Tag Archives: moon

The Moon is Misplaced

Wooden benches under white blossom trees,

a slimming world sign – newly hung,  over daffodils –

scattered and bent on a roadside bank.

Pavements  crawl with naked legs,

white dimpled hunks of flesh – oil slicked.

And the people –

the people are slow in motion.

Bicycles and  haircuts and pastel shorts

rip up the road in ribbons of rainbow

And through my sunglasses – I see sunglasses.

Heat stretches the benches –

slats  are filled with bums and thighs

and shiny magazine sheen,

and fallen adverts;

a spa springtime treat for £59 falls

under an old oak tree,

as old as the grey derelict hospital that stands

as still as stone. I smell horse dung.

And the farmers farm and the farm machinery,

and the cows – right before the greasy smell

of Thursday special – Sausage Supper for £2.50.

The horses reflect in the chippy window.

And on the horizon, the moon is misplaced.

While kids on scooters, scoot

around an immaculately groomed roundabout.

surrounded by wooden benches

under white blossom trees.

©Eilidh G Clark

Deadline

 

Time is running like the River Forth

and it is flowing down my spine.

Big Ben is printed on the back of my eyelids

And my heart is beating

Tick, tick, tick, tock.

 

Time is painted in the Stirling sky

and is burning holes

into the big fat orange moon, beating on me,

Beating like my pulse

Tick, tick, tick, tock

 

Time is flapping in the wind

And punching kisses on my chest.

White breath coughs from behind my teeth,

Chattering like supermarket baskets.

Tick, tick, tick, clatter.

 

Time is waiting on the bus,

Its holding a student pass outright

and the driver is checking his watch, shaking his head

Like a pendulum

Tick, tick, tick, bong

Time is passing by the window,

In the old ladies rain mate,

and it’s trapped in the spokes of an inside out brolly

and it’s pouring

Drip, tick, tock, drip

 

Time has landing on my face

From a charcoal dusk and

Airborne tear shapes that slap my skin

and roll

Tick, tick, drip, drip onto my essay.

 

Published in Brig Newspaper – University of Stirling

©Eilidh G Clark

Scroll

 

It is midnight.
And the stroke of its hand is a memory;
A memory of
a hand that once held mine.
I am entangled in darkness

The hiss of a serpent wraps around
my throat,
until my nicotine breath bellows
And drops.

Amongst the shadows,
Optimism shines like a ghost
from an invisible moon.

I am calm.

Déjà vu haunts me
and I realise my footsteps

may have, walked this place before when I was young.

And my future.

You made me. You

and a bald headed man
who is and is not my father.
You gave me this midnight, and you are gone.
Sadness lives in me like tumour
but sadness pays.

Soon

I will hold a scroll to say
Be proud mum, I did it.

©Eilidh G Clark

Drown

Midnight, On the blackened sand.
Waves crash upon the shore,
unfamiliar darkness
yet I’ve seen this place before.
Lying flat, eyes to the sky;
the stars are out of reach,
I’m all alone without you,
on this cold and lonely beach.
The gnawing cold snags my breath.
I wrap myself up tight,
I’m shrouded in a veil of grief
yet bathing in the moonlight,
I close my eyes and ponder
this melancholy mind,
I’m seasick from the universe
vanished from mankind.
Onto my feet I wander,
to the gentle lapping tide,
I asked the stars to help me,
in the moon did I confide,
but the burden was too heavy,
and my face a sorry frown
as I walked into the ocean
I said goodbye and drowned.

©Eilidh G Clark

Blackbird

Mid April, calm yet breezy night,
I walked in the dark and was guided by moonlight.
The world was silent and the only sound
were the leaves in the tree’s and my feet on the ground.
Alas I was tempted by songs in my pocket
And the picture of you that hung in my locket,
But I felt that a change had grown wild in my brain
Like the seasons were changing, and so was the pain,
A stranger had challenged my withering heart
Twas the first real arousal since we’d been apart,
I looked at a distance but fantasised near
and the prospect of new love sent shivers of fear.
But she clawed like a blackbird at passions inside
And I craved her like coffee like a moon and the tide.
She danced on my gravestone, she lay on my skin
And she started a bonfire that burned from within
But the night was so lonely and the stars became shy
As the moon rode the heavens and rivers ran dry.
I looked to the shadows to picture her face
But shadows are demons that laughed in its place
And leaves brown and crisp sung tunes to my feet
The drizzle of rain arose perfumes so sweet
And the dark was forever and my thoughts took flight
She kissed me so tender in all shades of night.
But the season was April and the time was ‘not yet’
And the moonlight was kind and my destiny set.

©Eilidh G Clark

Wheelie Bin Soup

Nicked, frae below a strummin street licht,

The muckle great bin schrinks low to the grund.

Flashes of blue and orange snap

on its rusty armour. Half foo

 

it rumbles tae the fit o Randolf crescent where

the pavement sinks beneath  brae, bumpin

ower boulders ,beer cans and deed bracken. Joyriding.

It flips its lid to the moon.

 

And the moon slides behind a bramble

Bush, and the bush slips behind a tree that

sucks air from the shadows . Released.

 

Skirting the embankment, teeterin. Then nose-diving heed first,

puking a cocktails o last week’s cardboard shite

into the Bannock burn. Branded confetti drookit,

Dance around the plastic shell celebrating

a liquid grave.

©Eilidh G Clark