The commonplace
entertains the unspeakable.
Horror yellows in vaults.
It is all recorded, all labeled
all explained or condemned.
We keep the worst atrocities close,
create libraries to warehouse
the obscene and gruesome.
We have photographed
every current ghastly act.
Pundits endlessly debate
the proverbs of ancient spiders.
Dragons guard the cribs
of our future demons.
Serpents thought read our dreams.
Slaughter demands its place in the sun.
Who then are we
to command this tide of blood
that washes so viscously
against our feet?
the time will arrive when the upcoming
will be on the verge of present to past
my bones may creak under pressure of life
an ageing mind will be under threat of extinction
epitaphs may cast inevitable shadows
a fountain will struggle at the source
still willing existence into essence
but the ink in the pot viscously drained
note to Self is to scrape gracefully at
the barrel’s bottom to reach new heights
to shelter my own voice from blindsight
deafness of vision and to accept the light
of contentment with a shaky quill in my hand
only when my last word has been scripted
with everything said and no deed to be done
the flow of reason and feeling exhausted
and the reaper close to harvest and home
will I take the terminal bow and final good-bye
and accept that it will not be up to me any longer
to look after the worth of what future there is
02nd October 2021
They sat him down
In a chair
In a large office
With a gorgeous window
With a fabulous view
And they sent in
One
Only one
That sole representative
Took from their briefcase
A roll of red tape
Flimsy looking
Transparent in places
Red tape
Legally strengthened
With barbs
Then the representative
Beat him
Viscously
With the red tape
And his vision fell
Sliced and compromised
Gasping for breath
Exhausted
Thrashed
Neutralised
Crystal clear pure rain drops,
elegantly on foreheads splashed,
diamonds embedded in your eyes,
honey viscously dripping off your lips.
Molten gold, beneath your skin,
your hotness won't allow it solidify,
deep in your eyes, a different galaxy,
an alien force draws me closer to you.
Clouds are crying, moon's jealous,
stars grow playful shooting the skies,
alien ships crushing before us tonight,
night drops dead silent, our lips interlock!
There's an insatiable black horse
running wild undilutedly
between the tree's
running elegantly, softly like a breeze
he does so with such majestic ease
oh what a tease
I do not have his knees to please
I glance at his joy and freedom
wishing for a single moment
that I, could be him
gliding with an outstretched upwards chin
a rainbow shone up high
printed against a very dull sky
as I follow with my eyes, to reach the end
I do not see a pot of gold, as the stories do depend
but I see better, than all mans gold and worth
I see a wild stallion
a horse on a patch of extended untouched earth
running free against the wind I see
oh that horse I long to be,
he runs as if he has no care
An untamed mane blowing viscously everywhere
he is a soul filled with dare
he is off
boundless
he has no rope, securing him still
he has but a free wondrous will.
Written by Sarah Linklater
31/03/2015
You are like the snow; beautiful, yet viscously cold.
You are like the sun; eyes beam bright, burn my soul.
You are like a picture; close in mind, yet so far away.
You are like tomorrow; I know you won’t be here today.
Be silent, Oh my heart and see
this feeling of descent ~
somehow, Oh God while kindness flee
my spirit pays the rent!
That fool's calm goading of esprit
so viscously soft sent,
does empty slowly by degree
the grace to so repent!
It's then, I pray for Thy consent
as not defensively ~
to love me still, while others bill
their nonsense of resent!
Like the perfection of flame and candle
My perfume flirts with your cologne
A Sensory journal, viscously travelling
Every part, turning my inside out
Light softens to the burning wick
As we lay welded together – meshed
Our minds run free into moments
Reflections with words and expression
Marvel at where our thoughts take us
Into hours until we fall pleasantly asleep
Again, they seem to watch as I walk slowly.
Under the faces of color which adorn lazily,
Talking amongst them in a whisper,
Usually I am calm and pay little or no attention.
My mind is wondering what favor they speak.
Never before have they whispered so intently.
Lingering, before tripping into the new season,
Each tone different though the same pattern.
Again the sound rises, just briefly then silences.
Viscously pounding me, covering in aggravation,
Escaping the clutches of debris from the source,
Scents of fall aroma, speaks volumes of their desires.
Be silent, Oh my heart and see
this feeling of descent
somehow, Oh God while kindness flee
my spirit pays the rent!
That fool's calm goading of esprit
so viscously soft sent
does empty slowly by degree
the grace to so repent!
It's then, I pray for Thy consent
as not defensively ~
to love me still, while others bill
their nonsense of resent!
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