeping tendrils lightly finger the latch.

Yours is the garden that is home to upright stones marked with old names, beaten down by wind and rain to become unreadable.

And yours is the oak tree that has been growing for a thousand years, whose roots intertwine with the forgotten skulls in the invisible pit.