Mountain Top

I am sitting here like patience on a mountain

White clouds for wings, a shadow over mountaineers

In distant view green, grey- valleys and wastelands

The seasons mean nothing to the unmoving

The echoes can hear you, the world is so self involved,

They will no longer speak to you

Dry day

A cloud hangs low over the plains,

tilled land broken dry, in the bare sun

The cloud is low, lower, so close

as though the earth drew breath in cold dry air

The mist, turns to breeze, passing

sweat on skin, turning droplets,

trails of sweat into ice, biting and unbearable

Labyrinth

The Phantom roar of an ancient ocean tide
A storm raging on the sun,
Annihilation a billion light years away
Roaring Helios, Titan unfettered, alien and distant
Unfathomable might, reins past mortal mind
Cestial symphony, groaning giant
If you spoke shattered sound would echo
Over the nine fixed powers,
A turn of your face-
Apollo, light bringer, purifier of rituals
Prophet, appear before closed eyes
Drawing down revaluations
Silver thread in the dreamy path
Float past the dark unknown

Idol meditations

Quiet and unmoving figure in shadowy sanctuary

Heavy in cement, garish colours and mass produced worship

Your arms wide, open and embracing the slums and towers

The misery, noisy and desperate incantations- calculus for virtue

Hungry in extravagant prayer, furious in all encompassing faith

Harder and colder in steely indifference, gold hearted over empty stomachs

Adorned, lavished, ancient and praised amongst aching limbs and inner torment

Before you we fearfully fold in submission, for you may be muted,

But the devil’s voice is always echoed, among spectral nations and monstrous profit

Blood drinking machines and ciphers in our souls