Wednesday, 3 December 2008

Love lingers

On moonlit nights when the forest shimmers with winter frost, she comes. The bells of her dress jingle and peal to the tempo of her dance; on some days slow, on others like a country jig. A Queen dancing until a love returns although she be dead these many years.

Living Corpse

Land, for you and I, is the backcloth to our pleasure, a living picture for us to take stock in and weigh up the measure of our life. For the Brines, it was a living flesh ripe for tearing and slicing; fit only for consumption and the power it gave.

Ban the Fat

‘I tell you I heard it on Oprah.’

‘Get out of here that is so no.’

‘It’s true, she was talking to some Washington big shot who said things were so crazy that making it illegal was tomorrow’s way.’

‘Well, no pork barrel big-shot is zapping me with Dietary Laws.‘

Be the first step

I hate my neighbour
Be the change
I drive rather then walk
Be the change
I work rather then live
Be the change
I eat what comes
Be the change
I talk rather then listen
Be the change
I let the poor walk by
Be the change
Do it now

In this moment

The soft tick-tock of the wall clock counters the intermittent click of the typewriter as outside ambulances wail and fade. As I pause for a bite of shortcrust mince-pie, its spices kiss my nose; the rough texture contrasting with the keyboard smooth. And the white paper fills with black words.

Cold memories

It was always the grey November sky with their dank mists, rotting leaves and the caws of birds unseen that makes the memories scratch and scrabble back. I am running and falling; they are screaming, yelling and getting nearer. My heart shakes. A hand looms and my childhood is over.