poem – Page 13

The Olive Tree

The olive tree cries
Blood-stained roots long for water
alone in her death
Once the dwelling place of God
now turning to dust and death

A tangerine in a suit.
Waddling towards the finish line with a desire for greatness.

A lover of the dictators.
Praising tyranny, hurting the nation’s people, and killing culture.

A nod to faux imperialism.
Redecorating the great home with tacky gold-plated idiocy.

A desire for other lands.
Ready to build on the blood and the bones of the many dead.

shrouded in the dark
beyond this life I venture
ascending stone steps
a yearning for this stone place
the familiarity

the brooding cloud sky
an awakening within
the familiar walls
no longer myself walking
words of a spell I don’t know

communion with trees
called the cursed, malignant girl
crying to the sky
church bells carry her body
killed by a feverish priest

longing for fairies,
magical creatures, and a
rare nature magic
caught within the mundane world
an imaginary wish

Soft garden party
Grandma spiked the stock last night
They can’t stop laughing
a giggly bubble wild lunch
lost in the afternoon haze

Old photos of Mum
the vintage sunlit colours
a beach bikini

A pixie haircut
glowing skin and smiling eyes
pictures of what was

Now, afraid to speak
imprisoned from head to toe
the theocracy

The colours vanished
Mum’s smile now pale beige horror
of the living dead

Watching the leaves move.
He is eating something I would love
Why does he never share?

Walking with him is bliss.
To run and jump around is freedom
He seems sad about this

Wanting to be close at night
denied the comfort of his grand bed
I want to understand him

My human

within his garden
the many malformed flowers
so interesting

exhausted angel
slowly falls apart from war
a wing gone astray
hands lay still in the rubble
weeping tears of blood alone