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The Locust Eaters
They came
in thousands,
tens,
hundreds
and more,
and pressed
their metal teeth
against freedom,
against voices
lost
in the empty wind,
forgotten prayers,
and once-open doors,
for as their wings
pressed against
each other
in conquest,
invasion
and hate,
children
ran from their eyes
of media,
confusion,
anger,
and tore chunks
of books,
bibles,
and political statements
and slowly
chopped up
opinions,
and reasons,
the duress
of history,
and tore out
each other’s hearts
and ate
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Storm Passed
No wind,
a sudden still,
silent calm
after the storm,
the moon is full
and rising,
the skies swept
clear,
the earth open
and welcoming,
life again
to be born,
for there
an afterthought
of winds and trembling,
as the trees beckon
to the blue
and morning skies,
a blossoming dawn,
greeting the ebb
and flow of empty sands
and tides,
and along the shore
and further,
above the woodlands,
the rooftops
the early morning smokes
of wood,
earth,
and fires,
the voices of morning, tremulous
and greeting
the stretching light of morning,
a hundred gulls turn
in silver,
white,
and shimmering
joyfully skimming
the opening light
of empty skies
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Storm Anchored
Anchored,
in the sinking strips
of silent sleeping
earth,
the fall of winter
has long since passed,
chasing moonlit cries
the drowning sorrow
of the moon
cries in silence
left unheard
turning last
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Storm Night
Storm at night,
stars fallen down,
the landscapes been overturned,
forests and trees
wrestling the sky,
racing in the darkness, thrown to the ground,
there’s no sign,
of the moon,
hidden in ragged edges
of the pressing skies,
the earth wretched
and naked
under the rage
of western eyes
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Storm fever
Through shredded clouds
stretched in seas,
storm blown
behind the wind,
and the dashing constellations
of ragged winter skies,
the stars dip
and flounder,
trees spinning wildly,
tossing,
flailing
pummeled
by invisible hands of giants
their madness
blinded
hidden,
behind moonlit
eyes
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Walking Asleep
It’s so quiet,
left alone
in the awaiting dark,
dreams and memories, drifting like flakes
of a forgotten sky,
pictures long ago
haunt the window,
reflections fading
in the fall of light,
only the moon
rising in a smile,
across the frost
and whisper
of evening stars,
listen for tonight,
listen for tonight,
they whisper,
we’ll walk with you
after midnight,
into the silence
of emptiness,
across the gated city park,
for there,
on the bowling green,
behind the walls
and shadows
of summer,
long,
of summer,
long since passed away,
you can meet yourself
before you leave this place and move
into the stars
far
and further
away
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She had watched them both. Followed them. Called them secretly within her fractured heart.
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He turned and saw her stare. The keenness of her intent. Like flint.
Like stone.
She had decided.
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But one
And let
the stars,
open,
one,
by one,
by one,
pressing
between sailing clouds,
for it matters
to none,
For the streets
are now empty,
the roads going
nowhere,
the houses
bedraggled
along the hillside,
curtains shut,
doors closed,
the world,
forgotten,
gone,
somewhere.
But the moon
he rises above
the valleys,
the windswept hills
and trees,
the pathways
to the heavens,
but no one’s
following
the moon,
no one,
not one,
believes.
And yet,
in the silence
she walks
this way,
dawn
and sunrise
across
the eastern
call of skies,
blinking
she smiles,
for summer
is in,
her morning eyes,
this day.
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In the black drizzle
of pressing darkness,
the call to life,
another day,
a single bird
cries across
the dawning skies,
in silver light
and morning grey,
‘wake up!’
she calls,
‘wake up!’
and again,
‘Look, her smile
begins!’
and beyond
the edge
of a passing night
the sun stretches
across her skies
lifting light
and hope
for another day
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