Ross Mackay Poems
There Be, There Be
The shimmer of the morning cold
seemed to stroke its fingers across
my late morning dream.
You turned towards me,
a smile pressed the fontanelle
of my lucid vulnerability.
Languid, the chill of the outside
rippled through the windows
whilst I lay most content.
The halls were golden,
there was a swimming pool,
as I remember.
There you lay between a mirror
and the orchestra played Greensleeves.
You had turned away to face me
and smiled through me at first.
Your skin was golden
and the hall smelled sweet of summer.
I felt the touch of ...
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