The dverse prompt tonight is fortuitous, as I was going to do this anyway, though not, perhaps, in rhyme.
I was going to write a note today
To explain why I have been away
And only call from time to time.
Why the only entries on the page
Are short, delivered, then the stage
Is empty, left to echo rhyme.
I feel the time is racing past,
The days too short and fading too fast,
And I have got a book to write
Before the baby comes and stakes
A claim to all my time and takes,
In tiny grip, both day and night.
So all the prompts are put on hold
Until I have my story told,
And I can think of other things,
Crawl back from far antiquity,
Its mysteries and iniquity,
Hold in my hands the joy life brings.
Just a short word to say, we are not all sanguinary brutes, although it must look like that to you. You see the two-legs rushing round in their vans because their legs aren’t up to running after you. They need their dogs because they can’t sniff out a track on their own or get among the brambles. They need their rattles and horns and whistles to frighten you because otherwise you would stay put and they’d never see you. They need their big guns to kill you because they have no teeth, claws, speed, stealth, talons or beak.
They kill, the overweight and out of breath, because you are beautiful, and you can live where they cannot, because you run, creep, fly, stalk where they blunder and trample. Don’t forgive them, for they know what they do. Run and hide. See tomorrow dawn.
A message from the Oracle.
We drive beauty away
from this garden;
life is stilled,
only screaming shadows remain,
smell of lost summer,
whispers in the wind.
Shots rip red death—
Raw is the rose light
that shines this sad bloody day.
Why? I ask, but there is no reply
for those who cry.
Rain stopped play.
How many thousands more
need to die?