Giraffe

What kind of world
Will you inhabit
Once we are gone?
Will it be one
Of your own choosing?
New landscapes built
To youthful specifications,
A virtual world, or
Precarious solidity shaped
From the concentration
Of old-fashioned
Children’s toys – perhaps even
Those blue-and-red-stained
Wooden blocks
Of my infancy?
Will our groaning,
Grown-up legacy
Of piecemeal policies,
Poor housing, health,
And knee-jerk reactions
To old threats,
Half-remembered
Leave you with
Too little freedom
And too much responsibility?
However our teachings
Soak into your bones
It will be your turn
To roll the dice
And seek advancement
Or oblivion.
I hope we leave you
Prepared
And with sufficient
Tools to survive
What is
And what is yet
To come.

The Visitor

Last night I dreamed of you once more
I don’t know why it happened
I wandered down a corridor
Anticipating nothing more
Than labyrinth and cellar door
With monsters in the background

But lifting latch to enter in
To where subconscious led me
I found a room I’d never seen
And furnishings within my dream
That hinted at forbidden scenes
Unknowing feet had fed me

A dozen hints to where I was
Now trespassing, unbidden
A hidden world, a silent scream
An unfamiliar home would seem
Her imprint on your self-esteem?
I wonder how I’d know; when

It’s many years since we were one
And known to all as coupled
This showing of a life undone
A virtual necronomicon
To rub it in, how things went wrong
Two people were unshackled

And suddenly your face was there
But not as I remembered
New colours of your clothing; hair
Now tamed to something debonair
You tried to speak, your voice unclear
Imploring my endeavours

What could I do? I turned and ran
Unseeing, my escape sought
And fleet of foot, I left behind
The stranger found within my mind
Familiar face but false, unkind
Unbearable this torment

I tossed and turned an hour more
Unsettled by this vision
My hopes remained that one whose snore
Had lent such comfort when before
From dreams had landed on the floor
Beside me might awaken

And somehow find me in this plight
Besieged by thoughts, unwanted
And ride to seek the lover, whose
Untimely entrance might impose
Some limit on my own repose
But not a soul I spotted

And waking to a darkened room
The cat asleep; your breathing
I lay and wondered in the gloom
At all I’d seen and felt and done
And what might prompt this change of tune
Your visit to my dreaming

If somewhere you were suffering
And hoping I could save you
Could rescue you from what you chose
The path you trod, the door did close
When she sought more and you arose
To bite the hand that fed you

I turned my head from bitter thoughts
Regrets and all that shattered
To ask myself, if I were there
And had some proof that you still care
Would it still matter, anywhere?
And hoped to give my answer

On the eve of it all

Surrounded by the spoils of men, milling, swirling, competing for attention, wanting for nothing, yet craving every piece of trash that passes by. We live in a desolate age, where pile upon pile of fancy packaging coats our conscience, wraps our brains and seals the deal with a loving spritz of forget-me. How I long for simple rivalry, without the harsh clamour, wish the humdrum, mono-not-chrome existence to once again hold sway. I pray for need, I beg for demand, rather than the overabundance of what is supplied to those without such a borderline. Edgy, a fringe movement hanging on the silk of their own party dress and swaying gently in the consumptive breeze. I could live in a world of lithographic memories, brown and fuzzy, dog-eared and beautiful in its imperfection. Order amid the chaos of life without pixels. A stream of unconscious thought, growing to a river, and crashing down the butter-mountain, swallowing up all those in its path.