HEG George

He traipsed toward my face.
My grey, imperious majesty.
Impervious to strong fingers
and rubber-soled feet
...

A gathering of whispers travel from breath to breath,
much like trains picking up chattering gossips along its
route. With breath held, they stand and wait to join the
last exhale of the wretch stood on the hanging platform.
...

Don’t hold me to blame.
The road was never straight
nor the wind mild of frame
...

Like a distant relative, the moon looks down
upon the face of its ravaged cousin, with
eyebrows arched and telling finger raised. All
the while giving thanks for its airless habitat
...

From cave pictures, with hand sprayed self portraits.
To a churches pulpit displaying Psalm Twenty Three.
The writing's on the wall
...

Inch past spiteful inch I crawl my way out of this hole.
Whilst this screech columned cylinder connected to
my soul sustains a silent scream, residing incandescent in
my chest. And fledgling veins support my effort for early release.
...

A second hand book shop watches the Sunday rain
beat against a resentful pavement. Its second hand
door opens up its second hand world to second
hand people, carrying first class money.
...

Hovering, eyes so keen they see
the imprint of DNA run through
its unsuspecting quarry
...

I sit and wait. I was here yesterday.
Sitting. Waiting.
Dead air. Bereft of sound
...

God's earth shall always take me back. It shows
me every type of oddity in human form and,
though indivisible with His being, selects one
for me from which to start again
...

I listened with intent and watched with
practiced eye.That came to me through
scream on scream, word on word and slap
on slap.
...

I was there, the last time that God lost
His Faith. Admittedly, since the death
of His Son, there have been a few bad
years that could have influenced His
...

When you come to stay, you'll stay In a box,
much like any other. With its own rich vein
of concrete running between two green
rivers of grass; supporting islands of tainted
...

The best of them, give their best of all.
They answer a call to wield their written
vision, like swords before the march
and flirt with paths of tortured lines
...

I feel the sweat of a race not run
and hold the clench of a stomach churned,
as I crumble and fall, using artifice to
fool this world of my consummate ease
...

A white hot finger points your way,
pushing air aside with each advancing message.
The renting of air with thunder clap abroad
makes too much noise, chattering like rattling lungs
...

Hold back the hour.
Stop the tears from flowing.
Breathe again untainted air.
Take back my bones, my breasts,
...

Respects have been paid
by those with good manners
and by the mawkish with
restrained curiosity
...

To fly across a cesspool of land with
eyes full closed and chastity held in hand,
with barriers imposed and doors kept shut
against the blind woes of a darkened vista
...

The sun's beams penetrate me,
with fingers delving deeply beneath
the blanket of my surface
...