Tag Archives: survival

Mrs Reynard

fox 1
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

You get used to it,
the carnage,
the ruptured bodies
of the small and the not-so-small,
waiting to be steam-rolled
into the tarmac.
 

The children used to cry at the rabbits;
innards glistening, torn fur
spilling scarlet ribbons
onto adamantine grey,
but even tender hearts
become anaesthetised
to the horrors of the hedgerows.
 

Strange then
that the fox should jar me,
so serenely intact; no visible marks,
no metal tears or twisted entrails
as if he has lain down,
in his exquisite, toffee tailcoat,
exhausted from the coop
or chasing a moonlit hare,
 

cleverly positioning himself
in the middle of the lane,
to avoid having the breath
and the guts tyre-squashed
out of his body, as slick blacks
pass on either side.
 

I drive on, the day unfolds.
I work, eat, talk,
mostly at a distance;
life underwater.
 

I am not here.
 

I am there, always;
on the unforgiving surface,
lying cold in the road,
burrowing my desperate need
into his unbroken fur,
grifting
what little warmth is left
from his small, ruined body.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

nine lines of loveliness after a week of rain


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Paddling swiftly now beyond
deluged days and swollen nights,
 

ebony umbrellas languish
in hushed oaken hallways,
yesterday’s dolor
puddling monochrome.
 

In the prism-drenched
meadows of tomorrow
parasols and petticoats twirl.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

the secret life of trees


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

nascent honeysuckling babe
catkin velveteen murmured ripple
rosehip nipple
 

naive milk-bathed melody
harmonic lilt of newborn crush
 

crushed
 

broken, rooted, steeped in scraith
charred, scraw-clawed ascent
scraping cobalt canopy
 

corkscrew willowed silhouette
seeking beams and
warmdrench summer rain
 
 

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Dog Days


 
 
 
 
 

Lain beneath the filigreed dust
of a spattered mackerel sky,the
snaggle-toothed, black matted mongrel,
 

wet tongue lolling over spracked
slack lips, its sickly damp dog smell,
blood-bloated fetid breath,
 

embraces easy slumber, rattlesnake
snores and lumbers light,
beneath the adipose surface,
 

its conscience unencumbered.
On Canicular days I would poke
with a stick or slick-sharped blade,
 

bid him wake to rake my face
with rancorous claws but not today.
The dog days are long past, now
 

rapture fasts while winter feasts.
Let the lying canine sleep,
I choose to bury the baying beast.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Petticoat


 

She slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days,
a torn and ragged wisp I failed to grasp,
that withered in the mottled mirror-gaze.
 

Caliginous dysfunctional malaise,
shushed-silent but for dusk’s death-rattle rasp,
she slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days.
 

Bewildered child within the laddered maze,
seduced by sorrow’s vile puissant asp
that slithered in the mottled mirror-gaze.
 

Entombed within the muddy-mettled greys,
enveloped by seclusion’s gutt’ral gasp,
she slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days.
 

‘Neath fractal glitter, hope returned rephrased,
deft-delicately held with hook and hasp,
soft-swithered in the mottled mirror-gaze,
 

her party dress – resplendent polonaise
and in her hand the proffered, beaded clasp.
Wraith-like beneath her, lost it seemed, for days;
I found myself within her mirrored gaze.
 
 
 

~ a polonaise is a woman’s dress with a tight bodice and an overskirt drawn back to reveal a colorful underskirt or petticoat

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Filed under Poetry, Villanelle

Caveat

No need to steal into my room,
the door’s open
and you’re welcome to visit at any time.
 

I’m elsewhere but my scent lingers –
pink pepper and lilacs lacing base tones
of amber patchouli.
 

My shape has shifted,
my absent form leaving a melancholy imprint
on the memory foam mattress
 

and faith has left faint scratches
where I hand-cuffed myself
to the creamy metal spokes of the antique bed.
 

The solid warm-wood chest
belies the mercurial nature of the
diaphanous garments secreted within;
 

slip-stitched silky knickers
sewn with shaky fingers,
invisible, unbreakable thread.
 

You may lift them,
lay them on the purple counterpane
and immerse yourself in their forlorn fantasies
 

but should you attempt to snip at their seams
unpick the hard-earned sutures
that have held together the woman
 

you will be left with disintegrating rags,
tattered remnants of the past,
while the girl you once knew walks away, naked.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Tercets

Between the Acts


 

Felt-lined pockets,
ragged now,
gravel-chafed
to fabric’s brim,
jagged stones,
concrete bones.
 

Weighted down
in daily dolor,
cloaked in
overcoat of grey,
slim fingers lift
each wretched rock,
release, discard
to well-trod path.
 

No sorrowed search,
no river drag,
solitary walk
into the water
to take
the first breath
not the last.

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Wakey Wakey


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Slept in late,
woke up to find
noon at the gate;
she can wait.
 

Slipped down,
magic pillow,
wallowed for a while,
couldn’t even muster a smile.
 

Postman
banged on the door;
more mail,
didn’t we get some yesterday?
 

Bills to pay, special offers
that end today,
colourful catalogues,
vast array,
 

small white card
 

gilt-edged,
wedged in the letter box,
almost missed,
discrete,
calligraphy-neat
 

‘you are cordially invited
to attend the rest of your life’
 
 

Screw sleep,
temptation to weep,
showered, dried tresses,
picked from numerous dresses.
 

No time to snooze,
find shoes – four inch,
don’t care if they pinch.
killer heels that make me feel tall.
I’m outta here baby –
Cinders is off to the ball.
 
 
 

Posted for the wonderful dVerse Poet’s Pub

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