Rags and bones.

‘Any scrap iron,

any crap iron.’

The male voice penetrates the tenement.

Tin Man delves in his pocket

for the rogue trader

selling heart.

Wish Horses

Like magi, following a star

A spiritual journey

on black ponies,

Searching for  Shambhala

(image by wiki)

The Special Bear

Do you want another go?
My pockets clinked with twenty pees.
The bear looked up at me and smiled,
his paws upon on his knees.

I've got one ugly manufactured toy
that lies and looks at me
with one glass eye
and squeezed it utters
some profanity.

'Dear Bear  these metal claws won’t hold you
nor support your weight
before the closing of the fair
to stay here is your fate.

No, I'll save my twenty pees 
for a diff'rent money spinner
the rifle shoot
or fishing net
where every one's a winner.’

'But what have you to gain..’
said Bear
‘from hoarding artificial plastic crap?
see my ears are velveteen
I'll sit upon your lap.'

'Come on you
 take another chance....
and maybe I'll be yours
who wants a plastic submarine
when I've got velvet paws?'

I see the couple arm in arm,
they haven't got a care,
I want to ask them how it was
each bagged a special bear.

The one with hearts,
excited eyes,
silk jackets,
black bow ties.
The one without the vulgar laugh
or wind up children's song.
The one that's almost gone....

(Rights to image owned by Magic Quill)

Snail

Snail

made self-sufficiency an art,

carrying his home

wherever he goes.

He is slow,

so that  taken  into consideration

he can stop for the night

in his own trailer.

Earthy brown for camouflage

he blends in easily

peeping out his antennae

exposing only the smallest part to see.

A hungry  song thrush

is  on a fence.

Beady eyes

look all around

ready to swoop down

smash the snail on his anville

and leave an empty shell.

Shoot the birds

Curse the birds! their chorus shrill

that signal  beyond my window sill

an upturned piano with broken keys

a morning concerto for anarchy.

Savour the darkness

the quietness of night

with blackness of velvet

shut out the light.

Stop the clocks

rewind the hours

that herald  the sun

and open the flowers.

Close the curtains,

dissemble the day

and here in darkness

forever I’ll stay.

(image wiki)
more at http://www.magicquillcreativewritingcollection.com/

Ode to a Sunflower

Two sunflowers with baby leaves

happy side by side in June

upon the patio enjoyed the sun

I hoped one day they’d bloom.

The summer sun was bright and hot

it parched the summer lawns,

one sunflower grew tall

the other seemed to fade a little

and lean against the wall.

It could have been her partner’s shadow

shielding her from light,

or was it his insatiable thirst

to drink up every drop in sight?

In ‘Sunflower World’ he was the champ

a handsome tall young thing

but all the goodness meant for two

was filling into him.

You cannot call it selfishness

for God made sunflowers right

and for the survival of the fittest

there must often be a fight.

The heat, without enough to drink

tipped Mrs. to one side.

Glossy leaves turned sunset yellow,

she was burning up inside.

Self-immolated on the wall

no flowers will she provide.

It was for him

and him alone

she lived

and suffered

died.

Lighthouse

Lighthouse,

battered by winds,

worn by  tides.

Many a great storm you have seen,

which makes my little knowledge of the sea

seem insignificant

Somehow.

When the storm clouds gather

I am afraid

But you are never far.

My coastguard,

preventer of darkness,

passage of light.

Constant as constellations.

My North Star.

Through all the nights,

of my life here

You have never dimmed.

Funeral

Take him to the wood,

scatter beneath a tree.

Ashes to ashes.

Chemical Storm

Magnets too close to my compass scrambled north.

No pail for bailing,

sinking

flailing.

Engine flooded.

Troubled thoughts that whistle round like the wind.

Drowned sign saying,

‘Keep this way up!’

Dampened flares,

no call of Mayday,

SOS

No! -

Batten down the hatches

for fear to drown the crew.

I will sail through

to sunset and calm water

dry out the sails and

approach the harbour light

afloat.

Kabukicho

Maneki Niko in gaudy colours

beckons from her shop.

A red flower choker adorns her neck

and on it a little bell.

Right paw raised

she wishes all,

‘good fortune!’

In return the tourist

fills her up with gold.

Oil Slick

Along the esplanade

with  bucket and spade,

sandcastles to build on the beach.

Tourist tat,

‘dingie’s’ and ‘hats.’

‘Union jacks twenty pence each.’

The oil tanker aground

shed its blood all around

Black treacle, an impossible glue.

Strong Smelling,

soon  gelling

to my clothes and the sole of my shoe.

Flightless, lifeless now the gull,

Its plumage black as gall.

‘Don’t touch it dear,’

‘Don’t get too near’

 ‘Job for a professional!’

The conservationist

in blackened yellow

waders, plastic gloves,

scours the beach with empty container

for the wildlife that he loves.

Where shingle meets sand,

he comes to stand,

gazes the horizon, so sad

I watch him cry,

and wish that I

Could help him work it out.

He too an earthbound, flightless gull,

What shipwreck cost him buoyancy?

Once content to float upon the tide,

Now at the mercy of the sea.