into the arterial flow

into the arterial flow
we inject ourselves daily

a travels to b’s zone
and b travels to a’s

conduits become congested
coughing and spluttering

we swap our places
me to you to you to me

and is it any wonder
productivity suffers

when we are all on the move
never settled in body or spirit

imagine if you will
a world devoid of hurly-burly

where sunny spells string together
and rain showers meet at midnight

think of the laundry we could dry
like prayer flags flying on mountains

or coloured kites in the sky flying
now wouldn’t that be nice

for a change.

IMG_20171107_1648262

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/gingerly/

 

 

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panacea

he carried with him a mirror ball
and within each of its tiny squares
a reflection of a different facet of his life appeared

the sun would shine and project on walls and
passing buses to the amusement of passengers
him as a child with blonde sun kissed hair

or the here and now in kaleidoscopic colours
the things he loved to watch and cherish
like birds flying with words on silent wings

with occasional glimpses into the future
silver grey with bent back and walking frame
the hand of a loved one held in his own

but this was no magic prediction machine
no seer of visions or healer of hidden ills
no, this was his heart and soul for all to see

laid bare and released without copyright
in a multitude of moving moments to spin
and sparkle and help set the people free

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/panacea/

Muse oh Muse

She carried a lice scratcher made from hippopotamus ivory
Her hair white in giant curls reminding me of frozen ocean waves
On a ten-tier wedding cake topped with coloured icing bows
A necklace of charms adorned her milky white swan’s throat
There were skulls and pearls and the man in the moon smiling
Unlike her cataract eyes that peered in opposing directions
A beauty spot applied to the side of her cheek like a misplaced pupil
And yes, she preferred to hold Fleurieu Cherries up to her nipples
Clasped between the delicate tips of forefinger and thumb
Whilst crickets rubbed legs on highly embroidered tablecloths
She read the Bible mostly with pamphlets of horticultural wisdom
Overlooked by a black bull of monstrous munching proportions
And a fresh lobster in a basket of fruit between covered legs
Blanket of blood red to match the oil on canvas ruby ribbons
That fell as plucked confetti feathers from the goosey gander
Soft down that gathered around her pearlescent pointed feet
Where I bent in awe and wondered to kiss her little toe nails
A swish of blushing pink pampas grass anointing my head
By my goddess, my empress, my muse of the mysterious
I  willingly drowned in the beatific aura of your presence

 

a bit of fun inspired by the work of Anita Arbidane
Artist Exposé  – Portraits Of Women

https://www.facebook.com/Arbidane.Anita.455/

Proxy World

I hide within words unspoken
Afraid of the world outside
The shadows and noisy commotions
The hubbub and all of its lies

I never intended to be this way
And I never was a long time before
The rules of engagement were altered
Like graffiti sprayed on our walls

I used to say what I wanted
Used to say it out loud and be proud
But now my views all lie silent
Hushed with leaves on the ground

For some my words were mistaken
From others false accusations flew
It seems there’s no room for tolerance
I’m tired of bad language and feuds

I’m sorry if this seems ungrateful
There are many who don’t have a voice
Perhaps it’s their turn to take over
I don’t know what’s left to be said

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/proxy/

Mother Nature’s Neighbours

In the backyard battleground
The mother wants rid of her daughter
But the daughter wants more worms

Time to fly the nest little blackbird
The mother tries to persuade her daughter
But the daughter has a broken wing

They argue beak to beak upon the ground
The mother determined to force the issue
But the disabled daughter won’t let go

A stand-off dance of sorts now ensues
The mother twelve inches from her daughter
But the daughter mirrors her every move

Flicking autumn leaves as blackbirds do
The mother finds a tasty morsel or two
But the daughter dashes in for the steal

Another fight and flying feathers
The mother’s had enough of this pantomime
But her daughter’s bond is that much stronger

Than Mother Nature would care to admit
With winter waiting beyond the hedgerow
Where the weak will succumb to cold defeat

 

(These past couple of days I have been watching a pair of female blackbirds fighting and bickering in the yard. One appears to be injured and I have surmised that it is the young of the adult which now appears to be growing impatient for it to leave her side. The adult tries to chase it away but it keeps hanging around and dashes in when there is any chance of being fed.

I love all the birds that visit my garden and always have nuts and seeds in feeders for them. Living on a smallholding away from other houses and people they are my closest neighbours

Mother Nature is also often a cruel neighbour who waits next door with harsh winters and her very own and very effective mechanism for dealing with the weak and injured. I wondered about drawing comparisons with the way we treat our own weak and injured but the story of the birds felt too self-contained to add another dimension. Sometimes it’s best that we just observe and leave our emotional footprint out of the equation.

By chance I was writing this poem as the Daily Post prompt came through. The word ‘neighbors’ (spelt ‘neighbours’ here in UK) seemed to fit the theme quite nicely despite my having already posted the poem elsewhere under the title ‘Succumb’. Have a lovely weekend friends)

The Mystery of Mary Bradley

Airman ‘Little Boy’ Bradley was very tired
Last night he had fought with his wife Mary
She desperately needed a vacation to Hawaii
He was desperately needed to fight the War on Whatever

Airman Bradley rubbed his tired little eyes
He blinked at the bank of screens in front of him
He tried to focus in on the day’s top secret mission
A group or two of terrorists in 🔲🔲🔲🔲🔲 or somewhere

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to Hawaii
It was just that he didn’t want to go with Mary
For all she ever did was tan her bloated body
Or feed his earnings down the throats of Vegas slots

Bradley drank another insulated cup of black coffee
He was trained to be disconnected to the enemy
This disconnection spilled over into his private life
And the boredom filled his head like the caffeine

He spent too much time inside this metal container
Air-conditioned inside but blistering desert heat out
Life it seemed was an assault of extremes
Us and them and him and her and this and that

He guided the unmanned drone on its silent way
“Was always good at video games” he would brag
Flying over a beach, what was it he could see down there?
Was that a woman sunbathing, lying on the sand?

He banked his killing machine and circled around
Hand on his joystick and her life in his hands
His co-pilot was out of the room taking a piss
Airman ‘Little Boy’ Bradley tugged at his trigger

And watched his missile send sand, sea, flesh and bone
In a million ejaculating pleasurable projectile gifts –
He flew on – successfully completed his 100th official mission
Returned home late and found his wife Mary

had shot herself dead

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/mystery/

remote control

if i could mute the volume
i would
if i could adjust the balance
i would
if i could reset the settings
i would
if i could update the guide
i would
if i could switch channels
i would
if i could exit the programme
i would
if i could find the home button
i would
if i could understand life
i would