The walking dead

the slither of escape taunts a queen in a cage
     spirit lies chained
her nature is numb
    
     the world through bars
her daily domain
     despair is a maze
It has swallowed her rage
     
     night falls..
she dreams hot pursuit
     of gazelle
no match for her pace
     usain can relate.

She opens ashy eyes
     resigned to fate
too beat to pray
     no choice but wait

     suffering mute
no more stomach in her fight
     eye's fire followed suit
deftly left in the night.

     soul knows no peace
but the smallest relief
     each day
fed meat
     cold slabs
bought cheap
     she is watched while she eats
we civilised love a beast
     could it be we recognise our savage beneath

thrilled kids giggled bounced pebbles of her head
     heart beats in vain for the walking dead.

Life jacket

The need for solid ground
      is the human condition.

A lost one switched sides
     found peace in religion

Though my story backtracks my heart barely beats different.

Just an unshackled mind - a small revolution.

I look back through a cracked lens
 
and see an old love affair.

She, my life jacket once filled with air.

     Now punctured, deflated
there are many replacements
     I must gracefully decline.
I swim ragged as ever.

At sea with a fresh introspection -
     dogma is dead;
I take a whiff of the freedom,
     and catch pride swell -
My gassed up faculty of reason,
     whispers that it was my achievement.

Shame,
     the epiphany not mine to claim.

I arrived at this place by tides of change.
Circumstances
                       surely
                                paved
                                          the
                                                way.

Long I was yoked on my travels,
     how did it all unravel?

No thunderbolt struck;
     eye did not blink unstuck.

The stories simply fell apart,
     piece by piece.
Underneath, naked premise lay exposed;
     over a seasons discontent,
fear and guilt
     dissolved slow.
As mighty erosion,
     realisation in motion
niggling doubt
     seeds sprout
from ploughed lines of enquiry.

Nose poked in places
     eyes took hard looks
saw
     contradiction
                        indefensible
                                         embarrassing
                                                       
"truths"

Now baggage discarded,
     questioned myself,
questioned others.
     'Allah knows best'
I am told,
     but no plugs for these holes

in grand narratives and arbitrary rules.
     Hard wired
blind devotion
     is to walk in emperors clothing.

Allah knows best
     once calmed my thinking,
till my truth outgrew its prison.
     Mine is not concrete or monstrous
beyond taboo
     I freely ponder.

Mine is but an aphids size
     voracious in its appetite

My truth remains unsure
       head held high.

The mystery of the ticket inspector

A ticket inspector has the hump.
A big bandage covers up his nose.

Could it be there's nothing underneath?

Was it sliced when the train doors closed.

Maybe he sneezed ex plo sive ly

Nose off like a rocket
followed by snot.
Set for the stars, it climbed and climbed
bisected a cloud at its peak then dropped.

Or was his ear yanked carelessly.
Like a chain it caused a flushing
his nose sunk scuppered.

Each year he mourned the loss on the day it disappeared
Tears rolled down his cheek
a grudge was held against ear.

He may have even tripped as he ran down the stairs
fell flat on his face

Pride crushed like grapes

Tragic comedy,
 or comic tragedy?
A surgeon offered two options,

said choose wisely..

We can rebuild it.. or amputate! 


How about

every single smell reminded him of her
depressed he decided he would smell no more

He had his nose appraised
placed a pitch on the web
alongside some shots 
here's what he said:

Vintage sniffer
Can smell lies and deciet 
One careful owner 

who no longer has the need

It didn't take long, you see demand was strong

Sold and delivered to the highest of the bidders.

Perhaps he was born with a cursed one
Each year he would feel another stich come undone
     

Till nose hung like a door insecure on it's hinges

destined to drop, plop

it sleeps with the fishes.

Deep grooves in his brow
under his breath he mutters..
Why me?
Only he knows how he suffers.