The silent slumber, of a slow river
Never needed, almost unnoticed
In a little town, of a little shire
Where people pass, without a peep.
Far flung waterfalls, and fast rivers
This water wishes, not once for either
Content to meander, content to quiet
In its own world, no one above it
Never needing…
The moon-god angers
And strikes Ukemochi dead
His sun-sister’s friend
See him come at night condemned
To chase his sister’s shadow
I awake each day,
To cower from the sunrise,
And wait for its fall.
But whilst I await the night,
I work by the laptop’s light.
[A tanka written whilst bored working from home.]
Photo by Nikita Kachanovsky.
A Poem About a Dead God
“Woe to the bloody city!” they proclaim,
With their hearts full of prejudice and rage.
They turn to the city of wealth and fame:
Nineveh — protected by the red-god in old-age.
Feeble, the once-great observes in sorrow,
As he who purifies with fire and blood -
Mimics his battle-cry, performs his show -
In a parade of flame, unabated by Tigris’ flood.
And so Nahum’s prophecy takes the walls,
Yahweh upheld, the lion-god is now lost.
His people cry out as their city falls:
“Where were you Lord, when your gate was crossed?”
He replies, “Children, I have been replaced,
My gate stands, but my name has been disgraced.”
A Poem
Look above!
See the lonely comet cry,
Its tears dragged behind across the void.
Catch its gaze!
And that of Helios’ eye,
Which slowly strips it to a woeful asteroid.
But do not despair!
Just nod, and wave goodbye,
You’ll do no good forlorn and paranoid.
A hollowed heart, a haunted soul,
A mortal corpse, now hellfire’s coal,
Filthy, forgotten, food of worms,
Tearful is the one who in flesh-grave turns.
Broken battle-tools tarnished with mud,
A soldier’s flag stained by blood,
Lost lover’s necklace across the breast,
A Magpie spots it from the nest.
Bright…
A lone stone-ring stands broken
under a bare sky. A barren field,
full with shrubs, is swallowing up its foundations.
Nature creeps in, heeding the call of time,
and dares to drag it down into the earth.
Mice come there to make shelter,
crows land to pick at its mossy coat.
Neither…
