—Wayne Russell, Wellington, New Zealand
The savage wind quickly picks up its momentum,
slamming against the dilapidated wood slated house.
Inside barren paint-chipped walls, doors creak on
rusty old hinges.
The midnight hour has struck up its somber tune
on an ancient oak grandfather clock, while a docile
brown field mouse decides its next course of action.
On the dark and unruly streets,
I roam late at night
in the virgin wilderness of my mind,
running on fumes, so tired of life and
Helpless spirits saunter by,
as whimsical pseudo-starlets drift past
in their perfumed allure and consuming desire...
mere flowers in the dust.
Waves crash on broken beseeching shoreline,
a robotic throbbing of dance floor repetition
She kisses my desire, all thoughts fade,
for a moment...
A lone pink balloon caught in the crossfire of a
Blustery winter's day…
Gloom and doom it dissipates,
A golden ray of sunlight captures the circumference…
A small child in bright yellow rain coat gives chase.
The balloon ascends, the child saunters away
When the new wears away
and this love for you bleeds dry
from the arrow flung by cupid's bow...
Should we just stay together?
Should we watch our children grow,
like well-cultivated roses....
fermented within the compost
of a generic romance?
What happened to the carefree America of my youth?
I blinked and you were gone...
or was I just too young to know of all the horrors
lurking beneath your star-spangled surface?
Was I too naïve to understand what Mr. Carter said?
Or did I even care about his lies?
Was I too lost within the pages of my favourite book,
"Where the Wild Things Are", to follow the rhetoric of
what the smug politicians in D.C. said on the 5 O'Clock news?
Was I too childish to understand about the goings-on
in the bloody rice fields of the Viet Nam war?
Was I too wrapped up in being 10 to give it much thought the
night my favourite former Beatle, John Lennon was shot dead
outside the Dakota building in his beloved N.Y.C.?
Or was I just too busy wishing my drunken father
would just wake the hell up from his sloppy sprawled-out slumber
on the ugly green sofa, and just go away forever?
America America land that I still love,
I grew up and departed from your oil-stained shores
and downhill slide into corporate insanity.
Yet I still pray for your quick recovery,
for it is within your borders
I once again long to dwell.
This must be how you felt
In darkened room
Encased within your straight jackets of woe
By solemn candle flame
you wrote of unimaginable pain
on your vintage typewriter
in innocent hours of early morn
you found your voice
(insane as it was)
and spat your venomous muse.
All missions accomplished
while your legions of fans gathered at your
blood-stained feet so unassuming.
This must be how you felt when into my realm
you roamed so empty and deluded
I was the down-and-out poet a drunken loner
a “Diamond in the Rough”.
You picked me up dusted me off gave me hope
Hopes of a brighter future
(long as you could do my thinking for me)
you polished me off carefully placing me on your mantel
amongst your other trophies...
As “Publish! Publish! Publish!”
spouted forth from your deceitful lips
across the miles I lapped up every word
like a cat lapping cream out of his bowl
Yes, silly me!
“Please be careful who you let in”
Yes from now on
I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble and a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.
—Sir Isaac Newton
P.S. Katy Brown’s SO, Robert, is out of ICU but still in the hospital, after having a pretty rough time of it for the last week. She sends her appreciation to the poetry community for all the good thoughts!