The Eraser
As I came to a low stonewall
on my daily walk
I saw before me a landscape painting,
Eighteen sheep and twelve lambs I counted;
as I thought who the painter might be,
there was a sudden blur in the air,
and when the picture cleared there
was a Jenny and its foal;
five wooly backs had disappeared;
and yes the painting looked better,
but I didn’t linger, I wouldn’t like the artist to
think I was a part of his picture
A Day of Reckoning
Forenoon, it had been raining during the night
the wizened winter landscape was now green
and amongst olive trees long legged sheep grazed;
their pastor and, on occasions, executioner, sat on
a boulder casting dreams into the future; man and
beast, rustic peace, pity I hadn’t a camera.
On my way to the village to buy the papers, a sheep
had been run over by a truck, with its stomach burst
open and its content glinting in the sun, it was still
alive. Ah, you dumb animal abandoned by everyone
and it looked at me without any hope of deliverance,
so I reversed my car and ran over its head.
As the skull was crushed its eyes popped out, landed
on the middle of the road that now had eyes to see
with, the shook of this made it shudder long rents in
the asphalt wench black tears trickled. Quickly
I threw the eyes into the thicket which was instantly
transformed into a field of tinkling blue bells.
From nowhere a road gang of small, denim clad men
with big hats appeared, they where badly paid lived
on road kills. Expertly strew soft sand on blood, filled
cracks with healing asphalt, and off they drove with
their dinner. Empty road it had no knowledge of what
had just occurred, it was up to me to remember.
how the heart does suffer
the ole concave in the chest feeling
the center of the soul
pumping of energy and life…….skips a beat
an accidental cut of the flesh
the softest inner cry that only he
can hear
the protective withdrawal
hoping no-one will notice
fear of exposing the vulnerability
feeling foolish even more stupid
believing in no self-worth
spinning darkness you comfortably
submerge into
to breath
to only breath
estrange myself from thought
to sit amongst the furious trees
in my mind
flowers are unable to grow in this
storm
its so swift
not hearing any birds singing
in the blindness
congealed
stuck
inside
subconscious habits fool us all
knowing different is alien
transcending the change
changing
I don’t know how to do it
slowly the spin cycle down
relieving the over-heated engine
when the last chug has stopped
the steam turns into fluffy clouds
sensitive, refuge
the heart beats on
not rigid and scared
calmed and open
the virgin feeling is fresh
light all around
all loved in the same way
its all’s interpretation that makes
the extent of love different
celebrate
everyone celebrate
for the air we so naively inhale
what is truth
truth is change
change is never
the same
written 22 Feb 1994
by vanessa