Photo by Nick Night on Unsplash

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, to be known.

Hiding from humanity, we know from history
Will let it live, a while longer.



Photo by pine watt on Unsplash

A forest reached, with little rest
to here from home, a tiring hike
there’s solace in a seat, a dead tree spine.

Sky brim bellows, bringing a cold
the thick air, full like the sea
rolling grey chariots, race over me.

The tears of trees, taste like rain
the cloud’s air cuts, conifer tops
their unsettled shakes, bring a sign.

So I stand, think on the sign
what to worry, where to go.



A Poem About a Dead God

Image from Wikimedia Commons

“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

Image by the Wellcome Trust on Wikimedia Commons

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 Poem About Death

Photo by SK Yeong on Unsplash

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 black wings and blacker eyes,
The Magpie dives down for its prize,
In peace it perched, and necklace pinched,
To fly home again without a flinch.

Samuel Clarke




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.