Thursday 8 August 2019

A Poem a Day (103): Bloody rule


Bloody rule

We live to conquer, he says,
He informs us, whoever will listen.

This want is a parasitic scourge,
Blasting a hole through a country
Hungry for a hero and finding none.

Walls, bricks, mortar, where are we?
Is this placard too rotten to be read?

He bears a shield, but no sword,
Only words burned in a bitter pot
Offering daggers to paper people.

It bleeds. Something is rotten and
It is not the Bard. This voice lies
Instead, building barricades where
Only unity should dwell. His voice
Sours, his body sickens inside.

We live to conquer, he says,
But the letters are hollow and red.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, February 10, 2019

Monday 5 August 2019

A Poem a Day (102): Past present



Written for 2minutesgo. If you fancy writing some flash fiction or poetry, and getting/giving feedback, or just reading other people's creations, head over to JD Mader's 2minutesgo website. It’s a great place to go and write whatever is in your head. Cheers.

Past present

We gather our skirts,
            Posies marking the fields
                                Like breadcrumbs.

     It drains
          Skies, kicking,
                 Bent in showers,

            Wrought iron
         Tearing.

                        These bars no longer suffice
                                    To hold,
                                    To bend,
                                To strip identity from a face,

                                                            To seek disgrace
                                                       In error.

The cattle low
In forest nights
‘Gainst an ever-distant light,
Playing without sound.
           
And still we stand
                                                As trees dismembered,
                                                            Branches scattered
                                                                                    On the wind.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, August 3, 2019x

Sunday 4 August 2019

A Poem a Day (101): The hog


Written for 2minutesgo. If you fancy writing some flash fiction or poetry, and getting/giving feedback, or just reading other people's creations, head over to JD Mader's 2minutesgo website. It’s a great place to go and write whatever is in your head. Cheers.


The hog

It’s the purple in the blue of the black,

The stillness in the heart of a silver shimmer,
A glance back to a simple moment, a turning,
A makeshift haze in a pattern of error.

It’s a recreation borne forth of boredom,
A destructive hobby akin to dissection, curious,
The parts newly bodied, fantastical and light,
A trip to the other in a brightness far too intense.

I see it charms you, this mirage of escape.

It will cover you in the fool’s garb for a minute
Or a bitter lifetime if you choose to wear it tight.

It’s a minefield, a maze of the fainthearted,
A collection of experiences sealed in unmarked jars.

Which will you choose and which to savour?

Is the lesson too great or too small for you? Can you tell?
Should I open the gate, let your disillusion spill through?

Walk in colours, speak only of true things, and exit
The grey, leaving it where it dies, distilled and broken.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, August 3, 2019