War — the greatest enigma
Living jigsaw, a bewildering enigma,
human, animal flesh, impossible to distinguish.
The trash can of the world emptied out
for the future’s horror or entertainment?
The blood sport that is war,
a savage game that dismembers the players.
hands, feet, the extremities blown off,
agonised figures, splattered in darkness,
where light is dim and treacherous—
the all-seeing eye is everywhere.
Dead babies in the now useless arms
of mothers who grieve into vacancy.
hands stretch out, begging, beseeching
in a godless world whom should we pray to?
Even the watchers are dragged into the carnage:
in Syria, Haiti, Ukraine, Myanmar, Gaza –
too many fingers are on the trigger.
Cut-out Dreams
I know
the place so well
a road stretched out
a serpent-like, narrow ribbon
in the bright moonlight
the crescent moon
holds in its horns
the
foetus
of tomorrow
fiery, menacing
on the horizon the dark fingers
of tall pines threaten to abort
the possibilities of the morning
the circulating dark
is thick impenetrable—
a spotlight without a bulb
projecting a stream of blackness
the dreamscape weighs heavily
oppressive about
to flatten the dreamer
soon a cardboard cut out
a dream now reality
reality a dream
Real Dreams
In my dreams
I’ve been there often
I know the drive so well
A road lined with blossom
Horses in a green meadow
Flicking flies in the sun
Spaniels laze on the grass
A veranda, shady, secluded
A table of woven straw
A bottle of wine from the South
Lawn curtains billow softly
At every breeze which passes
Old men talk of old wars
In places no one recalls
By the lake
Sounds of children laughing
But I’ll never go there at all.
After/Thought Literary 