A Silver Nutmeg and A Golden Pear

(By Sil, the 1st of July, London)

Sprout
From barren ground
Bear enchanted fruit
To lure a king’s daughter
A feat that only
The well loved deliver

But don’t climb the fence
Just for the thrill
Of a blushing pear’s kiss
The shudder of pulp crush
Against sore teeth

Allow the wind
A rush of whisper
To silence Fear’s hostile hiss
Wellcome the flail
With arms of gold and thoughts of silver
There is no sweeter ambush.

Confessio

By Sil
(the 1st of July, 2011
London)

I gave Luxuria legs to run on
I was intoxicated
With fumes of excitation
I got lost from time
Couldn’t find the handle on the door
Couldn’t see the gaps in the floor

Oh, God, don’t jab me
With the adrenaline-filled syringe
Administer a lesser punishment
For luxuriating in a reckless binge

I will repent
It was Pandora who opened the box
It was the Dark Priest
Who whispered casually over my shoulder:
“Lying is not one of the seven deadly sins”

Mea culpa
Mea culpa
Mea maxima culpa

The Silver Tree

(By Gub, the 30th of July, Hay-on-Wye)

Leaf'd willow
Bark'd oak
Or alder spine

The fruit falls
Sober flat
Upon the ground.

The buds that yearly
Blossom
Besmirched
By age
By time.

Tree's entropy
Pears turn to slime
And are crushed under foot
By innocent tramples
Not knowingly but once
Sourced
The loss forever
Associates fear with guilt
And... falling foliage, sound.

Forgotten child
Forget
Forgot

Further
Found...

Provocation

(By Sil, the 30th of July, 2011, HBC)

Think of me
Running in the heathlands
Covering your step
Treading the forbidden path to the left
And though your aversion
Will scour my calf like tangled gorse
I’ll break through
This partition taboo
I won’t stop
Until I’ve marvelled
At ink-stained rock
Submerged in froth
The morning sun
Casts on us all tomb divers
The same detached stare
Beauty cannot be fenced-off
And if you dare
Me
With one gentle brush of hand
I will prove
The mighty fortress you built on this beach
Is just a castle of sand

Swarm Intelligence

(By Sil, the 27th of July, 2011, London)

Staring at a screen I window-shop seduction
Glamour and song
The cross-section of a world
Where pain is articulate
And redemption is the sleek pomade
On a dandy’s moustache
Thoughts swarm like ants around a crust of bread
Collectables are rounded up and slobbered on
Relentlessly, concussively
I want to crush those trampling beasts
See them punctured like tulip bulbs in spring
I rail
I can’t dress up derail in gold string
Those who can do
Those who can’t – sting

Wound Man

(By Sil, the 26th of July, 2011, Bellenden Road)

You’re coming for a shave
Blood letting or are you
An embattled knave
Show me your gangrene

I have the tools
But you must not balk
At the warm pulsating mass
Nor faint at the sight of
Black oozing mud

My words will hack
Through the bone
With swift precision
Well sharpened saw
Oil of cloves to soothe
(We're out of booze)

A tooth, an amputation,
Whatever hurts
Whatever must be shorn
Wipe a blade clean
Through pain
We're reborn

(Isn't all therapy
Part love
Part medieval surgery?)

Fatality

(By Sil, the19th of July, 2011, on the train to Hereford)

Today I’m wallowing
In bad luck
A piece of toast
Landed buttered side
On a dirty floor
Squashed
My brain
Forced large button
Into a tight buttonhole
Unfastened

Today I hang loose
Today
I’m a reckless recluse
I’ll run over
An innocent passenger
For a change
(Usually
I’m my own
Fatality)

They’ll ask
Did I derail
Am I deranged

Or was it suicide?