Tag Archives: #shayswordgarden

The Nightbird

The Nightbird

It is absurd in a dubious kind of way,
the need to fit in with simulated norms.
I don’t care anymore if the jukebox plays
a re-mix of this fucked up excuse for a life.

The nightbird does not bend beneath such sorrow,
soaring high above the smoke-filled bordellos,
She knows no fear of being crushed beneath
the one-eyed monster’s armadillo-skinned boot.

I lay here all but empty – shamefully waiting
for the scent of homemade soap, and
the primal thrust of a hot starched pistol,
Though I’ve not a pound of flesh left to give.

I’m swept high upon a ribbon that swirls
in the turbulent eddies she leaves behind,
Catching glimpses of freedom in the pull of her wake.
Below my battered shell awaits, unsure if I’ll return.


Credits and Additional Information
Advertisement

Cottage Country

Cottage Country

Photo: Sandy Morrison | Post-processing: Greg Glazebrook

Dulled by the trolley’s rhythm,
I drift through fragmented memories
of past summers in Canada.

Lazy days spent at the lake.
Endless trees, evergreen garlands,
strung between water and blue clear skies.

Sunday snoozing in the back pew.
Choir hymns rippling through
waves of vanilla scented candles.

Those who have flocked here,
Explorers, seeking truths
for which there are no answers.

If ever there was a place to believe!
Even for the briefest of moments
before the colours turn.

Fading through the back window…
Leaving only our ghosts to greet
the chalk white snows of winter.


Credits and Additional Information

The Coming Storm

The Coming Storm

A weathered and worn windsock,
taut on the peak above.
An unheeded warning
to the hazy milieu below.

––

Conflated is the vapour
that escapes your cruel grasp,
devoid of oxygen we once shared.

Sharp wit and candor weigh ––
heavy like the suffocating
crush induced by the snake’s coil.

––

Panic bells chime within,
beckoning my getaway
before the coming storm, but
I cannot leave her behind.


Credits and Additional Information

Survival

The r-r-roar of the engines
Fierce at the starting line
Mostly fade as they make the turn
Each posturing for position
Before vanishing onto
The long stretch of roads
Winding beneath the evergreen forest
Where bones are buried and
Ghosts hide in the shadows
Even as infinite sorrow threatens
To swallow everything it touches
Where weaker souls crumple
Under the pressure of
A thousand mountain ranges
Laid upon their backs
The survivors will emerge
From the deepest ocean and
Erupt through the finish singing
Glorious tales of collective victory
When even one returns
Those lost will not be forgotten

For us left behind
We struggle to comprehend
The turmoil that raged within
We look to those who survive
Seeking solace in the burden of
Those who did not return

Written for Shay’s Word Garden #5 (Gregory Corso) and Go Dog Go Cafè’s Tuesday Writing Prompt
Photo credits: Tom Parsons, Matheas Bandoch and Stormseeker via Unsplash.
Copyright 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.