Childhood

It seemed
Such a good idea
At the time.
The slope
The scooter
The inspiration.
Imagine
The feeling
The speed
The freedom.
Five year old logic
Has seen older ones
Doing the same.
Looks like fun
Can’t be hard.
On the line
Heart beating faster.
Anticipation
Go !
But no..
It’s not right.
The feeling
is wrong.
The speed
Isn’t fun.
Balance
Isn’t easy.
The ground
Comes up
The scooter
Goes down
Skin meets gravel
Gravel wins
It becomes
Tears
Band-aids
Mother’s comfort
Perhaps
Not a good idea
After all

Mulberries

Dappled sunlight
Filtered through leaves of purest green
Children laugh
Running between shading boughs
Heavily laden branches droop
Succulent black jewels hang within reach
Staining fingers
Reddening lips
Hot wind cooled by rustling bracts
Overripe trampled beneath joyous feet
Hands reach up to pluck
Leaves for silkworms
To grow and change
Before astonished eyes
How can one tree
Be so perfect
For one brief time of the year
It's own quest for reproduction
Creates an abundance
Shared by many
Avian, entomological
Mammalian
For one moment in time
Gather to share
Natures gifts

Hunter / Hunted

Scales glisten
Catching light as breath moves
Pattern blending with background
Muscle and sinew
Hidden length encircles rock
Pushing into crevices and cracks
Silent tongue flicking
Body heat attracts attention
Movement ceases and awareness heightens
Slight swaying pinpoints prey

Furry and unaware
Whiskers twitch and eyes flicker
Black jewels in a velvet face
Paws clutch and grab
Teeth gnawing ever faster
Life lived at rapid pace
Heartbeats staccato
Quickly scurry don’t pause too long
Warm blood pulses in quivering vessels
Refuge never far away

Reptilian patience
Head still, body coiling
Flattened to the soil
Lurking beneath light leaf cover
Cold eyes focussed
Head rises, distance calculated
Slowly, slowly
Flexibility allows propulsion
Timing is crucial
Power launched in the blink of an eye

Noise noticed
Ears twist to discover the source
Head turns, whiskers still
Paws held high
A flash of movement
Hind legs push
Scales meet fur
Fangs seeking purchase
Instead find air
Legs scurry far away

Safety is reached
In close walled depths
Curling warmly to sleep
Pulse slows
Enough for tonight
Sinuous beauty
Sleek sliding body
Leaving this place
Hunts elsewhere
Until we meet again

Inside

Alone in the dark, all alone in the dark.
A mind filled with unthinkable thoughts silently thinks.
A heart sighs and sits, still.
The darkness is total, oppressive. It seems to go on forever. Who can say where it begins or ends?
It envelops and encloses, drifts without sound and settles without weight.
The darkness says things no one can hear, It weeps yet asks for no sympathy.
It is only a state of being. Being there and nowhere else.
Never thinning, calmly coagulating.
Embryonic impulses pass in a blinding flash of light.
Then all is dark, all is quiet.
Quiet as a grave that can exist only in the subconscious.
So quiet.

Shadows now, black even against the darkness, flutter and dance to a strange haunting melody that only they can hear.
The shadows grow and dwindle, Increase and decrease,
Are born only to die a moment later.
Are they real or merely the projections of a the half crazed mind in which they exist?
Yet there is another shadow, larger than the rest, lurking within it’s own shadow, within it’s own self.
The darkness lightens and shadows flee,
Dissolving into each other, becoming one.
Yet a presence exists. Persisting in the darkness
All appears calm, yet a sense of foreboding remains.
A sinister knowledge. An incalculable calculation of the unknown.
Something remains. Forever watching, forever waiting.

Time to it is insignificant.
It will never give up, never a respite.
It never sleeps.
It lurks alone,
Long tendrils of it’s own form snaking into the remaining darkness.
More visible now it has lightened. Holding back as if wary,
It’s only thought is for it’s own survival.
Here it was safe, this was it’s home, but now the invading light is closing this space.
It is not enough to worry yet, it knows It’s home
It has been threatened before and It’s determination has grown to a point where ruthlessness takes over.
It waits, the darkness is stable, the light is still. Not quite strengthening yet not diminishing, all is quiet again.

Time passes and the lightening continues,
It senses no threat.
The roaming tendrils become bolder, reaching further towards the source.
Shadows begin once again to float and flicker around the edges of the light.
Slinking to and fro, gliding in the ebbing black.
The shadows move closer, advancing upon the light, taking no risks.
They sweep forward and then pull back, in perfect synchronisation
Time holds no purpose. Their job is their existence.
It is still lurking behind, coordinating their movements with It’s own.
The light begins to flicker, trying to find a hold so it can remain.
But the shadows sensing this weakness move in,
And the light is gone.
It’s world is returned, safety is maintained, the job is done.
All is silent.

The blackness continues.
Flashes of inspiration the only glittering hope in the total and utter black.
Time passes.
Once again the darkness begins to lighten.
It has a hold but this time strangely It feels threatened.
The shadows glide within each other. Merging to become one force.
It retreats into it’s own space to design a strategy.
It’s filamentous tendrils reach and grab at the light.
But this time it is different, it comes in one almighty rush,
Like a wave crashing onto a beach.
Light, pure light,
So white that soon the darkness is gone, It is defeated.
The darkness cannot exist in competition with this light.
The light is beautiful, it is soothing, cool, calming and relaxing.
It is at peace with all around it and everything it encounters.
Understanding is simple, it is the light of inspiration and love.
The light of the purest of the pure,
Morning has dawned and it seems the darkness could never return.
But It is still there, in a corner of it’s own existence.
Still. Waiting.
Ready for the light to waver so it can once again gain a foothold and strive to retrieve it’s home.
It never sleeps.
It cannot die.
Be on guard, for the darkness needs to survive,
and it will do anything to win back what it has lost.
( January 1985 )

Arachnophobia

Tangled thoughts prevent clarity,
I see gossamer threads which beguile with their beauty,
Ensnare those unwary enough to wander into their realm,
At first they feel cool and soft as they begin to wrap around,
A silken cocoon of warmth and safety,
How can something so beautiful be any danger?
But they continue to wind,
Stifling movement,
Preventing escape,
The filaments which appeared so welcoming.
Now breath becomes shallow,
The struggle only deepens the pain,
Warp and weft,weaving and stranlging,
Desperate motions result in further binding,
Wings which were once jewelled patterns in the sky
Become obscured by white,
Held close to a body which was once free,
The movement quietens and finally ceases,
But awareness of the fate remains,
Slowly acceptance becomes inevitable,
There is nothing that can be done,
The trap is sprung,
The end is near,
One more fleeting hint of beauty ,
Lost in the never ending struggle for life,
For one life must be lost for another to survive,
That is the way it has been,
And the way it shall always be.