Witness
the fitnessing of their bodies
as proof against untimely death
they push their sprints along
the double row
of dead and dare
the sharpened fingers to reach
in and squeeze their hearts
to squirming
as they run the gauntlet through
the middle of Waverley cemetery
and all their lycra tightness
won’t be enough
to hold them in from spilling
in such life thirsty ground
oh, good stuff!
ReplyDeleteQuite surreal. Were they racing in the cemetery? Or were they jogging through?
ReplyDeleteThere is an avenue that runs steeply up through the middle of the cemetery and they were doing sprints from bottom to top with personal trainers yelling all the way!
DeleteCrikey! No respect for the dead...
DeleteThat is a stunner, Mikaela
ReplyDeleteTHAT'S NO WAY TO PAINT RAVENS
ReplyDeletethat's no way to paint ravens
at night on the roadside
in the headlights
past the silent graves
that’s no way to end a life
there’s a small hotel
in the balance of the dip
you’re just a bit behind
too late for something
that’s no way to shoe a horse
with carrot and lump of sugar
the story of your travels
that’s no way to hit a nail
sanding the heavy handle
looking for a reflection
that’s no way to hear the wind
earphones and volume
a brain full of fury
with ears with tears
those years those fears
you are listening too slow
that’s no way to reach the light
thinking of maybe heaven
your grace in the dark
turning left always left
outside in the rain
the colour is running
Love your work Rob - as always! xxM
DeleteYou are kind, dear Mikaela. Thank you. This poem fetches up as #144. A few significant changes...
Delete