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Jack In The Box

She turns on the light to keep out the night and the horrors that lurk in the dark.

Her eyes will not be closed tonight despite their leaded feel

She'll watch the hours tick away as she waits for the morning sun, shiver in fright at the terrible sight of the box by the furthest wall.

Strange to think that he's in their instead of the bed upstairs?

Blood?
we love it,
the taste of it,
the feel of its warmth on our hands.

Barbaracally,
we dawb our faces with it,
like to swim in it,
turn rivers red with it habitually killing for it
- eye for an eye, like the Bible says and the
good Lord can take care of the innocent

The White Lady

Full moon midnight Marbury motorbike home
No street lights light my way
Headlight fades as speed drops

Marbury Park’s reputedly haunted and the
darkness ignites my imagination

I scare myself to death as a mirrored moon
reveals her face behind me!

      Published
           by
Anchor Poets

Virtual reality

crazy
mad
witness it now

Illusion blending to tangible
melding
our past and present to future
disorientating
confusing
distorting perception
conflicting
colliding
frightening

Superimposition of the fearsome
with
the civilised.
occaisionally
slipping the time space continuum
with
disasterous consequences.

each is expected to keep to their own
hostiles giving way
to
the civilised
developing world of work
and tourism
capitalists to their surreal estate paradise
while
envious clammour
for
the dream state of martyredom.

We are none of us safe
from madness
tv or not.

Tuesday
11-09-2001
13.46
(GMT)

I swear
as I monitered the box
my eyes met the eyes of someone passing
and
they raised their thumb to me
as though in luck

seemed little in the way of threat

Tomorrow
according to the weather man
the sun may
shine.

One Too Many

I'd been rat arsed drunk 'n' having this nightnare about battering my love lifeless and woke to find her side of the bed was empty.

In a daze I looked
like you do
out of curiosity
beneath the bed
and there she was
all battered and bruised !

Published
by
Poetry Now

Christmas Lights

Christmas lights. Buzz of expectation
Locality alive with a mix of carol and
the specter sound

Some strange illusion of fun.

Whispers of snow lined the way as we filed
the heavy hearted route from church to
graveside. Eyes, like minds, on nothing but
the coffin and the future

I feel it a very surreal ending to the year
watching the cards turn from seasonal greetings
to sympathy

Standing at the graveside Christmas Eve with
memories of you and ambulance lights and
doctors and nurses and of hospital monitors and
the funeral arrangements all whirling into one
incomprehensible reflection.

Dedicated to my father
born
12 January 1922
Deceased
18 December 2001