A Peculiar Nature Scene

The bear waits patiently next to the river, with a rather peculiar duck between her front paws, watching eagerly along. With no intended malice, the bear slaps at one particularly silly salmon, which lands on the rocks besides the pair. Although the salmon was quite aware of the nature of things, he gave them a surprising request.

“Well, you caught me now,” he blubbed, somehow, “this might be the end of my salmon life, but please spare my salmon wife.” This was a bit new to the bear, as she had not heard her lunch ask much of her before, as she was an ever-so-hungry predator of prey. Nor did she ever consider the implications of a salmon marriage, before this day. Alas, she responded to the salmon, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but as I fish with my bare bear claws, I doubt I shall be able to uphold my end of this clause.” Or, well, she would have said this to the salmon, had the duck not swallowed the salmon whole. He quacked. The bear did not.

As for the salmon wife, she was not as fast as the salmon that had just lost its life. She swam, jumped, jumped and swam, until she swam into a large gathering of logs, drifting on the water.

“Damn,” the salmon wife exclaimed, like a fish. “Indeed,” replied the beaver. It was the six hundred and thirty second time that this beaver made this joke this summer, and he was considerably disliked by the beaver community. Indeed, he had been cast out from the community in a permanent exile, which had previously been unspoken of, considering the lack of a democratic system in the beaver community. In any case, he was hated so much, that the beavers figured it out, got together, and kicked him out of the colony. None of this was known to the salmon wife, as she had never met a beaver before. Nor was their interaction of any particular interest. The salmon wife was not interested in hearing about any democratic system, nor did the beaver care much about salmon marital systems.

The salmon wife started, “But, my dear beaver, marine marital systems are of great importance! My salmon saviour stated in the salmon bible that ‘salmon should save the life of their salmon wife, once they are broken upon the rocks by a bear, with no intended malice.’ These teachings must be taught and thought of as truth!” By now, the beaver realised the surreal nature of their interaction. A fish, speaking to a beaver?

Before the beaver could realise many existentially life-changing revelations, the story advanced to the meeting between the bear and the salmon wife. Once more, the bear waited patiently next to the river, with the duck at her side this time. The salmon wife swam, jumped, jumped and swam, and jumped straight into the bear her arm, which was swung with no intended malice. The duck quacked, “wait, wasn’t that the salmon wife? Hadn’t we heard something about her before?”

The bear replied, “Heard of her before? I don’t know, I am a carnivore.”

For a Friend – Wait For the Sun

You tried, love.
Your teary eyes were buried in my shirt,
My arms could only contain your
Shell of a body, as it emitted wracking sobs, echoes
Of years of trying to love another, whilst loving
Itself with all of its anxious compassion, you
Tried, so hard, my dear. The days
Will likely seem a little darker, for a while, and your tears
May weigh you down, till

One day you will wake up again,
And listen to the birds sing
In your father’s garden, you’ll watch
The hopeful rays of sunlight try to break through
Your curtains, and you’ll smell a fresh cup of coffee,
That your mother brings to your room,
Not because she has to, or you can’t get it yourself, but
Because she knows that this simple pleasure could be enough
To get you out of bed for a whole week,
As it is love itself, in its purest form.

It’s what you deserve, my dear, but know
It’ll take time, and to take small steps, day by day.
Know, that your loved ones, will be there
Every step of the way.

Bishops and Pawns Both Strike on the Diagonal

Frozen pathways, broken bridges, the
Spilling sewers of Rome, the holy excrement rains
From the sky, the smell is putrid
Like a preacher working the corner for days on end,
Working his body, a bible glued to his hand,
There aren’t enough eyes on an angel to truly witness
This state of despair, not enough holy mops
To rid the world of dirty priests, one man once said
“Let the children come to me,” he should have said
“Don’t let the children near a priest,” they should
Call a consistory, make it extraordinary, take it
To the top, to the tip of his white hat—haven’t we learned
That we should stay away from white hats, white masks, white robes, white cloaks, white men that
Disrobed nature and nations, stole from their people, took away their gods
And put them in a museum, hiding behind bulletproof glass, far out of reach
From tax-paying citizens, increasingly depressed denizens, we need more
Destructive dissidents with bottles of gasoline, rags soaked in alcohol,
To light it all aflame, but only at the end of the week, to make it sabbatical.

Blades

tiredness and rain, the feeling of wanting
a breathless escape
from it all and to
watch from a higher place
to the ground below and the wild seas
with waves as high as planes,
green plains of desolation, and grass
that is always greener on the other side
but
what does the colour of the grass matter
maybe i like it damaged and coarse,
and not cutting, separated and divorced

Time slips by

Time slips by in an instant, but I still
Remember the way to your parents’ place, the feeling of
Seeing you pull away, a couple of tears marking your face,
Trailing past pathways, memories, the scars you would rather
Scratch away, but I thought you were beautiful either way.

