Leo Long

...

The waves of that night
Were wilder than could be
There was no safe or sound place in sight
And the vessels bobbed like corks upon the sea
...

Blank
They stare at me
Oblivious
To the rage below
...

In the coven’s cavern
Dark and dusky
Wart and Weird
A potion are planning
...

The pupil surveyed the sea
Listening to the silent herd
Smelling the fragrance he alone knows
Soft the veld to touch
...

Obscure, drawn, demented
With mouths agape
We blend in wishing to stand out
...

I swung wide my shutters this morning at dawn
To witness the beauty as another day was born.
Too early I’d risen for the cool of night yet hung there,
Her eyes still sparkled and indigo graced her hair.
...

The steam that rises from the shell
Mists up the scope lens
A steady hand etches a heart
Through which the other bleeds
...

I pull open the cover,
a trap door to the deck.
“Weigh the anchor! ”
and with a splash the adventure begins.
...

... they are the nameless
the suggestors
the invisible advisors
because if “they say”, then that’s how it is
...

Like a stick man
I danced across the pages of your heart
Page after page
Ream after ream
...

“To my Love”… I start the letter
Which I know will be a curse,
For we said we’d be together, for better…
And for worse.
...

Worn… the scenes are vivid
Of angry protests,
Scowling faces,
And the sharp knife that rips the flesh.
...

Fresh from the incubator… we come out a box,
Newly born and eager to burn.
The doctor’s smack lights the wick,
A weak flicker is the start.
...

I felt the stab of pain
From a brother in the hood
One seeking to rise to fame
I thought he understood.
...

In my mind I see them, children of the land,
Black as darkest Africa, standing with an outstretched hand.
I see their stomach’s bloated, signs of despair,
Yet on I go with my life and couldn’t even care.
...

Pitter-patter; tears on the roof,
The world sleeps knowing not the grief,
And in dawning hours the gage is proof
Of a tear shed for life… oh so brief!
...

My sports car’s bumper is redder than your pale lips,
And it’s Parrelies blacker than your silver flecked hair.
The TSW mags are genuine chrome, not only the lightly rooted tips,
And the smooth, glossy bonnet not wrinkled like your dial from care.
...

Oh that the deepest Love
Would come to a heart
Like a hand, tight in a glove
Holding a pen, and there make a start.
...

So many times we’ve decided, “Its time we split up! ”,
But then we find we just can’t give up.
It’s not for each other; it’s for the children we care,
On them it’s unfair,
...