Burnt Sierra's Poetry, Abandon all hope, ye who enter here... Options

[Burnt Sierra]

Resurrection Dream - Part 1

Paris Texas taken to technological extremes
Communication without pain.
As we type
We watch you
Your movements
Your smiles
We hear your voice from our speakers
We can say
Whatever we want
No fear of reprisals
You don’t know who we are.
Are we in search of a life
Or just passing the time
One thing I know
You will live forever
Deep in my hard drive
This is my Resurrection Dream.

I like to turn off the volume
Listen to music instead
Playing along to your disembodied dance
Aimee Mann telling me I have no choice
Softly in the background
At times like this
It’s easy to believe
Your words appear on my screen
Giving me connection
You answer what I type
Who needs reality?
I can smoke without complaint
Let’s face it
You can’t smell it
My window’s wide open
The trees blocking the graveyard
Letting the spirits listen to Aimee
Whilst I feel full again.
It’s not a life
Maybe just existing
But it help’s to pass the time
Whilst we wait to be reborn
My Resurrection Dream.

[Burnt Sierra]

And finally, a few other oddities that I don't have anything particularly interesting to say about


Eyelash Wishes and Wishful Whispers


As the hoppy hops hop down my throat
Citrus and grapefruit
To tantalise the tastebuds
Stimuli for the senses
Always seeking new sensations
To make it all seem worthwhile.

As the hops do their good work
And the tension starts to fade away
Memories arise unbidden
Perhaps triggered by the golden copper
Looking back at me from the glass
Reflecting fragments buried away.

As tears bleed past eyelash wishes
And wishful whispers call me with their siren song
Summoning me to blissful nothing
Eight hours of release if I’m lucky
Until I ingest coffee in the morning
To start the cycle anew.

JPG, March 2021


*****


Tugging At Shadows


The metallic smell of wet stone and earth
As I observe the shadows start to emerge
An oppressive silence slowly broken by the scratching
Of dried leaves dragging themselves along charcoal pathways
An orchestral rhythm to accompany the apparitions that raise
Stretching their way up through moist dirt
Framed by marbled headstones after years of being inert

It’s been a long time since I last came to visit
Now I’m here it doesn’t seem like a minute
I remember those black clad mourners crying and sniffing
Sitting on a pew, listening to the choir singing
Unwilling to believe, clinging to the idea you were still living
Hearing the words but dismissing the meaning
You disappearing.
Even now, the sensation is chilling.
The atmosphere here is forbidding.

You’d hate it.

Those well-tended lawns are now overgrown
Weeds protruding through cracked paths
Stained old cold stone covered in mold
Not how I remember it at all.

One image stays in my mind from that day
A pink silk flower someone had left on a grave
It seemed so out of place
A bright glimpse of colour
On a day where everything I surveyed
Was just another shade of gunmetal grey
But today, this array of grey feels the correct display.
Just me and the mold, and the leaves
Scratching the ground as wind whistles through the trees
And my memories
Tugging at strands, finally coming loose
Tugging at shadows, finally facing truths.

JPG, April, 2021


*****


Under Never Setting Sun


My throat dry
I slowly sip the purified water in my bag
Swishing it around my mouth
To loosen the dust that coats my teeth.
For the last hour
The only sound I’ve heard
Has been the sound of my own feet
Scraping across the dry concrete.
The heat causing the airwaves to ripple
In an indistinct blur
Like an old movie
With too much grain in the film.
Nobody else around.
Just me and the carcasses of animals
Long since passed.

The heat from the sun is beating down
As the wind starts to pick up
Singing its mournful whistle
Throwing dust and grit
Onto the goggles I wear to protect my eyes
Tugging at my clothes
Causing my dry skin to itch
Even more than usual.

At least the concrete doesn’t seem so alien
Walking over the pale dirt and cracked ground
That had once been lakes and streams
Before the sun had dried them up
Had been hard to reconcile in my mind
Tough, compact earth
That had once been water
Silence and destruction
Where once had been life.

But there was no climate emergency
No need to upset our comfort
No need to alter our ways
No need to question.

No need for people anymore
Under the never setting sun.

JPG, April, 2021


*****


Melancholia


Early morning mist
Hiding worms
Wriggling back into wet earth
A constant drizzle
Having flattened my hair
The low clouds, curiously watching me
Arms crossed, eyes peering into the distance
A far-off look
Viewed though a lens
Of muted greys and browns

It would be easy to get lost here
No landmarks, no people
Just stunted trees
The screech of an occasional hawk
And me
Taking slow deep breaths
Inhaling the scent of heather
A smell you used to love

To think I used to complain
When we used to come here
Why leave the comfort of home
To come to the middle of nowhere
Now I seek it out
A chance to stimulate
Senses and memories
And melancholia

Daydreaming about another reality
One where things had turned out different
That wasn’t based on regret

JPG, May, 2021


*****


Lost Highway - A Hitchhikers Prayer


Thumb stuck out sideways, on the lost highway
Afraid, as always, that no car will stop
Too big a risk, I guess, to take a chance
On a stranger seen only at a glance
Trying to judge intentions by the stance
Whilst driving along in a mindless trance
A split-second window to make the sale
All in the detail, doesn't help that I'm male
Or that I’m tired and pale
Looking like I could have just escaped from jail
But I trust in the kindness of strangers
Whilst trying not to appear a threat
Offset the road dust and air cool the sweat
Shadows create a friendly silhouette
I promise not to cause any regret
If you'll stop the car, I'll be in your debt

JPG, May, 2021