The Running Dog

For all bifurcating branches
Sublime in their simplicity,
A dog has very little need

Indeed, yet with joyous barks
No less retrieves
Inherent interventions

Between what we deemed
Essential, or inbetween,
Or instead invented;

This contrast is at times
A subtle one,
Like sunlight through

Doppelganger-dappled leaves,
Ever since antiquities
In these dark-shaded parks

Of our entwining souls;
Yet if not for that twisted,
Rotten tooth of birch

In boggy undergrowth,
There would be no us,
Nor any running dog at all.

Withering

I woke within sounds appalling,
Crow caws on my pillow mourning;
Rolling over, window-way,
Found jackdaw claws on the other;
Jaundiced wallpaper,
Sunlight slithers,
Only believing such dust
From their claws are withered.

Sell my books, sell the lot,
Donate my bones to charity shops;
Do one thing well, no polyglots,
Place my plea in a local plot;
Gasoline dreams, gardenia rot,
I woke in a dream I then forgot.

Last Armadillo

When the last remaining animal –
Or statistically likely to be
Insects pestled from their
Trillion kingdoms into
One final fly’s resilience,
Or persistence in a millipede,
Entrenched, like a final
Ardent campaigner armoured and
Protesting against a railroading
While his friends from
Treeline canopies all fell,
Curled in a hopeless ball,
In otiose defiance
Against humanity, and defence
Instead of deference to
Authority, Ark-reversal,
Last armadillo, last pangolin,
Last bat, turtle, last blue fin,
What will happen then
Upon this faithful reel,
When dejected, I am
Reincarnated
Upon a karmic wheel.

Soul Coast

My feet are a foreign land
As I stand where surf relapses,
Whitecaps are my family
And encapsulate with great
Succinctness
And sadness

My lifetime of experiences,
An escapologist, an emphasis,
My bare toes in saline curls,
Where is my soul’s house
In this here and now?
I too loved the feet of her odes,

As measured as moonlight
With feminine verbs,
I caught a punctured headlamp
From a lane that would curve
And chicane until it meets
A coastal kerb, above

The haunting cove,
And I am compelled,
Once again, to restart,
To daylight’s return.
On periwinkle sands,
A mustard-coloured heart.