The Payload
"The Payload"
The payload
came crashing down
like rain expelled
from the fat belly
of a ruinous pregnant cloud
bilious with buxom promise
it came crashing down
like school fish released
from the tight confines
of a course rope net
heavy onto a deck, where
harried feet shuffled like cards
it arrived prematurely
with some strange mystery
like a hidden meaning
heard in the crackling of
dry autumn leaves, and
whisper of breeze
past the ear
like a feather floating
down down to the ground
as if an envelope delivered
by anxious owl proxied with
impending news, it fell,
before one tread
their next step;
the crunch came
when one felt the
sharp interruption
under boisterous boot,
which gingerly pushed
the pile of pungent Winter rot aside
and bent down to observe
with their wide open eyes
hidden, there,
in the peat bog like loot,
the rising scent of the dead,
pine leaves unruffled
loose for the chase, yet -
still, incomplete,
albeit wanton, supine
in the fecund soil,
lusty blood worms
lazily turning, not forlorn
lovingly climbing legs
of scurrilous moist roots
as if 'tween splayed web of
tree spirits’ and gnomes’
fingers and toes, squelching
joyfully in the lavish fresh wet,
had no time to doze
musky rodent scat littering
dung bug mottled bark,
the colour of moss,
carnal toads camouflaged
entwined in bank bilge
mud of charcoal and soot,
slipping long velvet tongues out
to Venus Fly Traps, like caressing
partners in the hunt,
swallowing arachnid,
gnats, horned beetles and such
life moved subatomic,
somewhat subterranean,
breaking seals in small revelations,
the message came softly,
silently expelling
gilled satin red caps
like small buttons, flecked
with white fayre paint,
dancing up the spine of brittle
dull scattered bones, tickling fungi,
enamoured with the acridity of
silky lichen written like Kalevala runes
all over a lost body of work
there,
in the elevation
of such solemn property
the message,
like some disease
slowly spreading,
breaching over scapula,
invading northwards,
towards the broken,
chalk antlers
of skeletal King stag,
the harnessed skull stuffed
with Sialia nest,
its eye sockets, open,
eerily examining
the external intruder,
spies the shine
of pale blue eggs
signalling the other,
the internal voice,
like oculei dei novum
as if some avatar demiurge
in consort with insignificant small bird,
progressed to pull one in
telepathically with this
magick message absurd,
the ivy in the mind
climbs cautiously
and curiously peers
through the windows
from slow observation deck,
the internal one questions,
“what chicanery this?”
as if conspiring
to flummox the now
supernatural frost falling
upon one's heart,
as if something other
was buried in the meaning
of this Paradise Lost?
There,
before the observer,
stare solemn blue eyes,
constant, alert, yolked ready,
as if to break like seven seals break,
they watch and they wait,
they break in their own time -
now or then, 'tis never too late;
between,
the chalky lips
underneath the broken teeth
of the beast, a grin gapes
leaking a smile, no tongue
for the speak,
in the cavity,
like a wonderous
cave unmeasured,
or an open trap door,
there reveals
a small treasure,
unexpected, surreal,
one just knows -
there's so much more,
a piece of fading parchment,
tattered yellow,
demands its release
the observer
bends to one's knees,
as if genuflecting without ease,
gathering to oneself some light
from ghostly will-o-the-wisps,
min min some say, but then,
some also say fey,
to take in what little light left
from that glow worm glen time,
when long night steals fading day,
they bedazzle their aura
over the puzzled one,
deciphering odd scrawl
in lapis lazuli ink
it reads,
“for all creatures,
this labyrinth,
has unexplored territories
go where’st they wilt,
do as thou please,
in my realm
there are many rooms,
dark and light
for you, you alone,
alone, I construct
long night and short day,
birds and bees,
leviathans, oceans
holy and unholy sees,
sunshine 'n rain,
pleasure 'n pain,
trees holding secrets
written in rings,
forever circling
the meaning of things,
the mystery of such
encapsulates much,
your history, you see,
some pleasant, yet
quite frightening things,
like nightmarish dreams,
forests you like to cut down
because you’re foolish
and mercenary,
like stories,
the precious woods breathe,
so you may live, think and feel,
you may see, the truth in it all,
if you choose to believe,
skies that cry
beam with joy,
writing their stories
down in great veins
of bolt lightening,
thunder is the spoken word -
You are quite able to
hear the messages
when you please,
you doubt this,
and yourself,
because you are still
very small, a mere human;
in time, eventually you will
understand it all,
when you are no longer
of Man;
however,
do remember,
to leave the door open
as you turn the key
to go your own way,
for other creatures
and their stories
to walk in
like lost souls,
so they may see,
with their own eyes
and minds,
how it all is,
to gift them freedom
in their noteworthy
and knowledgeable say,
for the listening lesson.
I write
the words,
I write it all
in the book,
you’re right there
amongst it all,
if you care to open
your heart like your eyes
take a read, take a very good look
I am
there,
in your mind,
that says it all
does it not?
some will say crazy,
others will not;
take the time
to walk through
all your chapters,
take a very good look,
there’ll be questions
after matins that matter;
possibly, but not lastly, some supper,
discussion is off the chart off the hook
alone time with me,
should be interesting
off the page, as they say
out of that book,
what a treat!
don’t roll your eyes at me,
when I speak.
my bite
is worse
than my bark,
if you take the time
to understand
and to look.
after review,
we’ll look at the edit again
and pull the whole
story apart,
for the troops
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Copyright ©
Lady Labyrinth
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