Nocturnal Visitation

Sleep comes heavy,

Descends upon me,

As a long day’s exhaustive pleasance.

Also as something else’s presence.

 

A gentle breeze at the nape of my neck,

It is warm, but also a bit moist.

I feel a kiss on my forehead’s speck,

Like a whisper, only unvoiced.

 

Five fingers comb through my dishevelled hair,

And a scream dies in my throat.

I’m entirely confused and in utter despair,

And suffocated by a leaden coat.

 

Is this what I believe to be the peak?

Something wet slides slowly across my sensitive cheek!

 

I want to, but can’t move an inch,

My only response has to be just a flinch.

 

Then the dream suddenly ends, as quick as it came,

It still is dark, no light, all the same.

 

It chills me right down to the bone,

What I see on this gadget of mine,

As I reach out to my phone,

To check for the actual time.

 

A picture of me, sound asleep,

Much to my chagrin,

And a strange old crone, down on me,

Licks my very exposed skin.

The Land of Virtue

I’m from a spot in between two states which are actually the same,

From one country where pride became synonymous with shame.

 

I’m from the makeshift den in the branches of oak trees,

From yellow rape fields humming with swaying bumble bees.

I’m from amidst the old fruit trees in our family’s garden,

From the question what has become of them; I beg your pardon?

 

I’m from the cobble stone streets covered in dirt,

From the air which is grey and where breathing will hurt.

I’m from a nearby coal fired power plant.

But complaining about the conditions we shan’t.

 

I’m from summers spent on the shores of the Baltic sea,

From family gatherings when I still was me.

I’m from the peacefulness of my cousins’ company,

From a derelict barn with tunnels dug into the hay.

 

I’m from a land with real existing socialism, how adorable!

From a country slid into post capitalism, how deplorable!

I’m from an ineptitude that borders on the imbecilic,

From a need to learn which made me become bibliophilic.

 

I’m from the pictures in our family’s photo treasure trove,

From a dusty shelf near the ancient living room stove.

 

I’m from the back seat of a little funny plastic car,

From dad who drove mum to their first date in a local bar.

 

I’m from the past that shaped me,

From the present that I am today,

And from the future that lies ahead of me.

Skunk Weed (In Praise of sweaty socks)

In Bangkok nobody cared what I’d backpacked.

I hoped that in Dublin it wouldn’t be checked.

That they’ll find out about the weed,

Is the reason why I’m so afraid.

And yet it happens, the guy in customs insists.

But open the backpack, I don’t.

Then the sniffer dog comes, since their claim still persists.

So keep the backpack closed, I won’t.

The smell of the content crazy him drove,

Like a pot of shit on a heated kitchen stove.

And soon you can see the repellent effect,

Of smelly laundry which they’d love to neglect.

The dog’s nose wrinkles, even his hind legs give in,

The smell is too strong for the dog ‘n my kin.

No one dares to touch, so the weed isn’t found,

Too strong the smell, which makes the dog spin around.

Then they take him away and say “No offence!”

So I still have the weed which was sewn int’ my pants.

I am a Snake

On an elevated spot, a smooth stone is soothing my scaly skin.

Rays of sunlight from above give me warmth.

I’m doing nothing, just basking.

It is said, the world’s wisdom reflects in my actions.

So skilfully slow with determination I go,

About the things in life.

With limbless elegance I make my way,

Without wasting too much energy.

The Chinese call me the little dragon,

But fire I can’t breathe.

Nor do I bite, but nevertheless,

My forked tongue is venomous.

From up above then down below,

Vibrations I can sense.

Low frequency, though invisibly,

For me, however, intense.

A nagging thing can hunger be,

So out of nowhere suddenly,

I jump!

My prey isn’t granted much time,

Slinky body twists around a fluffy lump,

I choke the squirrel in its prime.

Resistance is futile it quickly learns,

The squirrel’s breath is gone.

A lifeless body in the ferns,

Dinner preparation’s done.

Before slipping into a food coma,

I slither my swollen body elegantly back

To the elevated and cosy spot.

Thereafter, I’m doing nothing, just basking.

Haiku Galore

A field of roses

Wide and red and green, no white

Fertilised with rotten lilies

 

On Mutton Island

Strong gales come from the west

Slippery boulders

 

A new camera

Such splendid scenery

The battery, flat

 

It’s just a few pages

Still, many open questions

But soon it will end

 

Countless shelves of books

Hundreds or even thousands

But only one life

 

Slowly the door opens

Squeaking hinge in need of grease

Yet I do not move

 

Arsenic extract

First sweet, later acerbic

In chilli tasteless

 

Music fills the room

Surrounded by the masses

All dancing, but him