Poetry | Stories | Photography
Death 2433 puts on another mask
to hide the truth from the living
and to remain hidden from the glass
A lonely road well travelled awaits
for the Collective Deaths have a
strict and gruelling work schedule
Freshly cleaned and pressed gowns
the ceremonial garb is in place
and it is time to hit the Death Roads
The humidity
skin suffocating and drenched
hiding from the sun
Summer sun turns into storms
Words and books become her fan
Tepid winds of change
life-sized vacuum cleaner
the last of the heat
Autumn brings her mixed feelings
Hidden from the light, birds, life
The dying flowers
frost darkness leaves brown patches
smelling the crisp scents
emerging from the cocoon
dancing and talking to moss
Ruins of the mines
Visions of Copper and Tin
A vanishing land
Sever unknown memories
Words and songs remain unsung
Broken houses
the sea crashing into the rocks
Dark sea spray
Below, quiet sea business
twilight faded from hours passed
The deep darkness arrives
Lonely empty houses
unlived and unloved since the war
The sea and the rocks
whispers of a place now a non-place
Hidden in darkness
the moon betrays my form
No longer hidden
The houses long for me to stay
my father adorned me with a crown of poverty
instead of diamonds, plastic and fake glass
no precious metals for my head, only barbed wire
the invisible crown I wear,
you could not see it, so you assumed;
there are no inherited gems and gold to give you
your father adorned you with a coat of arms
a long lineage of aristocratic people and places
Precious metal and money mean nothing to you
when you found out the truth, you laughed
I revealed my poverty crown to you,
and there was truth within your body language
My love for you was not enough, yet it hurt us
My father loved me,
your father doesn’t care for you;
we are at an impasse neither will cross.
I took a step forward,
you recoiled and fled.
This path has taught me so much,
yet on winter sunset nights,
I wonder what could have been
to wear a real crown and
to have none of your fake love.
Gathered around the fire
the woodsman came to tell us a story
about a wolf and a raven
The woodsman’s voice
a melodic pagan music to our small ears
delighting imagination
Too young at the time
Unaware of the woodsman’s power over us
I was plagued by dreams
of the old gods, wolves, and our destruction
The woodman’s voice
came to me when the sunset colours bled out
on an ominous night
Too loyal to my family
I stayed despite the incessant booming voice
frightening away life
Gathering up my life
running towards the sea instead of the forest
I resisted his power
and I remained the wolf, not what he wanted
The susurration of the flowers, insects, and the breeze
reminds me of my breakfasts with you
when you visited me, taken from the city you love more
than you loved me, and this place I
built for you, this tomb where your former self sleeps
Your voice would quieten my desire for constant music
as you talked yet rarely spoke about
frivolous topics, materialistic pursuits, the absence of
nature, philosophy, politics, and love
The whispering music of your voice haunts my home
made for you and our imagined children,
which I understand you never wanted to have with me,
nor with all that came thereafter me, us
Your voice surrounds me,
the tomb of what we were
living without you, my love.
The echo of her strident voice;
lost in the memory of that remembered moment,
falling away from the sorrow.
She leaves this trace of hate,
found in the memory of all that I had forgotten;
holding on as I use the pen
and the paper to write every remembered word.
The echo of her voice fades;
feeling like myself in the moment again
as the inked paper burns away.
Spilling your convoluted words
polluting the civilised writing world
Taking pleasure in re imagining
the critics dissect your written words
Passing away before your time
understanding of your words in death
Lamenting your words in death
your relatives profit from your courage
On an overcast night,
while the stars hid their light,
there was a manger.
No gifts from the wise,
although a miracle did arrive
in the old tin manger.
They stood by her side
as the light of the world arrived
in that tatty old manger.
C & K 