Snowberry Time

Dedicated to Ruskin’s bearded hobo: 2010

Hobos and homeless, shadowed hunched balls buried in dirty blue sacks

pause, will they become snowberries?

Easterlies blow minus zero temperatures

across the land; deluged in virginal snowfall

espied, one snowberry. Settled in Ruskin’s door

waxen, white, an imperfect ball

of frozen humanity. It lingers; will it wake?

Evergreen, it waits the belated sirens

the bellowing howl of crisis management

the battered minds of all seeing tired medics.

Alive or dead? Humanity palled.

No ears will hear it; no mouth will it kiss, no words will be spoken.

Infinite replications in winter doorways

no-one sees, no-one acts. Snowberries fall.

White Out Daze

Oozed into miniscule blobs

I hit the event horizon. Everything that can be is;

yet I, I am zilch

no greatness;

the darkness

the space         between         space

is where I exist.                                   Does existence live here?

shadows drift                           left       and                             right

white     haloed heads                                  move

zigzagged light

unbalanced

sound broken                          record grooved

queaseid stomach bites

eyes murdered, light ungallant

Next Term

Next term is poetry term. Lots more poetry. I am practising now. I hope you enjoy.

Trapped

Write a scene where someone is trapped in surroundings with no or little prospect of escape in the near future.

Have I opened my eyes? It feels like they’re open; if they are then its pitch black. Maybe I’m asleep; no definitely awake, that hurt, right through my leg. I can’t move it. Okay so I’m somewhere. Look up, ah, I’m down; the black is bluer up. Can I stand?

‘Oh Fuck!’

‘HELP. HELP. CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?’

I can’t lay here. Is there something to hold? Grit. Cold. Damp.

‘Ouch.’

Near the side, a wall maybe; rough, full of little ledges. I need to get closer. Shit my hands. Push through it. Cold. Hot. Breathe.

Was that someone?

‘HELP. CAN YOU HEAR ME? HELP.’

Where is everyone? Think. How did I get here? Yes, I remember, took the rubbish out, then being here. What else? Slipping, I slipped on something, ice?

‘HELP, HELP.’

Why is my face stiff? Dried. Ahhh. Sore. A cut. Is that why thinking is hard? There was a coal delivery today. I could be warm in front of the roaring fire; imagine that: the flames pinking the coals; Tigger on my lap. Even the cat isn’t around. Bet he’s warm.

‘TIGGER?’

Nope. Got more sense than to be here with me. Was that someone?

‘HELP, HELP. PLEASE HELP ME.’

Okay; what have I got? A wall, a leg, sore hands, a bumped head. Stupid. What have I got to help me? A wall. What use is a wall? I can’t feel anything else.

Is it getting warmer? It feels warmer. A voice, someone there?

‘HELP.’