2017: January Pre-Mourning

The night before the work starts
Our streets echo with lone travellers
This night of cold clear dread
As the new year shakes free
Of it’s champagne and fireworks
A mighty muted still
Fills up the dark

And in the raging dreams
Of all these people in their beds
Uncertain and alone in today’s cold sleep
Questions of fragility
Feed our hunger for dread
Spoiling this last bedtime
With what tomorrow brings

Outside in some dark corner
Of a Southern London home
I ponder how few deaths make many mourn
The slaps of conflict beat
Fresh tears from more bored eyes
Yet each hour too much life
Is bled and crushed in horror

For one more year has come on us
And forseers contort with doom
Such angry rhetoric, such mounting gloom
Yet this new year is not foretold
And harbours chances new
There’s not time to conjure lies
Just time to start the world.

The end of the world news, Ankakay via Flickr

The end of the world news, Ankakay via Flickr

Another 1

Screen Shot 2016-07-20 at 16.47.55

Text: Adam Bujons, image (c) http://www.shutterstock.com/th/video/clip-7402507-stock-footage-white-feathers-spurt-alpha-fast-flying-animation-with-transparent-back-as-transition.html

Dancer

There once was a dancer
a furtive entrancer

Androgyny performer
The dancer was known
Through a land empty – walking,
and fumbling and talking –
no others would dance
and no others would sing.

So singular dancer
well rounded and good,
would dance to their music
(and sing for their feet)
while our land free of movement
watched dancing the treat.

There once was a dancer
lone song in the din

A colour ambassador
flute chanting its rhyme
throughout lands of grey
by peoples dismay
and this dancing entrancer
caught up all the day

While a light shone its lightness
while the muffled birds watch
as time moved abruptly
to a well measured tune
So brightness was shared
by a dance in the noon

There once was a dancer
crowned colour through grey

A dancer still dancing
To nobodies songs.

Land Gone Wrong

Finish it, land the final blow!
End this petty session
in life that always carries on!
Nothing left
and not a note to follow.
Take last shouts and Bellow…
There’s no one left to see the end;
This end!

I saw!
I, me!
I was there (among the crowds ~
the ones too quiet /
the few too loud).
The first day, week, month
then the year!
It was all set fine
so fine so near.
A bright beginning – freshest starts,
grabbed all the attentions
of fresh starry hearts…
Dragging them,
pulling them,
coaxing them on!
Those hearts that were keen ~
these hearts that belong
to the new ones
the fresh ones.
These beasts from the start!

And pretty were tunes
and beauteous songs ~
A land was delivered;
a hope without wrongs.
All of us hearts – crammed,
stuck to the brim!
But we loved it
and breathed it
and lived for the grin.
This new time was naked and nimble
we knew it;
our privileged parties just living along…
Invited
well treated
well governed and loved!
In their ignorant rapture ~
we drank and were drunk…

Then slow
it turned sour:
Though new,
not denied,
not quite new enough!
And though nobody lied,
there was no full truths taken ~
no fresh breaths of air…
So: slowly
we grasped it,
us budding bright hearts.
The ones who had followed:
the ones most beguiled.
A raucous mass
trailing
an order now failed.

So here’s where you enter
the end of old news.
The fall of more loved ones
all hearts cracked
en mass…
A tender old tale,
the past all encased
but now we are lost now,
and losing our way.
This new land was pretty ~
yet fated to change!
We killed it
and broke it.
Lost lowly, and dying
a few of us cheered
but most were left crying!
It’s finished
it faltered.
We move on to the
New!!

Alison

My pretty dame.
I will meet you again
again.

Sometime
in distant time
refrain…

I love your eyes
your sweet smile, pretty,
and quietly close
I sing this ditty.

Musical Dawn

When that Black thatch
with them Blue eyes
shook the old cat
out of White lies:
Swiftly all the noise
of morning broke.

And this Grey crowd
full of Red heads
caught great Pink clouds
‘cross their cold beds…
And it dawned on!

Then tears soaked each side
and washed all colours clean
bleaching each bright with pride
– shining through what they mean:
Only the Gold sun left reflections
on this gory scene.

Devilishly Quick

devilishly quick

image: http://ghostblade-13.deviantart.com/art/She-Has-Ghost-Eyes-138428202 words: Bujonswords