The Build Up.

The build up puffs the horizon

With rain bearing clouds

He stands on the deck

Hearing children playing below

Smokes a forbidden cigarette

Flicking ash toward the mangroves

Seeing that last fishing trip

Barra thrashing in the lagoon

And she calling them in to dinner

This last light bending on the moon

Like it might mean something

The smell of sea air, gulls calling,

Crabs seeking shelter, squid mating

Waters stained luminescent

With each beings need to be itself

But he can't see it for what it is

Draws another drag on his cancer stick

Eyes to the black horizon thinking

Life is out there, somewhere.

© shaun patrick green 2012

Day Trip

I had arranged the wretched creatures

Into single files along the line

Their humped backs and stunted arms

Wailing at the opportunity to reach

Some sort of freedom or transcendence

The guide informative and sturdy

To the last croc question ever answered

Their mouths open, eyes wide,

Holding the baby dinosaur tight

For tourist orientated photo shots

Walking back by the freezers where

The tastier bits are sold in parts

Out to a car park built for buses

There is no freedom from truth here

Only the pathetic crawl toward being

Primal reptile waiting to bite

In whatever form that may take

Hoping to transform us in the night

Tourist freak, White Man fake

Become spirit bird, dreamtime snake.

 © shaun patrick green 2012