Anthracite

A wet mist caressed the half-man of Shadowbush moor

A perfect time for him to emerge and feast on moss or persons

He had never feasted upon persons but sometimes he wished it

They were mean, beating him with their shillelaghs and curses

Leaving him sad, just for a kind touch instead of this ache to his core

The creatures of the moor were kinder though he be broken and bent

Birds would still sing in his presence and frogs croaked without a care

He’d never stepped on one or done no harm and he never ever wished it

Them in the village chased him away when he was young, naked and bare

A face that spoiled milk they said, mis-shaped body, so away he was sent

Within the moor he made his home, away from the village and problems it held

But the moor held gems gifted from Danu such as a log large, hollow and dry

And after a sleep waking cosy and snug he was as happy as he ever wished it

Then as the birds would sing and mist folded back the loneliness made him cry

Buckled his body may be but it was the hurt in his heart that needed to be quelled

Never knowing what he’d done wrong, through the taunts he’d ask but they’d never tell

Blessed his heart was what the animals saw and not the face the persons say sickens

He had feelings just like them persons but he’d do no harm even though he wished it

Some little tricks is ok to make things even, like teaching their dogs to steal their own chickens

A special one saved for those that bashed him the most, he’d creep in the night and shit in their well.

A spinning bullet whined above his head and he was scared

Across the valley through the rocks and trees shots flared

He flattened himself as low as he could to become one with the rock

A rifle close against his cheek while one hand turned white holding the stock

After several volleys the quiet came emphasising the moon and stars in the night

Moving slowly with a chameleon’s stealth he rolled over with his eye to the sight

Searching his memory from the last flash seen he felt the cold creep up his back

Strangers came preaching his ways were wrong as he gently squeezed his rifle cracked

Please let it end was all that he hoped as he prayed to his God listening above

He was just a farmer, a tiller of the land but we do what we do for

The ones we love

Flashes erupted like fireworks night at the lake at home but he was scared

Across the valley came bits of hot metal like angry bees as more shots flared

He felt superior in his battle fatigues, his helmet, his gun and this rock

His M4 ready, held high against his chest and an bald eagle carved in the stock

As it went quiet and at the right time he leaped to his feet and pumped shots at the night

It didn’t matter to him the bullets were free so there is no need to put his eye to the sight

His adrenaline surged men called out and he wondered at the stars as he lay on his back

These people were no match for them, he knew this as he heard an old rifle crack

He was a deliverer of freedom and righteousness as pronounced by his God above

He was soldier sent to die for the father of his land and told it’s required

The ones we love

He’d heard some were killed but he was not fussed and never ever was he scared

Sitting behind a slab of maple and teak and smiling as his profits flared

Selling his wares of destruction to both sides then scrambling away under his rock

Whipping the factory for more and more with saliva dripping as he watched the stock

A black tie as he acted his part, wooing the money holders well into the night

His flaccid personality perfect for suck, please the blood and guts is well out of sight

His only strength in the lies he believes, money can buy anything except a spine for his back

Sitting in his building so far from reality of life even some else holds the whip he cracks

He the spreader of evil, a parasite on our world and believing he is the great God above

Not caring of course who lives and dies but more who has the money and just for him

The only one he loves.

I don’t want any trouble you know, I just want to listen to Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy.

Maybe a sandwich, with a bit of ham and lettuce. And some telly with a cold beer on the doily next to my chair.

Yeah, some wheel of fortune or some of them latest music videos. Even them garden shows, I like what they have to say.

But who cares about what I want eh? Its all a conspiracy just to get at me I’m sure of it, some evil ploy.

I have things to do you know? Life to live, grass to mow, sort out the shed and go through mums stuff – might even wash my hair.

There’s always something invading my stuff. Now I have to find dads old machete and the new axe I go just to deal to the Zombie in my driveway.

Have you heard the screams?

Is it my bones rattling with the fear?

That maybe they are mine

Well that’s how it seems

Have you heard the screams?

Is that why things aren’t clear?

Maybe it’ll all be fine

Maybe they’re just dreams

Have you heard the screams?

No one at the wheel to steer

Cold plates of hate on which we dine

And the echoes of previous screams

She slowly chewed and watched, her ear buds firmly seated
They went about as if critiquing her work, writing things down
And she smiled as one bent down to view something of interest

Sun shone on the wetness of what nature left behind, so professional
Onlookers gathered, not knowing what was going on but experts all the same
And indeed this was the epilogue, the applause, the objective

The excitement in her was controlled, too controlled some would say
But she liked that as one gloved hand rose to adjust the ear bud
She turned up the music, feeling the warm steel below her coat

And her head nodded to Elvis Costello,

“And she was watching the detectives”

Wandering through the cataracts of a foggy night
whispers are spoken behind trees, beyond your sight

Your chest bears the weight of some dirty grub
who has snatched your ticket but left you the stub

You can only wish that their time comes soon
and witness them cold  neath a dirty moon

But for now you must wait within the damp bracken
for a well deserved revenge for all that has been taken.

They comment on my shiny armour
As they struggle to hold their drool
Unbeknownst the knife they hold
As they pretend to be a farmer

Felicitous colleagues wear their masks
As I toil amongst the broken
Tears for the lost wet my cheeks
As they drop poison from their flasks.

By another name a Judas rat
Who dispise what they cant do
Diprosopus existence their greatest tool
As they carve their name upon my back

Waves crash on the deck and grope at my shins

pretending to be gentle thus lying about their power

always wanting more, pretending they loved me

its rich bounty of fish and salt as the tease

This love will claim me before I am ready

as with all things meaning the most

water embraces the body like mothers arms

and bubbles rise away like a lover saying goodbye.

Foot steps faded along with the chuckle
across the wooden floor I can see the Otago Daily Times
I wonder if I have read it

Oh and there is Spotty Boy’s chew toy
the underside of my couch is Aladdin’s cave
but it hurts a bit now

my ear and cheek is warm as I remember
teeth were seen, shouting and arms
then something was in my head

the red seeping across the wood
is the same colour as her lips
and I still couldn’t blame her