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Excess Baggage

Excess Baggage

Swallowed by the jaws of time

Suffocated, left for dead,

Was their keeper hapless or culpable?

Forensics  make a statement

But not as bold as the life buried,

‘Lucky to get there before the Tomb Raiders’,

Parody’s the Officer, ‘these gems are legends at car boot sales’.

But it fell on deaf ears, this was eBay gold ready for the global auction.

Tragically, the toll would rise as the wooden tomb

Gave up its secrets beyond mower and workmate.

Lucky to buried in a man cave, such wisdom, such foresight,

Left at peace to sit up-ended holding those off-cuts and nail jars behind the rolls of felt.

The dryness preserved the very skin and bone of each and every one.

Psychic Maude knows the weddings and funerals the deceased attended.

She says the pull form the red stilettos is so strong she can pinpoint the night they came off and got carried home.

And the black with the gold clasp carried a lace handkerchief to her cousin’s funeral.

‘That one over there, it, well it exposed its purpose and pointed to you’.

The date engraved on the silver napkin ring beside the favour would make her true.

‘Some had fun’ said Maude, lifting the two-tone,

but I already glanced the silver hipflask nestled in satin lining.

Lighten Up

Lighten Up

Your stare locked me in, stamped an imprint,

Right where there was dark and now you blink;

Flick the light, or, could it ignite?

I’m following the contours of your eyes as they bow,

mimicking your smile,

There it is, a pearl of redemption squeezed out of the corner

and into dust.

I never thought to see love past lust, but there, as a beacon,

Vibrant, electric, reconnected, back on the grid.

Keep the passion turned on, life can fuse-out as fragile as a candle on the altar.

And you, worthy of so much more than a late-life flicker.

It’s on ice, nice, live twice.

silent voice

Silent Voice

some things are best

left unsaid,

there,

I…

 

Ranger David Gordon Dalzell

Faugh – a – Ballagh

Today they opened Remembrance Way,

simply pulled off the  Union flag,

no plaque, no memorial, no words to pray,

a British road sign had it all to say.

 

No last post, no badge of honour,

No pomp, no ceremony.

So to you Diesel, and to four hundred and

fifty-three comrades in the bravest battalion

in the Kingdom of Heaven; I salute you.

Fallen, never forgotten, salvation, a soldier of Heaven.

 

Your presence from above touched the congregation,

long before your mortal bones were taken,

lowered with honours, through Christ elevation,

the rain,  dewy tear drops a  baptism from heaven.

 

A young cub, one score year and a box of days,

boy to a man so fast your loving family

choked, no time to gasp a breath,

gone but never forgotten.

 

History will show that the poppies

Helmand grows, bloom red with

blood from contact, man down,

and for the entire world, we’re proud of what you’ve done.

 

 

Ranger David, Diesel to all your friends,

we remember you as you walked this earth,

we pray for you as you march in his Kingdom

a spirited life, a Christian soldier.

 

Mindful of the valour and sacrifice

of those who have gone before us,

clear the way for those that follow,

through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

 

For Ranger David Gordon Dalzell 1990 – 2011

Belfast 1974

Belfast 1974

 

Lights lasers off rearview mirror roused up early morn’ noddin’

Could be back doors open, flat tyre or tail light broken,

The truck rumbles off the black to tan, let’s see what’s up

with man behind in van.

Pulls up short reverses back, steady mate you’re gonna crash.

Then unseen from before, a shadowy mask is banging my door.

From mist a balaclava stare, has one eye cocked down the barrel.

‘Get out or you’re dead!’ words that blunt that bold; blood cold.

Backdoors burst wide open; Three Santa’s pull me to the grotto

‘Get this on yer head and tie it tight!’ not that but that intent,

How tight is tight when roping a sack around your head?

No words were spoken, tap tap to Morse the man in cabin.

Zippo lights the fags, smoke swallowed in great gulps and whistled in exhale,

Remembering oh God, dark days; ciggy burns a punishment behind the lines.

His boot cracked off the back of my skull, ‘lie still’ not that but that made him laugh,

Face down I could feel the beat of stamping in applause; for the cause.

