Saturday, 31 December 2011

After The Stabbing

Leant against the minted green mottled gate 
with a bowl of corn meal porridge
cradled in crinkled cinnamon palm
the Nanny crouched
knees bent up
a childs finger thick strip of sugar cane
waggling between her supple lips
she slow goat chewed

blinked gently in the breeze flavoured by
the earth and sun
she shades her eyes to make sure
she does not miss her cue

she waves the boy to come along
a backward hand gripping playful air
loose at the fingers, wrist loose
as the hammock hung between the bows
of swaying trees in the yard
she beckoned him to come along
her clavicle shining and open

the boy, still tight in his shoulders
his knees weak with realisation,
almost locked with  fear

Thursday, 29 December 2011

A Place Under This Sun

The blasé gaze of the Sun makes me blush each morning
I imagine myself stretching for It to the four corners
breathed into, by the light of Its touch, ragged ends of night dreams
disperse, those of the day illumine 

when the alarm clocks sadistic bone rattling digs in
the mirage touch is blasted into thousands of sharp seconds
the blunt object of 60 minutes beats my head
24 hours have me in a strangle hold 

my squint breaks, as I try to magnify a single ray to a pinpoint
to pass it through the eye of necessities needle 
in an attempt to sew a heliologic patchwork of brilliant ideas 
that match the airy whims of my star sign

into an exact science as to why I should get up
to cast a feisty fiery glimpse on the equinox 
of a reason for why I shouldn't just 
play all day, only to stub my toe on the table leg of obligation.

The planet goes about its turning business
I wriggle under the food sac I am commissioned to carry
at birth, my national insurance number proof evidence
Do I resign to being placenta? My body the nourishment?
my mind expendable, irrelevant? 

Plugged in, I can tune out
but at times, I am irrevocably distracted by
a heat, that reason has no business with.
It just is, captured by solar panels

on roof tops, screwed on street poles
fueling disgruntled cogs, people in buses, in cars,
on the cold pavement rushing by me,
blurred by the warmth on my back. The fog inside 

evaporates when I halt
to lift my face east and bathe
for a timeless moment, 
thinking of daisies in Summer.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011