Study in Red: Misinterpretations

There's a knot
in a rope tied to calf
or ankle,
and a mass of red
beneath which
I don't want to think -
a body seems to flatten and bleed.

This could be a misinterpretation of events,
although historically
many seem not to have bothered about such.

One can only deduce so much
from a single image
without aids of language,
context, or text
information
that might lead to alternatives.

This could be heaven, it could be hell.
Could be a UFO
or a trick of the light, or eyes.

If no offer to decode is made
any wrong conclusion arrived at
is as valid as any other.

The Boys

See all the dead here,
laid in rows.

Alive they splayed out,
with cousins and aunts,
across summer lawns
and sandy beaches,
cricket balls and picnic baskets
strewn in their wake.

They spewed after parties
and squabbled with mates,
told lies to girlfriends,
cheered at the rugby,
ignored the elections
and moaned about taxes.

But here they are tidy,
stacked toes to nose,
as each dawn parade passes
beneath skies bled with rose.

The Pelicans

Where minnows minuet in wet
a muddy nestle of birds
rafts the river rapids.

A feather net of fishermen,
their grey leaves rustle
and lift

above the elephant clouds
where blueness steps high
over trees.

Rubble City

She's a scarlet scramble
ghosting doorways of foreign theatres,
atmosphere unspooled in a vagrant pulse
of lipstick and ardor.

Keelhauled on her ice caps, he runs
beneath the cellophane shimmer
of floodlights, a tiger stalking prey
through the apartment rubble
of the city.

I like this:

Living in this world -
to what shall I compare it?
Its like a boat
rowing out at break of day,
leaving no trace behind.


by Sami Mansei

tragedy of wickedness

Blow me to the winds
beneath the wild eyes of the sky.

I'm an insubstantial transmission
of meta uncognition,

an apparition
in a drift of nicotine emission

The Deep Dark

In open country
all the street lights are doused.

There are only ocean and mountains
respectively,
one
a darker ridge against black,
the other
a song of in-out rolled on shore.

She's in her black period -
though she covers it with razzle dazzle
so you'd never know.

Lighting up the country night
like fireflies' neon bright
alternative to day.

Laughter rims plastic cups of wine
brittle as glass,
like the glass of a coffin
where love lies broken

and the mourner
in her black
razzle dazzles for all she's worth
to light the deep dark.

beginning moon

in the whisper of a curve
flames of light begin to flicker

filling the hollow cove
where sun has died

lunar revelation