Tippity Tappity tap, tap, tap, gunmetal planted hard deep in temple,

‘Quiet there’s a road check ahead’ not that, but that was whispered.

Open the back, break me free. Waved on; not looking for me.

Equal amongst men who themselves reeked the butt end of fear,

And I could feel the gun come off my temple and stroke about my ear.

‘Kneel! No round the other way’ tugged my lead head smashed back,

the perfect time to pray. Pain is my companion I clench close,

‘Take off the sack, stare at the door, yer’ getting out, we need you no more.

Did they miss the trade? Was the hanging Christmas beef the only order?

On my count jump, eyes ahead or the men on the street will see you dead.

Not that but that was said and I didn’t look back but up and thanked the lord instead.

Radicalised revenge by a daughter

Radicalized revenge by a daughter

Not yet seen her teens but taught the lessons

brutal force thrust home, again and again

and again until her pawed thighs could

read the words, open wide, with eyes shut tight,

ostracised by gang rape, demeaned for

escaping sex slave, brothers beheaded,

her time had come, to strap thirteen

candles [church size], to the studded vest

beneath her flowing birthday dress

and walk, amongst market stalls,

homing, locked in on the Kasbah bazaar

stealth mode, seeking men in  sarong’s

sucking on  hookah’s beneath canopy shade

hiding from the burnt orange sun that spotlights

her progress, silky sari,  strolling,  under the

same sun from which they hide,

thoughts ripen on her pomegranate

sperm seeds, close to bursting,

to pepper dash and  snog the face of

each and every one, their own blow

job to kingdom come, her work done,

their brute force, penetrating thrust

leaves them now as body parts in the

blood-soaked dust, and tomorrow

will be the same stage

different actors, same play,

happy birthday,

we pray.

Morning Light

 

Morning light
Crows shimmer east to the high solstice, flapping out of the green up into the bright,
Soaring up, up into the light and beside the hedgerow, dance purple poppies
Stretching, searching, sucking light down sun-yellow connectors, hard-wired
to cable green stems earthed to ground.
Bindweed creeps and crawls entwining its very being into the tapestry, innocent white, smiling at the light strangling across borders like the shadow of the Khan dynasty conquering new lands.
Mother slowly uncurls her bended buckled frame, white light tangles with her silver hair and bounces off her gaunt paste-pale, pigeon grey.
She breathes the light of day in shallow puffs, and stares into the light but not enlightened.
The wait is long for the fading light, the comfort blanket sits beneath darkness,
A cwtch with the holy trinity brings the light which can’t be scratched like an irritation,
Her mind runs deeper into the distance, skipping over the setting sun,
Decades jostle jovially, nudging laughter out as a hollow bout of coughs between her ribs,
Playing boxsets before her light is snuffed and in darkness,
turns a kaleidoscope of memories where light burns eternal
But first, she must swallow the enlightenment which is stuck in her throat like a mocking Roman thorn.

Just go for it!

Huge thanks to everyone that recently bought a copy of ‘forever shine.’ Always a great surprise to get a royalty cheque just like an early Christmas present.

If you are suffering writers’ block, just go for it! You’ll never know until you are published.

Big thanks to Helen and Rowena @SilverWood Books

If you need any help with your writing or just need to have a chat, give them a call at SilverWoodBooks.

If you haven’t got your own copy, still time before ‘shine too’ is published.

Again, many thanks to everyone that bought a copy, it doesn’t work without you!

Autumn

Autumn

Lips

lips

The Good and The Gate

Heads in the gathering grazed aloud, bobbed and tossed like corks corralled in the rip-tide current,

Chewing baffled the chatter, sketched into morsels of memory, animated by the gesticulating tentacles on the palm, adding prisms of colour to exhaled prose.

Palates framed with painted smiles etched creases of heads back in laughter,

Aubergine Teriyaki silver- scooped to  lips, glistening with wisdom, hungry for life,

Stole centre stage as rich almond eyes gazed  soft mellow back notes  thru’ shimmering flame.

I felt compelled to stare at her caramelised glint, hypnotic sparkles between the blink of sombrero eyelashes.

