destruction

"It is easier to destroy your life than make it".

Sometimes it feels though despite moving onwards, there is still something which lurks waiting to destroy you if you let it.

The Third Hand

One in the shadow
Two in the light with
shovels or saws,
scattered seeds and handshakes.
Two in the light
One in the shadow
with a barrel of a gun
in an anvil fist.

I remember as a kid, we had a coal fire, a proper coal fire. When the fire had burnt out there was a tray of ash to be disposed of. Sitting here this lunch time, I remembered a few times running a finger through the cold ash; the texture and colour. It seemed as good as place as anywhere to start a poem.

Ash

Grey chalk piled like dejected sand
Owes nothing, says nothing.
Fine as a thread of colour in the iris
the ash body smothers,
congeals sweat and blood into a
dark tar paste.
Spread by black stubs
in the eyes of our Lovers.
Our own burning bones
are the pyre of unsettled memorial.

People write for different reasons, fame, fortune, recognition, money and self gratification amongst other things. This is why I don't call myself a writer but an expressionist.

So the question to write with is, "What does it mean to write for you?" This is my part of my answer.

Originally I was going to write a poem about my father, however like a runaway train what came out on the page was something completely different.

I have always seen this as the mind ticking away on a subconcious or unconcious level and then crawling it's way into a concious level and out through the pen.

"Matchstick Mountain" is an odd piece but in a weird kind of way says a lot even though (if you like) it's written almost in code.

You can stop living for your Demons but that is not to say you are free from them and if your not careful, you can return to feeding them.

I've known "Dog" a long time and between us we have seen some sights, not always for the best. Since the last time I saw him I have suspected an old demon has returned to his door and the text I have received this morning has strengthened the feeling.

We have done some miles between us; a friendship forged through the darkest of days. Perhaps like before, it is time to save Dog from himself once more.

The following poem is an expression.