By the Sea, standing still

Two feet spit with flecks of sand:
Shells and stone ground down –
Perhaps whipped from that,
Cliffside far ahead, beat hour after hour-
Century after century,
Till they were swept ashore,
Washed,
As crumpled pieces:
That cling to everything.

Ground into ever moving
ground.

Pausing to hear the silence between –
The howling waves’ crash
As sand slinks out between the toes,
Icy water laps and pools,
Soft surf with the sting of salt,
Fades in and out
Heels are firmly gripped
Pulled down.
As everything crumbles.

The sun sinks in the sky
A red haze, a strident blur
Low tide leaves a quarter of the beach intact
For now.
Everything spins fast out around
The feet on the shore
Change is in every ripple.

It’s background noise:
There’s nothing but the sea
And the sand
And the cliff
As the water tracks back and forth
Crumbles the solid ground
you stood upon.

Blank Canvas

The cement is fresh, clean and thick,
You can leave drifting prints,
Feet, hands and any passing,
Implement–
Writ large, or small,
Poignant or plain,
Beautiful or tragic,
Abstract or visceral.

You could tap-dance to Shakespearean sonnets,
Illustrate the hypocrisy of a binary system,
Carve a caveman’s treatise,
Sketch barn owls’ eyes,
Smear jaunty barbs,
Or daub thoughts from the inside
Of your brain.

Stand too long in this,
This clean piece,
This fresh start,
This promise,
Becomes an anchor
As you sink,
With every passing thought:
Of what could have been,
What marks you should have made,
What better thoughts some other would have had,

On and on,
You scrawl through every reason this could be a pitfall,
While you sink right through,
Leaving nothing behind.

It all having been in your mind.

 

words

discarded metal unloaded
clangs
to
the
ground.
Bullets from a smoking tongue,
Heavy in the air.
People listen-
Hear them clatter,
Spent –
The hordes don’t scatter;
But feel and inhale the reverberated spatter.

They take heed;
Spit them at a pulpit,
Hurl them on a pyre.
Black them out,
Glorify their ire.
Make them creed and council,
Scratch them through,
Take them as an affront.
Slap them together for a kidnapper’s stew.

Yet the weight of your hate never comes back to you.

It builds and flows,
Cross comment currents that scream,
That whistle through the wind,
Screech;
Whine and moan.
Till they become:
The only conversation known.
Again and again.
The storm inhales them,
Turbo-charged fuel for “collateral”
Damage.

You stand in the eye of it all,
Golden,
Your views strewn.
Lies or truth,
Facts or falsehoods,
Matters little.
Power backs your endorsements.
Blockades reality.
Screens or Foxholes:
You have an audience.

The tornado carries the believers,
Lifting them buoyant as they bludgeon,
One leg dangling free;
At any point,
A sentence can plunge them into the sea.

While you stand golden,
In the centre of –
A three-mile island.
With your smoking tongue,
Never tied,
Ready to spit bullets-
And lies.

Out of Sight

When you’re down, you’re down,
When you’re out, you’re out,
Out of sight.

When you’re beaten, you’re beat,
When you’re bludgeoned, you’re bloody,
and down,
Down.

When you’re down, you’re down,
When you’re out, you’re out,
– Out of mind.

Down and out.

But you bleed,
like train tracks,

Running,

Down, down
Down and down
Down and out
Under and under
Further and further

Out of sight.

Till the dams burst
Till it ruptures
And the crash comes.

And the world above sees you
surface, for a second.

Glittering,

In sweaty, blood-speckled, tear-
stained flesh.

For a glimmer.

They see.

Will they see you tomorrow?
Will they still sweep you under-

The rug

Where all those others lie

Festering.

Running,
Like train tracks,

Down and down,

Out of Sight.

 

Blind Cut

Tabernas-2011

Hyper-reality of the 2am insomniac

Out stalking in halogen-lit highways.

Cars zoom past, their lights narrow and fade

Close-up/splice–

Cowboy hat askew

Catching a nicotine burst:

Paper fizzles, heat buzzes,

At fingertips

An instant. A flash.

Piercing through the pinhole –

The dance of the light lantern

Inked onto eyelids

Carved into retinas

Stained into dreams

Fades like a puff of smoke.

 

Part of the 26Prints project with Eames Fine Art, based on Sophie Layton’s piece ‘Tabernas.’