Rhinescape In January. Poem by john o'connell

Rhinescape in January.

a thick mist enschrouds everthing,
unless you are standing face to face
with the object.

here and there a boat-house looms up
and is gone again
to the tune of quietly lapping waters.

the odd bush or solitary tree
stand guard over a grey blankness,
silent witnesses to the invisible current.

the stage is set
for ghosts and spirits
wandering in torment.

suddenly, this mental graveyard
is sacrileged by throbbing motors
as a black coloured devilish monster
works his way out of the unknown -

the dangerous and commercial barge of reality.

the ferryman is dead!