Smoke Plumes

Smoke plumes
Break the stillness,

A high pitched siren
Splits the white noise

And the rise of barking dogs
Disturbs the scattered birds;

Curtains twitch with worry,
Skin quivers in the darkness

And naturally we fear the worst.

Not one of us guessed
It was a gas leak,

We’ve all seen the news,
Absorbed the sad faces
And used excuses to prove

We are golden.

Now we drink tea,
Hold hands and sing
Our own propaganda,

As the soft subtle dance
Of ash gently descending

Tells its own simple story
And fades,

Settling at our feet
And forgetting

Everything,
Anything
Real.

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Community

It seems
These days

The only
Real sin

Is painting
Your number

On another
Man’s bin.

The Worry Hunt

Ah yes,
The worry hunt,

The frantic sprint
Under shadowed archways,

Fog hit bridges
Before dawn,

And the
Eerily still parks,
Where the trees
Whistle wild,

And the wind whispers
Wayward words
As the wandering
Wavers then ends;

But the wondering continues,

The smash and grab
Through recent histories

And the mysteries
Of who did what?
And where it went wrong,

A slip of the tongue
And a crow bar prising,

Creaking,

Surprising the anger
That got bottled
Deep within,

Next to the aspirin

On the shelf
Above the bin.