I am tired of being angry with this world
of walking up mountains that landslide beneath my feet
dodging boulders that come tumbling across my path

I want to reach some sort of summit and stay there
hold my head up high to the sun and enjoy the view
happy in the knowledge I have found freedom

at last.


in turn

dead mouse on the path
your tiny soul dearly departed
but to who knows where?

to a place without predators I hope
where seeds and sunshine are plentiful
and the sound of human voices cannot be heard

there I hope to find you
when my turn comes around

landscapes II

what do you see in your landscape?
under the browns and greens and
brick and stone?
the people mining?
the underwater rivers carrying off the dead?
tunnels, caverns?
echoing chambers?
choirs of burrowing worms
clambering and clawing between the rocks
and soil?

it’s dark isn’t it?

rain trickles down through the cracks
forming invisible waterfalls
some as thin as threads of mycorrhizal fungi
others mighty as volcanic vents
and voices from the floating dead
they pass through this subterranean world
without a care it seems
for the light has been extinquished from their eyes
the sun exhausted
demons and gods quelled in the name of death
coal face and pick axe
pit props and shaft air
warm like exhaled breath
and then

they are no more
and this is no more

and we are gone
called for
ushered on to a new beginning
somewhere bright where fake angels sing
or somewhere warm and comforting
where we can be free
and the conversation is carried on


(in the light of day I decided to edit – a little)


toll booth (ii)



…be it bridge or border