Safety

A war is coming
(I can safely tell you that)
A painless, packman war,
Conducted off-world,
In a newly made wasteland where people
will look to the sky and pray for
cleansing munitions.

We will send a contingent,
a footy team of fighters, to operate
in a safety zone,
to lend moral support to
BIG SLUGGER,
to whom our leader presents his head,
for a pat.
So we can be safe from those made angry
by the last war.

A war is coming
As a futurologist
I can safely tell you that.

by Terry Holliday (2004)

The Flood

The river woke up this morning
To teach us a lesson,
About water and its seeking ways.

Novel and delicate in trickle
Yet monstrous in volume,

It swelled up and fast flowed
chaotic and capricious,
into our home, our land, our life.

Cannoned by its menacing,
aquatic power,
we cowered and watched
the surging roiling depths,
Crack open and spit debris.

Engorged, it snaked
through the city,
Busting and carving its banks,
drenching and drowning a
bewildered metropolis.

And then came the ghost boats
Lightly, darkly
Floating down to the sea.

The Road

Pitch Black
Glacial tar

Flows viscous
Through the city

Kneaded by rolling tumbrels
Toward Pinkenba

Still Life

Things fall into place, and hold on,
With magnetic uncertainty

Chair grabbing floor
Basket clutching at the door

Cupboard up against the wall
Restraining cloaks in broken fall

Bed dead weights beneath white sheet
Bookends press with hidden feet

What frantic gravitational pull
Conducts this living still?

Waiting for God...

(apologies to Samuel Becket)


What day is it?

Friday.

What planet are we on?

Earth. 

We could be any sentient beings on one of a billion planets.

Sure.

What time is it?

It’s midnight.

It’s all been an accident.

Yes

But fish gotta swim…

Yeah, they do got to.

The Moon

Celestial ornament,

Dead rock,

Our only moon.

Imagine there were two?
Or three, or four?

Little local planet,
You have a place in this solar system,
Lest we forget,
You block out the sun.

We had to make the journey 
In 1969,

It was planetary love.

Will we ever forget
That giant leap?

Some howl,

Some gaze,

Some moon.

Dark Matter

Nothing happens
Nothing really happens
Nothing is happening now
Nothing happens at the speed of light
Nothing is really something
Nothing really happens
Nothing happens

Materia Oscura

No pasa nada
No ocurre nada realmente
Nada está ocurriendo ahora
Nada sucede a la velocidad de la luz
Nada es realmente algo
No ocurre nada realmente
No pasa nada

Shadow World

The shadows dwell in a parallel universe,

Playing every object for a fool.

Masters of caricature

They run beside children

In exaggerated mimicry.

Court jesters

Dancing, prancing,

Pulling faces.

Shadow surrealists,

Distorting, melting,

Pixilating strange points of view.

Tragic actors, flickering and dying

Strangled by the retreat

Of a camp fire.

Sisters to silhouettes,

The quixotic twin,

Hanging in the backround.

Sweeping like a magician’s veil

Over the city at dusk

To sleep

To wake

To night-stalk with cats,

In the moonshine.

Shadow theatre,

Stealing through windows,

Past trees and Venetians

To play on walls.

Shadow friends

Gentle ephemera

Unpresupposing and reflective.

Shadow slaves,

Imprisoned by sun dials,

To do clockwork.

Shadow world,

Mono-dimensional yet infinitely shaped,

In shifting shades of grey.

Steadfast phantoms

Of mere juxtaposition.