dark

Callum Featherstone

the Dark.

Searching —
in;
the Dark.

Behind closed
eyelids.
Where silhouettes
become
equine arced
horizon’s
wide bids.
To dressage
unforgets.
Canter shadows
in
the moments
of our syne.
Incantations
of the
kin
we left
behind.
Coalescencing
with
the patterns
come
the night.
Inconspicuous
are guises
called, ‘the Dark’.
Behind those
closing, tired
eyes.
I gallop
towards a blink
in
ever’s memory.
I shall not
cower
at pinks, greys, and blacks
linked together;
emery.
When I brush
and tangle
with my thoughts
in
the mane
I charge on forth.
To the lushing
greenly meadow
of our
reverie.
This is
happening.
Yet, has already
happened.
From the start.
And, too, will happen.
At the end.

This is, truly, seeing.
This is, truly, being.

Searching —
in;
the Dark.

© poormansdreams

Callum Featherstone

Relief, awaited.

When dodecahedron bombs fall;
will you be my buried and sturdy shelter?
When cohesion is trodden to asphalt;
would you wage pitched and bloody welter?

Breakfast,
served at his majesty’s pleasure, often ladles out food for thought…
The menu – provides;
convicts, politicians, businesspeople, and, royalty,
with plenty to discuss…
Such as, ‘do the high and mighty ever dream of tasting prison porridge, as they commit high crimes, whilst they starve and cull the poor?’
And, ‘can beggared worms chew through royal lead-lined coffins from a dead beggar’s ulcered stomach sores?’ Yet, what lies in the unasked? The public inquiry into corrupt power, like lunch, awaits.

Relief without a branch
to cling to. Bare, shaken,
but, also, beyond agonising
disbelief. Avalanche met Alpine
Firs; a collage of bitter viridescence – often mistaken,
as, not life, but, death, imitating art.

What a relief!!
That’s the “good stuff”;
the pinprick and the poison-pill…
The Medicine Men have long traded in shady deals,
of jabs and hooks,
wearing labcoats lined with vaccined, pain-killing schemes.
Patiently making case studies of us all,
all the while,
toasting, our declining health,
along with silent, complicit and sickly governments.
Sláinte!

Encrypted night;
puzzling and studious, awaits
us all,
along with an unshrinking denial,
a half-blinked eye,
a non-thinked; why?
And, a nihilistic sigh. It is all, so…
insalubrious.

Awaited relief of a final breath when no more lies can be proferred no more lines can be crossed or excuses offered no more questions unanswered no more victims no more cancers no more derision and pain due to another’s conceited vision and gain no more losers no more winners no more abusers or willers of forgiveness.

Just peace; unreplicated.

And, relief, no longer, awaited.

When dodecahedron bombs fall;
will you be my buried and sturdy shelter?
When cohesion is trodden to asphalt;
would you wage pitched and bloody welter?

Callum Featherstone

Anti-kaleidoscopic

A constant fight; betwixt dark and light.

Ideas spark and linger.

Music, symphonies, singers.

Memories; dance, then, dissolve

into solutions, some warm and some cold,

creating a tepid potion,

a tumultuous, sloshing ocean,

of notions that decant and, then, go.

An absence of colour is met

with residual grief and regret,

a brick-less prison built upon debt.

Indebted solely to hope; within my mind’s anti-kaleidoscope.

An always unfair fight; betwixt dark and light.

The evil, selfish and greedy

extort the ill and the needy.

The powerful grease the wheels

to pedal their sordid deals,

and, colonisers who claim ground,

in Irony’s backyard and playground,

make lies; truth, and, beggared belief; real.

A pauper eating his hat from a clothes line,

pays in melancholy, fined for a lifetime,

while the rich quaff liquid joy, as they fine-dine,

lasso and Tug-the-Poor, without a rope; within society’s anti-kaleidoscope.

An existential fight; betwixt dark and light.

A tired, weary, bleeding planet,

as Satanic drills penetrate the granite.

Currency denoting worth,

and, ideologies of owning water and turf,

meant destruction of sea, air and land;

all bearing imprints of human hands.

Indelible marks that scourge the Earth;

soured, painful, acidic,

drunken, excessive, paralytic,

consumer, consuming, parasitic.

A plastic species, that especially interlopes; within a worldly anti-kaleidoscope.

An intergalactic fight; betwixt dark and light.

Infinity has a wicked sense of humour,

to implant us; a pitch-black-hearted tumour

in a solar system, in the Milky Way,

and, not a black hole where true darkness plays.

The macabre punchline is yet to come,

when darkness falls on stars and suns,

and, the galaxies that reached and stretched,

are grasped in the longing hands of death.

Waiting infinite time is not long… For some.

When you’ve seen stars burn bright, and, then, collapse,

comets and planets collide and crash,

creation, life and death in one laughing gasp.

There’s no end to an empty, spacious joke; within a universal anti-kaleidoscope.