Looking in from my tableside seat,  I was shouting down the main act, Roast Heritage Tart which pirouetted down the hatch, followed by the whole ensemble, no encore in sight.

We chomped and chewed through legacies of life’s rich tapestries, silenced only by the Banoffee,
Served with two duelling spoons laid head to head for the final drool, jostling from pie to coulis, back to pie and in slow motion, disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The finale soothed by minted tea brought diners back into view,
Raising our spirits to make our leave, we left the canvas blank,
Each to colour their own heart.

Beneath surface deep

Starting from scratch,
etched thoughts spliced his mind,
memory, a mangled mosaic of time,
heart stabbed by love-stained stake,
life chiselled into memory stone
moss and myrtle for his thorny crown.

Time on my hands

Wringing palm around back of hand
in motion, perpetual, time sticks with
precision ticks, thumb pendulum faux
Swiss, marches up the length of Grandfather
and strikes behind the face to tock.
Hands of time play his clockwork mind,
ticking out thoughts within, making mischief
behind those marble eyes before the day tick tocks away.

Looking back Jack

Skipper, safe hand on tiller
my beacon on the western coast
I, your mooring boy, anchor down
in sheltered cove.

I can smell the smoke that made you wheeze
thru’ mist-mingled puffs in sea-salt breeze,
I’ve held you prisoner in your room,
I’ll scatter your wishes west real soon,
but not today, Jack, not today.

History lesson

Cellophane raindrops on plastic flowers
glint, harsh in the artificial sunlight,
hologram man reflects in red sand,
where seas, once dead, stood parted.

The latex wings of a dove stretched
out in love, perched on the rib
of an ark, where pairs cast in stone,
conga alone, below flood tide watermark.

Floating out beyond mars, past furthest stars
The planetarium beamed onto earth while the
history class stare, at their ancestral past, when a time
froze, as the ozone popped and collapsed.

Pillow of Dreams

I’m thrown my pillow,
‘Careful,’ I call and clasp,
those dreams you smell
belong to me,
don’t scrunch my feathers harshly

Wind in Shells

Sea tumbled
shells giggle
ebb tide
rolling topsy
turvy tickles.

Lavender

Lavender in terracotta, Queen of your
scented kingdom or rooted in exile,
never to entwine in terra firma,
or kiss dew  with herbaceous lover?

Water

Gushing course over cobbled bed,
Runs to fall at the dead end wall,
White with air giggles loud to pool,
Meanders trout brown as meadow’s tongue,
Percolates sand at the end of land,
Hides from sea that swirls in salt,
Swallowed whole as oceans flow.

Tiffany tooth fairy

Iconic blue, ribbon silk white,
milk teeth heaven from boys
cut free, displaced the ring
of eternity, enamel pearls
enshrine her heart, memories,
of children fill the gap.

Middle Ground

Start stuttered stopped.
Ending ran off the footnotes,
the middle, having  it all to
do out of context, used his
ink to etch himself as thin
as the paper he rambled across.
Lost.

Time on my hands

 

Wringing palm around back of hand

in motion perpetual, time sticks with

precision ticks, thumb pendulum faux

Swiss, marches up the length of Grandfather

and strikes behind the face to tock.

Hands of time play his clockwork mind,

ticking out thoughts within, making mischief

behind those marble eyes before the day tick

tocks away.

History class

Cellophane raindrops on plastic flowers
glint, harsh in the artificial sunlight,
hologram man reflects in red sand,
where seas, once dead, stood parted.

The latex wings of a dove, stretched
out in love, perched on the rib
of an ark, where pairs cast in stone,
conga alone, below flood tide watermark.

Floating out beyond mars, past furthest stars
The planetarium beamed onto earth while the
history class stare, at their ancestral past, when time
froze, as the ozone popped and collapsed.

Lips

Those lips that captured my heart
cracked and split apart
mind the gap
they snap,
Venus flytrap

 

Can I

Can I put my tongue in your mouth,
Just a little bit?
It won’t hurt,
I only want to message your heart.

 

 

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john@forever-shine.com