How could you be so effortlessly attractive to me,
Brushing your teeth, with that little shake
In your hair, whilst your tired eyes looked into mine?

Did you know?
Did you see?

The gears turning in my head, as I tried not to jeopardise what
We had, but I couldn’t lie, not with words, or with
Goodbyes, no,
I tried, but time
Slips by in an instant, and I
Still find reminders of you –
A word, a hair, an inside joke that we wouldn’t dare
Share with the world.

I hope you know or knew that I
Do care, and I did care, though I don’t know
If I will care when time slips away,
And the hair that frames my face is a shade of
Melancholic grey… but for now
Let us mourn the love that we could have had
For every future yesterday.

The Two-Headed Calf and the One-Eyed Raven

You look at the ancient stars, shining brightly in the sky. Green grasses wave at you from afar, and you feel them welcome you to Life, as you take your first steps. A stumble, a fall, but your mother by your side, with her caring eyes, willing you to stand tall. You breathe through two sets of nostrils, you see through two pairs of eyes. You are complete. You have with you all that you ever have, and though you will be gone before your first sunset, this night you will experience all that there is in life. The joy of peace, of calmly sleeping at your mother’s side. The tragedy, which is a privilege for others, to have to wake up and face the day. The wonder of hearing the birds sing as they fly through the trees, searching for insects to feed their young. You are not meant for the skies, but as the birds fly, one song meets your ears. Sung with melancholic sincerity, you see the singing raven perched on one leafless tree, watching you with only one eye.

A child has been born, so full of life,
A head too many, here comes the knife,
A slash, a crack, off goes your head,
A mother, alone again,
When she goes to bed.

She’ll watch the sun rise,
She’ll watch the sun set,
She’ll be alone again,
When she goes to bed.

A moment passes, before you hear your mother sing back to the raven, with a desperate dread.

Don’t take my child, lover of the dead,
Don’t make me say goodbye,
Take me with you instead,
Please don’t let me be alone again,
When I go to bed.

green and unknowing

Do you think I couldn’t see us
In the blues and yellows
Of yesteryear, when
I saw you more often than the clouds in the sky,
And we would greet each other more frequently
Than we would say goodbye?

Alas, one essential colour was missing
To create the colours on the rainbow.
The colours on the spectrum
Lacked life – red
Blood that I remember so vividly:
Draining from your face,
Except for your eyes,
Looking into mine, bloodshot
And heartbroken, God,

I see you now
Left behind
Drowning in the blues and yellows
Clinging onto an idealised memory
Fragmented pieces of me
That drag you down
Deep into the sea
Deep into
The blue and yellow fantasy

im barely here, you’re not here at all

I’m so far gone
But it makes me think of you
Dreams we had
Dreams we never
had
Dreams we should have had
Now
We’re nothing more
Than strangers passing by
On the street, listening
To songs we told each other about
Thinking
About what we could have been
But
Now we are nothing more
Than dust in the wind

Impressions in the sands
Of time
The hourglass
Turns upon itself and
We are where we begun

Being nothing at all

Heaven or Rain

Rain pours down like the fury of an angry God,
As he tries to drown us once more
And breaks rainbows and promises of eternal love.

How could he not
When he sees the joy on our face
Through sin and pain,
As he realises we have no shame.

We are naked and exuberant,
With heads in the clouds –
Joyous reflections in the refractions of sunshine
That shimmer so vividly.

Heaven could not compare
To these moments we share.
You are greater than eternity,
And I’ll take care of you till our hellish end,
My beautiful, rain-stricken friend.

We can dry ourselves by the fires of torment,
Roast marshmallows on pitchforks and torture tools,
And watch the flames of forever
Burn on, and on,
But at least we’ll watch them burn

Together.

Birthmarks and Scars in the Spotlight

Check my birthmarks –
My personal spots and signs,
My life scars, too many to count
But they are mine
Either by birthright, or the attempts on my life.
It feels like I have nine lives,
Four chambers, one bullet
And a cocked hammer –
Pulled back by my stress,
Until I snap, and take that one in four chance
To blast myself in the head.
Although I’m not better off dead.
I’m better off red
In the face, with tears on my cheeks,
Till I’m wet, soaked, covered in sadness,
To the point of breathless madness
But it’s fine, it’s all for the sake of saving him,
That child residing on the inside
Of my heart, working the machine
The way he’s worked his whole damned life,
Putting his own desires aside,
All for the sake of peace and mediation,
Another tough pill to swallow,
But facing the truth is his daily medication

As he carries the same marks,
The same scars, given to him by lovers,
Mothers, brothers, friends and absent fathers,
Who were either there to embrace him,
Burn him at the stake, or neglect him
The way I did when I buried him in the dark
Cold hard ground when I was five.

No, I didn’t want to look at him,
Be him, or free him from his despair,
No, that little boy was going nowhere
If it was up to me, till a point in my life
When I realised that little boy never gave up the fight.