I've got entangled in pure mystery

never endured a coquette so lewd,

her words twinkle like spangles but

despite all the glitter she's shrewd

I've come across some fast workers

in moments she had me unzipped

I'm far from a slouch at glib patter

in her sea-soiled face rests a crypt

its like being a drunken fire-eater

on a water-bed playing with fire

I've grow...

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next door they've got new windows

all triple-glazed for noise and heat

hermetically sealed against society

frost and storms designed to beat

yet other enemies will get through

invisible demons with wings of fire

on those panes reflections of one

mountainous molten funeral pyre

coming round but I'll never be right

lungs crackling like broken glass

legs potent...

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no ruin can come to me

my status is fully secure

parameters are normal

air-supply made secure

warm feelings suffusing

my body and its pain

voices echo far away

fever roasts my brain

images memories of old

before me life's flashing

re-living old times amid

a future thats crashing

all I have is in thoughts

vegetable activity level

limbs still ...

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half-dead they do linger

machines tinkle and purr

medics swathed in plastic

distressed humans a-stir

beneath ICU wards and

amid odd cavities galore

smaller fauna breathes

distant the muffled roar

who considers the mice?

they live in hospital too

a big enough challenge

without this virus stew

if you listened carefully

on dozing wards at night

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As originally published with Clay Literary's Raven: https://www.clayliterary.com/post/design-a-stunning-blog

‘Neath the blistering heat, California poppies cast

themselves to the hillside sun as wayward children

start to lose their breath, as you now fight for yours,

running to chase the summer blues away.

The young and old all begin to fail; heatwaves

take the lun...

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The brass band wears black arm bands

Now Ted is gone.

His lungs survived years down the pit,

He was a master of the

Piston valve but now his trumpet lies

Idle, its finger buttons at rest

The mouthpiece cold, quite free from spittle.

The air that made Ted's lips vibrate is gone,

No more the change of lip tension that varied

His vibrations giving notes of different pitch, ...

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My lungs breathe in most of everything,

No matter the toxicity.

Some days I hold in the putrid air,

Until I'm left gasping.

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