Inside the Light Reflecting
Her memory stems
And throughout these
Years, a continuing discord:
These memories mark – leaving scars
Impressed upon the confines of
All thought and the mere
Thought of unconscious reasoning to
Mind. Years: still I remember.
And she preached all in the name
Of her gleeful spite, the black of
All her forlorn hope and all this
Enterprise to liven in mass joyful sexuality;
The danger. But only daughter to pass
And to father the sickness nothing to
Their game of lineage, a pre-conceived sacrifice
Her sadistic mind cruel and unburdened of all that
Fashions conscious to a population of will and it’s
Extremes, mother’s face and her heresy to my throat
Some hierarchy and then her tongue to taste desire
As this nausea hit its mark and each all
Took to their turn screaming this obscene act to
Some wayward defiance as callous marks and scars colour
Skin only to fail conflict with reason denied, yet
Again mother assigns that lust her lover to her child.
Burnt Bushes
Burnt ashes to the ground
In the long grasses of the night
It is a passing remnant
Against a towered stone wall
As shades frown down open to expose
In the silent pretences of the night
Against my form under my touch
It felt as though sand-paper finish
A raw interior a barren plough
A coarse abrasion facing a shore-line
A salty mist spraying an angry vice
A smoke passage blown direct
Serenading through surrender direct
Through trees buried straight than grown tall
I crumble stalled to the Sea
Am I all that I say I am?
Am I still, do I remain
Do I remain a Woman?
Can I pretend? Or can I forget?
There’s still soul buried within me
It’s always standing there …
Old Port
A pier folded in the cataclysm of night, a weary soul
Drenched within life’s battles. The vastness of the sky and
The architecture: not of finely arched concrete, panels of
Timber pine positioned as so; nor of coloured spot-
Lights, the homes of sky-scrapers shimmering the
Discolouration of the Sea. The façade. Countenance
Of a mirrored glaze. The slender shapes of stationed
Boats, their rigging, complicated, shadows dancing within
The surge of moonlight shards and a semblance of
Taste fit to amuse the eyes, serve to sustain within
The soul a prism marvellous.
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