Poetry

City Scape

The cities reflect me as I stand on the edge,

cliff nose to window. They would be castles

in the air, if I didn’t look down

to see the miles below where eyes are open,

ogling until the soil, until the grave.

They have the scent of sweet rot,

that candy cane gutter pile left

for the elves in high viz jackets

(that render them invisible to the streets and suits);

underpaid, overworked, and tired – so tired.

And still those glassy screens profess

fresh lilies, crisp and bred to perfection.

Poetry

Spying eyes

In the muddy crevice under old bottle caps

the fluffy entrails of a forgotten teddy bear

strings of off-white dental floss and

the worn velvet box holding a tarnished golden ring

the red eyes peek out at the world

seeing the boys with their sharp sticks

hacking and chopping and coughing

pillaging for anything redeemable

in this stained, rotting welt on the crust

not knowing if they’ll have enough to buy dinner

or become the dinner of something else

Poetry

Chocolate Box

And the trees take their last breath

before the mountain gets its luminous dusting for another season.

Below, the village smarts itself up

for photos

taken by every confectioner around

to be stamped on tins and boxes, ready to be discarded

without thought once the consumers have gorged themselves into stupor.

Yet when the year turns,

the people make to sweep away their sluggishness

with good deeds.

The trees reappear, breathing deep, refreshed,

and watch.

And listen.

In the distance, they spot small groups coming together

to tidy and repair.

They hope.

Poetry

Plastic Jellyfish

Salt crystals linger around my lips

from my time drinking in the ocean.

My belly is swollen, now hosting

millions of lives so I can keep them safe

from the rest of the world

with its beads

and bags, nets and hooks

tangling everything and anything in sight.