Orbiting

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The art work for this day is "Orbiting" by Kerfe Roig

 

 

Orbiting

From her viewpoint

everything looked fractured.
 

People, places, animals,

her things, her past and present.

A shattering of colours, faces

and time.

Broken vinyl that somehow

still played.

 

Repeating the same song

over and over and

over and over and

over and over

Tim Fellows 2021

I also wrote this one....

Orbiting

 

From where I sit, said the captain,

it looks like a mess, like someone

has taken a perfectly good planet

and fractured it. 

 

He closed his physical eye,

took a deep breath and opened 

his ethereal eye. He looked

again at the Earth, saw through

the blue, the greens 

and browns, saw right to the core

of things. 

 

Saw the division, the terror,

the war, the destruction. 

No contact then, said the 

Science Officer, withdrawing 

his tentacles.

 

Nah, said the captain,

I'd rather eat my own shit.  

 

Tim Fellows 2021

Digging A Duck Blind At Spurn

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The art work for this day is "Craggs Cubley Digging a Duck Blind at Spurn" by John Law

 

 

 

Digging A Duck Blind At Spurn

 

Out here the land thins.
A permeable gauze, half sea,

liquid salt in its veins. 

 

He digs quickly. He hears the ocean

whispering "take your time,
we'll get there in the end"

The breeze whips up, a light
spray falls in the hole. The spade
takes another bite. Behind

 

him the sound of birds
melds with water and wind.
Out here the land thins.

Tim Fellows 4th April 2021 

Chrysanthemums

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The art work for this day is "Chrysanthemums" by John Law

 

Chrysanthemums

 

I ponder, as I wait for you to leave,
why bloody flowers mean anything at all.
Love, or death, or distant Emporer's seal;
these red chrysanthemums simply deceive.
 

Their scent is scattered, lost in autumn's wind,

their bloom is fading too, the leaves are sad.
They were our wedding flower but we've had
our time. All gone - the suit, the flower, the pin.

Tim Fellows 3rd April 2021

 

 

La Luna

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The art work for this day is "Alterations" by Kerfe Roig

 

La Luna

The moon is melting, slowly losing layers
of ancient skin, that peel and drip away.
The moon is boiling where dark forces flay
it's surface, set the satellite ablaze.

The moon is burning, smoke plumes into space;
now blood is oozing from its screaming eyes
its dark side now exposed, an end of days
and there's no mirage of a human face.

They say the moon is made of solid rock
that cannot burn; not able to weep blood
or cry, or vanish, turn the world to black.
And people all around me pay no heed,

it's me they seem to fear, their faces turn - 
am I the only one who sees it burn?

Tim Fellows 2nd April 2021 

mummy's gone

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The drawing for this day is by Jane Cornwell

mummy's gone

mummy's gone was all he said
he was holding me so tight
i couldn't breathe
i wriggled and he let me go
we haven't had any tea
it's getting dark now
the house is cold
the stair is cold
i always sit here when i'm sad
or i have to think about things

he's crying in his room now
daddy never cries

tim fellows 1 april 2021

Cape Tribulation

This is based on something we saw on our holiday in North Queensland.

Cape Tribulation

Around its motionless scales the earth
and air teem with life. Fangs bared,
it gapes at the empyreal sky
from the hot night tarmac. It receives
the ancient light of its stars.
It is elemental.
Coaly eyes absorb the luminescence
of eons, older than all its ancestors.
In the vastness, the stars go back forever. 

Tim Fellows 2021

Image by sipa from Pixabay

Crayons

One I wrote last year for World Mental Health Day. Much has been written about men's mental health and their inability to deal with it. Things are improving but it's slow going.

Crayons

Crayons are scribbling
in his brain again. Their colours,
so vibrant when he was young,
are faded now. Worse still,
they are waxy, stifling, dark
and corrupted.

Some brief flashes spark
in his memory, his mum's
bright red lipstick, the blue
sea and skies of summer holidays
before his Dad, wielding his child's
cricket bat, stole away.

A single tear tracks the contour
of his cheek at what his mum
would think of him now.
The empty bottle and the canister
of pills lying on its side
his only company.

He lays his head on the table
as the brown crayon takes over,
laying layer upon layer,
and as he closes his eyes
he feels the black one between
his finger and his thumb. 

Tim Fellows 2020

 

Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay