This is my site for the versification of thoughts, experiences and general rants. Not so much a vista of verse as a blister on Earth. Enjoy at your peril.
Within the bloody madness of amber clouds astray
hangs a dying skylark with nothing more to say,
and whilst the neon flames of Hell spread their crimson lips
the shadow of a man dissolves to the sound of golden whips.
or maybe this is more your cup of tea -
blue anger swiftly clears the stream,
churns it moody grey,
rips out the banks,
turns the grass to straw.
And the trees, once tall and fruitful,
bend like barren ancient men
and fall in amongst the fish,
now silver, now scaleless.
Only the birds can escape
but do not, cannot, will never
as they slow, tumble, fall like rotten stones.
And the stream ripples with delight
as clouds dissolve their treachery
into the grasping weeds
and take the last bird song with them.
Even the breeze has shrunk from coolness
to icy, from refreshing to piercing,
dehydrating grasshoppers and ants
and mummifying butterflies.
And the sun shines yellow and hot,
and the moon turns it cold and dull,
and it could be a total eclipse
but isn't, cannot be, could never be.
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