Tag Archives: myths

Forgotten God

Forgotten God

He swallowed a light bulb.
Waited. Nothing happened.
His heart did not glow.
His brain did not shine.
Must have been a fake one, he thought,
like a robot dog not keyed to whine.
He chewed on an atom bomb,
sure it was bad for his teeth.
He did not like its taste.
Wrote down – will only bring grief.
He drank a draught of sulphur,
felt like a volcano cone.
Began to question
why he always ate alone.
He munched upon a washing machine.
It tumbled on his tongue,
which first felt wet then dry.
His head hummed like a launderette
till he was fresh and spry.
He went into the bathroom,
first to check his weight.
Thought, next time he would order
only half a ton of rusty trucks
mashed upon his plate.
Now he was a forgotten god,
he did not know how to behave.
But then, no one cared a fig,
passed him by without a wave.

Sundial

Sundial

Sundial, lagoon, aviary, amethyst, sapphire.
Of pleasant things think,
let my mind drink
before all’s forgotten in sleep.
Weird what memory may keep.
Find words to outwit a wizard,
hoodwink a witch.
Sometimes to find the best berries,
you must fall in a ditch.
What now do I discern in the stream?
My mind cannot translate
the strange hieroglyphs of dream.
The heat of high summer
hardens my brow,
and where am I now?
Seems on the lawn of a mansion I stand,
the shadow of a sundial I touch with my hand,
and wonder if it will make time move more slow,
for I do not want to go.
The forest I sought was in a myth
and not on a map.
Aware of the snare,
I evaded the trap.
It is all right, really.
I knew I’d never walk under those trees,
to climb up to those mountains,
but I have felt the same wind
as the wings of a hawk,
and I have sensed the secrets of water,
heard the silent ones talk.

Yeti

                                                Yeti

It’s all right. I will tell no one.
I’ll just take a few photographs,
then I’ll be gone.
Never thought I’d find you, but I did.
You never left a mark, you never hid.
Now there you are,
with some of your tribe, it seems.
How could I describe
what rarely flickers forth in dreams?
Sat protectively, outside your cave,
more like tall, thin apes
with rough skin scraggy with black hairs
than bears you look.
I can tell you have no language,
only seldom muttered sounds,
no link to hang a hook,
as you gaze out over the snow silenced,
Himalayan roof.
I had to come, I had to try to find you.
Never expected I would find proof.
Thank you for being, remaining still,
for the beauty of the sight,
you were worth my frozen tongue,
the threat of fall and frost bite.
They only ever speak of the yeti,
as if there was only ever one,
the last remnant of a race, perhaps,
that long ago has gone.
But there you sit, behind you,
members of more than one family.
You are obviously the head, the chief.
The others look guarded by you,
you they trust, in you they have belief.
A few stump up, turn back, lower their heads,
retreat into the black blanket
of the low roofed cave mouth.
You stay with the others, alert.
Your eyes look one way,
yet see north, west, east, south.
No one would believe these photographs I take.
They would inspire only sneers, laughs.
They would say they are fake.
They would say they are of human actors in ape coats,
photographed in winter in the mountains, somewhere.
It does not matter. I do not care.
I would not want them to believe they are genuine.
I do not want them to find you.
There. I’ve taken my last photograph.
When they think of you,
I prefer that they keep saying: What if?
I will go now, head back down the mountain,
and leave you to remain a myth.