Three Poems by Peter Green
Death stood at the foot
of my bed last night,
lit up a choking cigar
"I've had my
eye on you for a while
now". Attempting to
be flippant, I pointed
to his acrid cigar
which he was puffing
sulphurously and jested:
"If you don't watch out,
that'll be the death of you!"
He glowered at first, and then
opened his rotting mouth
and smiled through his
yellow teeth. "Not bad",
he spluttered. "I'm glad
you have a sense of humour.
You'll need it where you're going!"
But as my heart thudded in panic,
and I quizzed him further,
he refused to be drawn and said:
"I've got a date with some more
amenable clients", and scythed
his noxious self out of my life
...at least for a temporary reprieve.
Sepia: draining the soul of colour;
leeching out the life in my bones;
flooding my spirit with inertia;
an overwhelmingly parasitical presence.
A negative photograph of shadows
lurking in the background
like a ghost trapped in Purgatory;
a melancholy funeral march
to a cemetery dripping wet with grief...
The sun ebbs into the horizon
leaving a frayed bullet hole in the sky
and residues of smouldering gunpowder.
The leaves of the trees retract in alarm
as the breeze escalates into a gale
on avaricious eagles' wings
and tense talons; cotton wool clouds
mutate to black leering dragons
and monsters in the sky. Pulling on
a jersey I feel paradoxically excited
at the wrath of Nature but unsettled
by Man's helplessness in the face
of such indifferent malevolence.
Biography : Peter Green is a Scottish Poet who lives in Botswana.