Coughing Camels

Photo by and copywrite Fee Easton.

It began with little Indians

rolling crude

puffing psychoactive spirituality

in lieu of peace signs in the sand.

Pet plants petted

coughing Camels patronizingly,

coaxing out life

one voice at a time.

Every breath breathes history

says the shaded mammal;

it sucks it up in fossilized harmony

and spits it out, in yellow –

it’s just shades of grey anyway

where humanity soars

out on a lung.

* My submission to this week’s edition of the One Shoot Sunday Photo Prompt, with that emotionally charged picture provided by one Fee Easton. I’ll be honest, this one’s still a work in progress; not entirely satisfied with how it turned out, but for the moment, it will do for this week’s prompt. As for Fee, well, she’s a fantastic photographer – be sure to have a look at my interview with her when you get a chance. You won’t come away disappointed…and while you’re there, check out all the other poets inspired by the prompt!

Upon the Precipice

Eyes open to the brink

I stand

Broken upon the edge

And though the sky is beating down

You are still above me

Always looking down.

Stretching for the dreams

Beyond your clouds

I burned within the strain

This arrogance has wrought,

And as the fire surged

I took it for desire

Obsession blinds

Focus the mind, focus the soul

Too late

All crumbling down,

The earth races

The sky screams

And I am tumbling through

This dear embrace

To something far more real.

Belief

I have not seen the light.

It burns

Me but I know

it is around Me

and I cannot feel it

on my skin this fire

Dances without Desire

Dies without Devotion

and wallows in its ashes

for a man

without Faith

knows neither Hope

nor Fear

but the binds of

Mortality does not lift

and excitement fades

with Life, failing

to elicit the possibility

of what may lie

beyond the stars

of time-locked

Existence.

Creation and Destruction

She smiled at Nothing

as Music stirred Creation;

Nothing smiled back

as Destruction stalked her wake;

Love stirred in the space between

their sinuous dance.

* To hear it: Creation and Destruction, by Chris Galford

What will I see?

Dust clouds on the wind

Scorch my skin as I

Break against the rocks.

Blood trails the cracks

And I reach for the summit

But I am nothing to

This peak.

It feeds on my destruction

And colors itself with my

Irreverent dedication.

I must climb

Another step, just one but

What will I see?

Asphyxiation

Asphyxiated blue—

Skin kisses the sun;

Waves smash and batter—

Ivory bursts

Enshroud and consume,

Tossing and toiling

Beneath the bubbling illuminations.

Helpless twisting

Gives to selfless thrashing;

Scorched sand rakes

Flesh ensnared, catches,

Body splayed in the midday sun,

Frigid, sopping—midst fire, twinkling.

Salty stagnance withdraws,

Raging, it heaved rejection,

And the torrent onward roared.