Ross Mackay Poems
Comments about Ross Mackay
Smoking In The Dark
The dust bowl of my poisoned breath
The tepid low narcotic test
The tempered brain falls from the nest
The captive tied a King in jest
Who laughs inside but outside is crying
The naked lights alive at dawn
Within the darkness like a thorn
The coldness numb becomes the warm
The Prophet roped inside unborn
Keeps me standing still but somehow moving
Rummaging through my pockets bare
Disguising icy lights with air
Erupting fast in clouds that tear
Cliffs of salt worn frozen bare
Hands are dry and prison lights ...
The Field At Night
To the field at night,
yellow crisp moon dips its paintbrush,
into the tar sea of grass.
Sombre spectre in woe,
banging the gates at the bottom pasture,
drying her eyes on white.
Glow of floating dust,
tempting strangers from the path,
to be lost to the dark.