HEG George Poems

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
...