Minotaurus

Grab the bull by the horns
He suggested, as if this
Is something diurnal and
Straightforward, as though I
Lived with the inventive
Umayyad Caliph of Cordoba,
Or am I Pasiphaë’s consort,
Or, worse, Telephassa’s daughter
Taming the many-headed lusts
Of Zeus which left her grieving
Parents distraught and devoid
Of laughter as long as their
Unenviable lives uncoiled, on
Carthaginian shorelines, just
Like the parents of Meredith
Of Kent, and Georgia.

Moreover, I am easily misled,
And being a novice it threw
Me off, once, twice, twenty
Seven times and stamped its
Great and disdainful hooves
And mauled me as if I might
Be worthy of plague and smite,
With deliberate aforethought,
Until you could no longer tell
What was my pallid skin
And what were contusions,
And that, more or less,
(As I lay in muddy pools
Molten with my blood unspooled)
Resembled the rest of my life.

Ode To A Garden Snail, Part 2

Little snail,
Evening journey,
You made it so far;
Will you one day
Reach a yard in to
Something like me?

If you have to,
And I hope you may do,
I am sorry now
For inevitably what
You must go through;
Blackbird beak,

Your shell will leak,
The soil below takes
Its toll. We will
Exchange in time
Our pace, our hearts.
Just keep in mind

And keep your guard,
For there are magpies,
There are sparrows
Who’ll tear you apart;
Stay steady young snail,
You’ll do better by far.

Haiku #550 – #554

550.

July downpour, and
My neighbours are jet washing
The empty bins.

551.

Inexplicable
Feelings towards these people.
I am a stranger.

552.

I saved a spider
Today; may it be enough
To karmically

553.

Repair me, before
It’s too late, if I spared a
Thousand dark spiders;

554.

Because I worry
These days that I am beyond
Saving, regardless.

 

The Place Of Mistakes

Here, the God of Hammers reigns,
Long live the God of Hammers!
Swinging clubs, set me in place,
Secured in Plasters of Paris.

I looked into that pit of Hell
Where he tossed his mallets;
There I lost my sense of smell
And all the sensate palettes.

From my perch the lightning
Bruised throughout his business;
I hear that loathsome striking still
Within a loamy distance.

He pushed me through the hole
Of souls, in to new abysses;
In this way, I claimed coal,
Feeding the fire of kisses.

Eight Glasses

Water’s passed
Through seven
Towns on two
Banks of the
River Thames,
Or Isis as she’s known
At Oxford upstream,
Although it’s the
One and same
Dead river nymph
Before flowing
In to London’s
Bloated all-consuming
Hips, her public
Fountains and
Underground
Waterways.
Seven sips through
Seven lips on
Seven mouths,
Seven stomachs,
Some with ulcers,
Seven lies and
Seven dowsed,
Then hepatic ducts
And bladders where
Water in a hoisin-sauce
Soaked duck
Or any creature
Clipped from luck
Swirl in confluence
Post-gut, post the
Spatchcocked organs
Deconstructing
All that’s good
Before arriving at the
Thirst-quenched populous
Downstream from the
Golden Cotswolds
And into throats
Of foaming dogs.

So too seven lovers
Fell through me like
Teardrops, like
Ethereal waterfalls
And hydrogen bombs,
Floating on to where
Other men and
Women meet
To hold, and sigh,
And comfort, tossed
From one lifeboat
On their journey
To the next, until
At some sun-blessed atoll
They found a form of
Peace. I crawled to
Blackened riverbanks
At Purfleet and drank
Salt in my sleep.

Those who know me
Might expect a
Comparison
To the eight glasses
You would drink before
The day had even
Reached its peak;
But I am tired,
And I’d like to drink
Something else neat,
Some herbal tea,
Some skimmed milk,
And fall asleep.

Buffalo

I am no more privileged,
I have no further gains
Than Bison or Buffalo
Southwesterly migrating
In fated waves and a
Great obstinancy.
Their carcasses spiralling
Over yellow Plains,
They shot so many
The carrion could be seen
From space, to near
Extinction, annihilating,
Through Nebraska and
North through both
Dakotas too,
We were only feeding
Progressive trends towards
My detriment and death.

These are the thoughts
I couldn’t discuss with you,
Not about Buffalo
In the end, but men
Who did not return home,
Feathers in their scalps,
As I drove through the
Border identification checks,
Like the mind of a solitary,
Lonely surviving Buffalo,
And on to Saskatoon.

Dina Morgabin

These kisses we missed
In other lives elsewhere,
These exquisite moments,

No wonder we arrived
At inevitable reunions where
I dreamed for years

Of lifting you up in my arms,
Passionate embraces,
Time repaired.

For as long as the seas
In our heritage are green,
And as long as the skies

Are propped by the dreams
Of atlases may we continue
To breathe and complete

The abstract truths
Dormant within our ribs
For such profound time

We almost forgot we exist.
My focus here is solely on
Your beauty and your gifts,

Your experiences,
Harmonising pleasure,
Retuning the truth

To satisfy the needs
Of an uncompassed ocean.
Here on this island,

Here with your bliss,
Now and forever
We will exist.