burn, baby, burn

busted thoughts
and scathing pen
daring me
to write
again

I fight with
every syllable
punching every
pit of
bull

my musty brain
begins to crank
pulverising
banter’s
bank

grinding words
to cobblestones
that skip the path
to future
poems

that’s all I’m of
these words internal
scorching me
until
inferno

burn, baby, burn

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duckie

smooth my feathers

gently

stroke me with care

and kindness

remind me

you are here

because of me

not

despite me

 

my silky bill

is happy to nibble

your proffered treats

I accept them

delicately

and gratefully

 

perhaps we shall waddle together

along the torrent’s bank

feather by feather

rumbling

sympathetic noises

in support of each other’s

difficulties and losses

 

we might

quack out loud

in an excited succession

of jokes and

flirting

 

and perhaps we will be

lucky enough

to nestle together

and make a sanctuary

on the dry sticks

life provides

 

 

Passing Port

His surly border face
hurls gruff questions at
my blanched, weary frame
and scours my documents with
needle eyes

why?
who?
where?
what for?

my destinations are too random
for his liking
my plans, too un-planned

he wants an iron-clad timetable
barcode tattoo
that can be traced
and verified

thus surveillance
can contain me
at any inconvenient moment

his grimace hesitates

antennae flailing

unable to grasp a fault in me
he grumblingly stamps
and returns my passport

and I am allowed hustle
from this queue
to
the next fault line.

framed

I look through you
you open the world to me
my umbilical cord to the universe of clarity
 
basically
you frame my eyes
but to onlookers
you frame my appearance
and my abilities
 
intelligent
reserved
aesthetic
definitely not athletic!
 
my!
 
how small frames
thus worn
open all possibilities to me
yet close them
to those who see

(Dedicated to anyone who wears glasses)