LUNCH TIME.

Rice dribbled over chicken bits,
Sliced to fit
And peppered with peas,
As the meal danced around the pan’s ramshackle
Palace;
It’s metal bowl smouldering in the middle like a fiddler,
It’s patina greener than a novice flautist
And it’s handle bandier than a local vocalist’s legs.

The meat and veg wrestled for the
Grain’s attention
Whilst getting the better of the tempo
Set by the conductor’s wooden spoon baton,
Which swished
Back and forth with less diligence
Than a chef’s willingness should offer,
And cost more kitchen time than required.

But by the time the food’s music
Had shed a tune worth using
It tasted racier than the spice of life;
Spliced together
And healthier than standing all day
With a woman who’s ways
Don’t stretch much further than salmon,
And doesn’t give a damn for my harmony.

LAST NIGHT.

Sleep found me doubting tiredness
As sheets peeled from the bed’s flesh
And pillows creased and caught my ears in their pleats.
The duvet moved within its given mitten
And smothered any available space
As I was flattened on the rack of the fretful mattress.

The frame cracked and echoed back
As stars and moon flew past draped glass
And time’s hands clapped upon their face repeatedly.
The heat of the previous day prevailed
Within reserve tanks clamped to damp walls
And sweat bred more sauce to coat my forehead with.

My ribs strained to contain agitation,
And on my back I lacked an eye lid lock,
Whilst lolling on all sides I wished for more dimensions.
What strength I had I willed away
But watchful clocks compelled it on;
Ordering another look when just about to fall.

Darkness slowly sparked new tinder,
Flickering in alcoves as old shadows crept,
Then spreading to the level planes surrounding them.
My eyes were heavier than their clothes
But as the day emerged they wore more cloth
And I thought how pleasant was this season’s business,

And just when finding conveyor belts
I remembered calls I had to make to you,
Who lovingly exists in yesterday’s westward lee,
So I plucked the phone and picked a tone
And called to wish you sweet goodnights,
And drifted off to slumber on the wonder of your voice.

FLAGS.

Red
Saw me
Before I had time to decide
Whether to hide from it
Or guide it into my mind,
And it
Pandered
To my most desperate needs
Without handing me
The decency of a choice.

White
Brightened
The skyline when morning
Called me from the heaviness
Of long un-fettled dreams;
Screaming
Its ice cream
Veneer at me from all corners
And forcing me once more
To consider a settled removal.

Blue
Knew me
Well after I thought it diluted,
And threw me the bone
Of a noose’s lifeline,
Which,
Stitched
To a hangman’s hand,
I had to thank for its concern
But politely decline.

THE WAY.

On the edge of misdirection
Did we shed our legs
Of lethargy
And stick to a decision made at last;

Taking one path paved
With fever
And the risk of tilting
Our machine till stuck.

We looked like scavengers
Who’d savaged
At the carcasses
Of all the people we had known,

Though slowly on the road
We showed our worth
Was deeper than
The curses others placed on us,

And coverings composed of dust
And piecemeal lust
Were left
Where we set out from;

So run with me my dear
As we cleave
The distance of its mystery
And discover love.