And finally, a few other oddities that I don't have anything particularly interesting to say about Eyelash Wishes and Wishful WhispersAs 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 ShadowsThe 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 SunMy 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*****
MelancholiaEarly 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 PrayerThumb 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