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Rusty Broadspear


It was a grey damp noon when they materialized
Around the central light, inches below the ceiling.
A fluttering mass of moth-like creatures disguised
As something else. A black snowfall, so small, unappealing.

Settled and scattered chaotically over furniture and floor.
Cloaked in a cloud of unreality, I harvested them one by one,
Placed them on a silver tray, determined not to withdraw.
Time shrivelled and swelled, the tray was full, whereupon,

I set it upon a table, drew up a chair, began to pray..... controlled,
Swollen moments, statuesque; with random thought, I surveyed,
Bending forward, not touching what was warm but now was cold.
Sensing inspiration, illumination, yet simultaneously afraid......


On the day of my Four Ho Ho Ho, a couple of days ago,
She took both kids, flew abroad, with a builder friend of mine.
Unexpectedly, I see the substructure of a personal hollow
That I've been digging for years but not of my design.

Heartaches, mistakes, grief and naively breaking the law.
For the latter I stand to 'do time,' so 'end of tether' seems so real.
Beyond enraged, already caged but no longer willing to endure,
I concede to the Knighthood of Abuser, User, Total Imbecile.

Two days of clouded, lucid thinking, drinking, inwardly shrinking,
Curtains drawn, withdrawn, wanting so much to be reborn,
Slithering in slime, shrivelled time, within such misty thinking
A feared conclusion appeared; I was nothing but a pawn.

After Again

All senses barricaded, a hand spiderly walked to the tray,
A stranger watched, as it sorted for corners and straight edges.
Disgraced as it placed them, filling them in, to portray
All he wanted to forget, regrets and empty pledges.

A picture built of all that was lost and all that was spilt,
A thousand segments, most of which he did not recognise.
And finally he saw light above depression and guilt,
That so many of these segments were other peoples lies.

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