waking from a bloodbath of dreams
a machete stains red across the sky
how the mind does nightly wander
in silent screams and heinous crimes
the morning comes in pools of grief
a relief to be a survivor once more
but oh at what price we turn the leaf
of life’s weary pages we adore
if there was a word
I would write it
if there was a sunrise
I would paint it
if there was a song
I would sing it
if there was a doubt
I would crush it
if there was a way
I would find it
if there was a hope
I would grasp it
I swear the sunrise
came and went
and came again
as each new line
of jet stream tourists
filled the sky
in silver tubes
hung up so high
with hopes of riches
and promised wishes
to see the sights
to Christmas shop
white sparkling sugar sprinkles
like frosty breakfast cereals
or a sticky pastry treat
coat these hardy little leaves
like polar explorers’ beards
or a husky’s tiny whiskers
they wait for the sun to rise
like breaths of warm air
or a welcoming kiss
the sun struggles to surmount
the ridge across the valley
where pylons quick step
in double lined formations
bringing their electricity
to help power the morning
as I watch through the bars
of my writing room blinds
a contented prisoner
to the spectacle
golden rays of sunlight fill our eyes
every newborn sunrise from the dawn of time
captured in the blinking flick of a lens
time immemorial. shuttershocked.
a video framed evolutionary existence
encapsulated in this blood beat gaze
primordial. prehistorized. passing.
a journey back and a glance forward
every stillborn sunrise from the dawn of time
eroded by the wash of infant tears
blushed naked fear. photosnapped.
a moving mastery of previous lives
ancestors suspended in a torsioned vacuum
floating. familiar. future famished.
place your hand in mine and feel the warmth
every burning sunrise from the dawn of time
branded in the dna of chromosomed memories
double helixed. magnetic resonanced.
an x-rayed nuclearoid double vision
twisted on a tendon thread of apprehension
spectre sacrificed. ghostly galleried.
we move onward each day never knowing why
every clouded sunrise from the dawn of time
masked in the blinded misunderstandings of man
war torn. bastard birthed. heartbroken.
what lies beyond our sunlit eyes?
what golden rays fill our brilliant minds?
eternally everlasting. understanding nothing.
(sometimes I wake up with a line in my head repeating over and over and then another and another and I have no idea where each line will take me but I have to jump out of bed and crank up the lappy and take the journey if only to find out where and why and whatever. It doesn’t matter that it makes no sense at all or will never change the world one iota or even be widely read. A friend recently told me: appreciate what you do with this mangled stepchild we all dub poetry. Ha! I love his words and mind and inspired whackery. My cursor arrowed finger hovers over the publish button afraid to let this one go. Click. Gone. Published:)