Sometimes I like to take time out of my busy life
to remember,
The Woman in the Grass.

She sits in a paddock.
The grass has long turned brown.
Her long hair mingles with the foliage.
Dark waves cascading down.

She peers up at the heavens.
Mottled by many a dark cloud.
Her storm-grey eyes like daggers.
O! What mysteries they shroud.

She gasps as it begins to rain.
Acidic tears pouring down.
She falls asleep as all her pain,
Seeps into the ground.

Right about now I remember my Mother,
she must have said:
"There is no self-righteous God in his kingdom heaven and hell is
a sure-fire declaration of the absurdity that is perpetual life,
right here
in its living." at least a thousand times before
she went through the corridor of
never more, (I still see crows and swallows,
circle dancing in the sky
butterflies land on my shoulder and the scent
of lilacs and roses permeate winter's white
when I think of her.)

I saw a ghost today
while visiting a place
I didn't want to go back to.

But curiosity,
even the dreaded kind
makes me want
to peek around corners.

I saw a ghost
just an image
that I could never express in words,
even if I were given
every one in the world.

If I could etch it into an idol
it would still be sacrilegious,
a demon in a white dress.

Instead I shall sweep it
with the kitchen broom
into a pile
with the rest of the ashes.

Some people around us
Seem not to see at all
Beyond the limit of the nose
The effects of their misdoing
Or just being apathetic
To filth and fizz

When rain falls
They rush in to bring
Their garbage bins
Empty the contents
Into running rain water
In the gutter before the house

Polythene bags
Wasted food, empty cans
Broken bottles
Shit and vomit
Swept away
To where there is obstruction