Alligator Man

There was a man I heard tales of,
In social circle upon social circle,
I heard tell of a cold-blooded man,
Below a watery facade he waits,
An aquatic veneer to see through,
Sugared words and a smile a touch too perfect,
As deceptively fluid as the swamps of hot musk,
A migrating carnivore of every social savanna,

Holding reptilian eyes upon you,
Yellow-green hunger,
Scaly avarice,
Coolly waiting,
Leaning against a pillar martini in hand,
But trust not those crocodile tears,
Do not trust that crooked grin,
Do not get close to the waters surface,

He is a predator,
A user,
Prowling for a useful antelope,
And when he goes for what he wants,
You will find it doesn’t favour you,
It will be all gore and bubbles,
Thrashing and tearing,
Heart and nerves rent out.

Whalesong

Upon this shingle beach I rest,
Reclined beside my own thoughts,
Healing from the worlds hurts,
Being renewed in the saline spray,
Breath of the sea,
Yet above the collapsing waves,
A sombre tune swims to my ears,

A sad symphony of baleen chorus,
The echoing voice of a lonely titan,
Aural tears,
She has been on a pilgrimage for far too long,
Crossing faultlines as melancholic images cross her minds eye,
Chanting a hymn of a deeper blue hue than even the deep itself,
I feel her pain as the song arrives upon the waves,

It strikes me not as a romantic sorrow,
But a family lost,
Her song tells of harpoons and red thrashing bubbles,
A young life cruelly seized and a mother broken,
Each moan a maternal dirge,
I count my blessings amongst the land,
And wonder if the swell itself is her tears.

Butterflies

A young man took a trail through nature,
To purge the city from his veins,
Grown weary of the smog,
He sits reclined upon this fae meadow,
Amidst fields of crimson and violet,
Like a therapists couch in the sticks,

Here be butterflies,
Like chitinous pixies,
Dancing upon stained-glass wings,
Ballet upon the soft gales of the valley,
Playing gaily betwixt this floral procession,
Wining and dining with the nectar of tulips,

One lands upon his finger,
Its wings gently flitting in the sun,
Embodying a sorcery of veldt,
Casting a spell of placidity upon his soul,
The young man finally exhales,
There is so much magic in nature.

Legacy Of Our World

Humanity has always looked out to the stars,
An obsidian sea of potential,
A blanket of alien marvels,
We gaze up ignoring the carcass we sit upon,
As the Earth degrades bit by bit,
Her veins irradiated and gardens desecrated,
The mother dies in an indolent rasping grind,
Choking on forms of progress and ingenuity,

The time to venture forth shall come one day,
For our childrens children to be pioneers,
To escape this island we’ve ruined,
She cannot endure infinitely,
But what knowledge shall they carry on?
Will they utilise the lessons modernity has shown them?
Will they love the life of those new worlds?
Or exploit them to husks like our home?

I do wonder,
I wonder if they will avoid our antiquated methods,
Live alongside nature rather than bleed it,
Conserve the lives of flora and fauna alike,
Only take what they truly need,
Not revert to earthly consumption,
Will they use us as a cautionary blueprint?
Will they be better than us?

They’ll forge a final ark to pierce the clouds,
The launch will indeed be a swansong,
Hopefully for our old ways,
But perhaps for your hopes,
As their vessel surges heavensward,
When those rockets bellow like sanguine drakes,
To lord knows where,
Do they go as explorers or destroyers?

Mother Nature

There is only one deity,
And you walk upon her fair form each day,
She is resplendent but in pain,
Choking in an unwanted gas mask,
Built from smokestacks and uranium,

She gave us a home,
But we try our best to destroy her for it,
We burn her green hair,
Her make-up blemished by craters and battlefields,
Her aqua veins are tainted,

Predetermined she limps through space,
She is gripped by barbed wire,
Painfully stopping her from fleeing,
From the satellite gnats,
As they photograph unwanted areas,

She cries in thunderstorms,
As we deliver naught but agony,
She is tempted to burn or wash us away in rage,
She resists though,
She is our mother,
Yet we garrote her each day.

Assassin Bug

I think I spy an assassin bug,
Stalking amongst the twigs,
A reduviid killer,
Aspect of mantis,
Proclivity of spider,
A tiny predator of a huge world,
Or is it a tiny one?
Does the world belong to the bugs?

Cloaked in the corpses of ants,
Previous ravaged conquests,
Both armour and disguise,
Its proboscis twitches,
Secreting a lethal nectar,
Expecting to digest defeated internals,
Fodder for an emotionless killer,
I see it close in on an innocent,

Unsuspecting soul on a branch,
It strikes,
All wings and blades,
Corrosive saliva injected,
Reducing chitin to husk,
Its grim meal complete,
It gazes over at me,
Eyeing me hungrily,

Fight or flight?

Leaves

I sit here in this bountiful garden,
Passing the summer hours,
Gazing over the various arbors,
That stand guard at the perimeter,
In their viridian dress coats,

They are true fountains of life,
Green with envy,
At our freedom,
Though we should be jealous,
Of their eternal dignity,

The leaves,
They splay out in the sun,
Like angels wings,
With a more tangible divinity,
Laying bare mother nature’s selflessness,

The autumnal browns arrive,
The leaves succumb,
A vision of entropy,
But cast a blanket of rejuvenation,
For the thirsty earth,

The winds twist through the branches,
Imparting a sacred message,
For all of humanity,
Be as the leaves,
Love your earth.

Hateful God

There once was a God who learned to hate,
He grew tired of benevolence,
And perhaps of divinity too,
His creations only brought disappointment,

Beasts of fang and scale grew tiresome,
Achieving nothing but a tedious cycle of predator and prey,
His creations of the waves too,
Fins and scales offer no diversion,

He looks to the skies,
And hates the souls flying overhead,
Cursing at his avian creations,
Each wing-beat an assumed insult to his godhood,

Most of all he loathes those of his image,
Dominating a world he made,
Squabbling over salt and dirt,
Boring, boring and boring,

A bored God is a dangerous God,
A dissatisfied one even more so,
What if he decided to inject some amusement?
A cataclysm there,
A flood here,
Or a plague over there,
Something a hateful God could unleash upon his subjects of ire,

What if this God decided to throw his toys away,
And started anew?