Returning from holiday

Back to work
all fresh and anew.
Back to the race
of rats and ruin,
of love and hate,
grime and greed,
tension and stress,
psychological torture.

It’s not like Christmas

It’s not like Christmas
The spirit’s not yuletide
The grass is still green
There’s no snow outside

It’s not like Christmas
There’s no joy in my heart
Santa’s not coming here
Because we are apart

It’s not like Christmas
No reason to celebrate
Life’s left my soul
Is loneliness my fate?

The Winter Season

Blossoms waiting to ascend winter
Lie trapped
in the skeleton branches
Content
to recycle memories
In a daffodillian
spring,
As returning tinselled
windows
Scream in ecstasy
at Christmas,
While loneliness
eyes its prospects
In the camouflage
of the season.

Remembering

Autumn comes

Serenity

murmurs through a

river of voices,

echoes

over the void

as

the splendour of the

seasons

dawns and

draws a

veil over

Summer.

The ghostly

Moon

reflect its

Light upon the

shore

as Autumn

begins to

flower,

sunlight kisses their

surface

while leaves blush

with colour.

 

The Clown Effect

The beaming  smile

spreads its wings

in rays of sunshine,

as it flies through

a  ring of darkness.

Smelting

sullen faces.

Melting,

moulding gloom.

Chortling

roaring laughter,

from the antics

of the clown.

The Aftermath

Mangled eyes amongst the destruction
bear the burden in a web of reflections
while the animal chorus poisons sleep
and shattered vermin work kneeling
along the skeleton universe.

Death’s vanity
slowly fires the guilty breath
as the tentacles of a prayer
secretly escape the viper’s mouth,
while children like ravaged daisies
mirror the splintered bombs.