Thursday, October 25, 2007

The creative juices are flowing.
As this proves.

Little the stems grow

He unsoiled the cabbages
Amongst the rows of runner beans
Placing them above
Like nature’s umbrella
To let them catch
The drops beneath

Sprouting in the soil
Like stigmas in our dreams
He nurtured the seed
To spread below

Like dimensions of hell
Shooting out to heaven
They grew
With an anguish
and a perishable greed

They scoured the sources
And took in thirst
to swallow the feed

But he never knew
he kept
Praying on tomorrow

By half-light the task was done.
Roots removed.

A flickering light
buzzed to the sound
Of laughter
As he threw the newspaper to the ground

Me, half-height
Feet on tip toe to knock
On the brown door,
Listening out for wolves
In the distance

But I never found any…
Only the screech, the tuning
Of radio frequencies
To signal another grey tomorrow
Had come

In hospital
Weakened now
Another patient, another round
Desensitized, dripping, numb
Yet needles gripping on
Like vines into veins,

As below

Buried, scarred, deep
Planted row by row;
Passers by now sit and
Stare for a while

…as they watch the stems grow.