A summer of two harvests(The homestead part 3)

 Back at the homestead his wives were working the vegetable garden
cooking in the kitchen and commenting about the daily tasks
everything was being talked about at the same time
Gareth was a quiet man he had no time for chit chat

However he still felt obligated to regard and ask after each one
perhaps it was the downside to such an incredible summer
Early abundant harvests with just enough time to replant
In scotland such a thing was unknown

maybe this was what attracted the bandits brazen
Knowing the local markets biggest provider was Gareth's homestead
They must have cunniongly followed him back after market end
Then set their trap the very next day

Not knowing Gareth would not be bullied or manipulated
No Gareth would put the two men in early graves
Hiding it all from the prying eyes of his six wives
Only his servant would know

The man who was rented by God(homestead 2)

 Gareth raised his rifle, the local riff raff were not leaving
He pulled the trigger one of the threatening men fell
The bullet tearing the arm from the shoulder brilliantly
The surviving bandit pleaded- it's just we have no money!

The bandits had planned to kill Gareth and his family
So he chopped him through with the axe ignoring the scream
He started digging the hole where they would be laid
One of his servants came upon the scene pale and affected

Gareth places the spade in his hands and went to procure dirt
That late morning had been confusing, killing was traumatic
The pines and blue sky seemed to collide in the momentary heat
That micro climate in his valley where temperatures could rise

The stark scent of pine gum and gun powder under summer sun
concocted a holy scene
Not the righteousness of one man who had strong faith
Vengence is a kind of sin it is suppposed

But as if destiny had arrived for the two bandits
And God simply rented Gareth for the day
To put the two down forever
In that peaceful valley 

Homestead the dog(homestead part 1)

 I find the castle and in turn the smaller homestead we occupy
The castle is seven storeys high, ot its first floor an opened plan cafe
Breakfast for the many guests who are accomodated there
On the elbow of the river and the ancient road

My homestead is called The dog
Bandits have died there
scratching out a living
From the climbers

Underestimating their resolve
The homestead represents sacred ground
Where families might tame the land
dig and build where noone else dared

Then bury the bandits who swoop in
Fertilize the gardens with their corpses
Allow their lives to have meaning
As they rot under the roots of our organic produce

Elias' one arm and mannequin

 His arm slowly travels around her back
The only one he's got today to hold her
Fingers find their familiar spot under the shoulder
His hug brings her in close to simulate the feeling

His other arm gone from a vehicle accident years ago
She is just a mannequin yet some form of love flows
Because in his mind it's her in the room
Sprayed her with that last flask of perfume

He kisses her gently avoiding her eyes
The memories and figure seem to suffice
Before he tucks himself in
Before he leaves in morning's din

That's as close as he will get
Smiling on the steering wheel cigarette
No need to let feelings of her absence start
Elias knew in his head but didn't tell his heart

So he'd be back to that sweet mannequin
Like an abandoned toddler and his doll
His one armed hugs, his tears would roll
And her wet shoulder

You conform, I wait for the storm

 Waiting for the storm
The repetition of changeless days are a betrayal
The sacred rage at not having that variety
We have longed for chaos, this static state of things is no Utopia

Denying a life of routine
You have misunderstood the true meaning of scarcity
Your impulses give you away soft delectable neediness is exposed
In a world like this there is no poverty but the poverty you partake

Out of disorder they have enforced carnivals and distractions for the masses
Interruptions between your weekly grinstamp shopping spree
I'm waiting for the storm it's divine shapes and greys speak to me
They teach me of freedom of expression

That fear guided you down a path that led to your bondage
Even though it was advertising cheap freedom
What could it mean to paint your own world with your own colors
Instead of reflecting the palette from a panel of hacks with the right credentials

Now your colors and language form the mild tones of prison walls
Your mindless zero sum games, your clutched identity
Somewhere between baggage fueled resonance and attraction from imprinting
Lose yourself in the dreary breeze of daily life or find yourself in your sense of terror

Pumping blood and iron

 I was still waking up
Adjusting to the glare
violent against my eyes
aggressive noisy

I threw myself into the day
Sky made way
pavement clear
Pushing weight

stretching and breathing
Muscles unready
worshipping the heart in me
To beat and pump blood

So that I can lift the next plate
In that unfair fat stack of iron
breath gets pushed out on the lift
Sucked in on the decline

Broken by failure
Nothing stops me
I go further down the kilos
Until I get under

I lift it all up
Control my body
Grin at fate
But still salute it

Black lighter(Limehouse reach- Shadows on the Thames. November 1864)

BLACK LIGHTER(limehouse reach-1864)

He'd heard frightening stories of the blighted boat
That black lighter off Limehouse dock would float
Griggs didn't care or give much credence
tales of such were for naive believers
 
Griggs looked across the water that dawn
fog left a two meter space enough for a gull
A chill hugged Griggs' bare hands worn
Then there it was the tar blackened hull

No foglight on it's bow, silence almost grim
No lighterman or quant just a hull dark and dim
As the cargo barge came jetting toward him
Thomas Griggs pulled the rope, bell dinged

It sped, almost hit the pier head, then briskly...
it lagged and stopped unpredictably quickly
Thomas looked on disbelieving
As the long Black barge made a turn

Inches from where pier lamps burned
Continuing on into the fog of the morning
That would soon dissolve over the moorings
What wouldn't dissolve was the confusion

... Was it really the cursed black lighter...
Or just an illusion?