geometrics and some physical optics

he woke
he pissed
he smoked,
sat at the desk as others
before him,
heavy oak resonance,
with politicknife would cut policy
it had become about color,
the blue the yellow
strove to adjust to each other,
the red the green
so incompatible,
clarity was needed in misdirection
politicknife more palette than blade
scraped bluntly over canvas
to portray the country
texture and relief,
some of it muddied
stained like shit on a public toilet,
he spoke on TV
bright suited as a clown
body language and gestures
seen and felt as colors of betrayal
it was beyond functionalism
and wider knowledge
colors bled
every perception was not upheld,
people took to tree lined avenues
beneath autumn auburn,
held poster paint placards
chanting,
colors adjusted
all attitudes changed,
again at his desk
looking at errors of doctrine,
the religious confined to sunday
men of friday peace,
zealots who ranted for any god
they where unifying
he felt afraid,
colors that should never combine
on palette or canvas,
became alive,
betrayed inside government halls,
closed eyes so that the brightness
would not be visible,
humanities noose
had underwritten his future,
rainbows can be clutched
in eager hands and each strand
peeled apart
scattered
like shotgun pellets,
reflected refracted
no more distinction
it was over,
slashing the canvas
pissed over it
pouring gasoline
it burned,
defeat knew a cell door
and he was content,
within gray and bleak darkness
color could not and would not intrude
now he felt alive

poignant limitations of sorrow

jeweled tombs of once visionary eyes

that had lost fiery lightning and the moon,

withdrawn no supernatural

accomplishment,

as symbols of obscure hours

watched with a disdain for light

becoming soiled by the soul

with august sorrows,

mankind knew of many merciless rulers

who used terror as supreme power,

rebellion awakened from stubborn sleep,

imagination of those

seeing a future others had not

next morning would have many suggestions,

vanity would not nurse emotion

bullets would not be kissed by lips

that spoke of treacherous dreams,

music of voices spread over cities

and blue skied landscapes,

plans conceived with  tears

and women taking widows veil,

television messages and distortion

vulgar external eyes

hands folded on lap

pretend subtle debate and interest

whilst buildings burn

assured rocks thrown

defiance not disguised,

all interior tragedies have those warriors

the fallen and fables,

but all endings are not the same

for that you have to wait

for winters grasp

secret and vague in austerity

moon in nightspace became silversmith

light hammered over island

catching the nudity

i kept vigil over,

a saddened animal

hunched in an undergrowth habitat

i fed on something that dreams give

as i watched

her polished by tides overwhelm,

i could of been a nation on it’s knees

waiting for that one that comes

and brings a substance,

yet too afraid to show yourself

for fear of spoiling a grand occasion,

damp skin

natures jeweler working diamonds on,

a martyred bird called out

shriek of the night

she turned and i was certain of being seen

my eyes would be vivid in the darkness,

retreating with a tread  so soft,

knowing as you saw swept long hair

i would not possess

despite the urgency of my loins

without satisfaction i would have to wait

as this was not the night

angels at the pagan threshold

landscape seen by standing eye

on wind stripped rooftops edge,

answers pilgrims of nausea

fall as if from the depths of the sky,

horizon alone with forest

sun faced green silk and gold,

tracks of those who journey in faith

into the still of wooded glade,

within voices imagined

brambles pulled by enraged fingers

mess and tangle hide

that place used as a remote hope,

he should be there

pale faced

emotions a fountains stream

pleasure would not be found

with slackened vines,

this horizon embraced him

pulled into its complex afternoon

where time lie down

petal seconds fall,

chaos is not for choosing

sleep will not be heeded

as these files of thought

are put away,

staunched by class,

those in power jailers to tomorrow,

gas would fill indecent blue

and many more would fall,

for the sake

of secrets of kings

wordle

state visit

grand palace of united creatures

stage to the supper of presidents and kings,

finest foods the forest could provide

cutlery shone on butlers jacket

and in their finery they arrived

stoat,

weasel,

ferret,

mole, badger and toad,

to eat and speak confidences made

treaties broken amended and signed,

it would be a glorious affair

trumpets and choir,

long oak table shone,

voices hushed as speaker spoke

in long oration,

nodding and quietly assured

they waited to speak there turn

as fine turnip soup was served

laden with cream and pinch of pepper,

toad wanted to be center of attention

without his contributions all others

would fail,

badger muttered under his breath,

too many times when the others had

been awash he had bailed them out,

mole was pleased with his display

all seemed so merry

without fox who stayed away to

the east snapping grumpily at

his pack,

blackberry wine flowed

differences appeared

it declined as dessert appeared

your just a stoat someone shouted

badger roared overturning table

seed cake rolled

as food fight ensued old hatred emerged

mole hovered in the middle

watched as all crumbled about him

anger consumed as reddened faces

spat angry words,

tomorrow there would be war

someone would be overthrown,

and what of mole

confused in his coalition with

the silent absent owl

should he return to the

underground creatures

that adored him,

not knowing how to stave off

economical collapse

or tidal surge of opposition

meekly snuffling

into a hand stitched handkerchief

knew his days would end in

prison

Helen Ward