|Robert Black lives in Annan, Dumfriesshire, Scotland.|
© 1994/2000/2002/2003 Robert Black
I rest upon a dried river's bed
And through my head flow memories of oak hulls
Drifting over mystical crystals
Of glittering rainbow blue.
Holding the breeze with webs of rope
Watching the tensely sensing canvas
Searching for the most laden sail.
Becalmed, they beach around raging tables
Overflowing with disputed half forgotten truths,
Until another creaking gust
Hauls them on to something new.
Then, the villain of the piece
Tired of being a conversation piece
Jumps ship, leaving the motley crew
To run aground, driven by their own vices.
Washed up hulk, as good at keeping water in as out,
Open to showering skies that trickle through gaps
Filling connecting flowing flooding,
A fortress of water standing by an empty river.
A man in a bar asked when time would end,
And someone replied, "What time's that then friend?
Now? Today? This week? This month? This year?
This generation, this era, or this civilization?".
"What time did you have in mind?", he asked again
As the reasonable majority waited patiently.
"The time I spend waiting for the waiting to end.
for the moment when building can begin
on the victory tombstone at the end of this 'game'
(when it will be safe to rock the boat we're all in).
Till then I'm imprisoned in this winning team".
His children were like blotched signatures
Which he erased with a grin, in case malicious minds
Started asking why the television is never alone
Inside the deathly silence they all call home.
Great Hickory Dickory Dock Disaster
A tock ticks, slips, and tumbles out of control
Crashing through chains of trained thoughts
Which jangle and fall like glass dominoes
Onto cobwebbed floors of anchored reactions,
Emotional decisions decided long ago.
All work is property of Robert Black. © 2002/2003.
© 2003 SubtleTea Productions All Rights Reserved