Umbrankers

There was a time
when I could see clearly
until the day
I was partially blinded
in a stampede
of rain sodden,
umbrella bearing,
Bankers,
majestically roving
the wilderness
of Londons streets.

Umbrella Blind a Religious Metaphor

With my
eyes stinging
I curse
the umbrellas
carried by
people who
roam pavements
unaware of
their own myopia.

Post Quake

The distant voices
did not hear my cries,
I was truly alone
beneath the rubble,
in the void.

Eyes do not flinch
as the zipper traps
the eyelash,
no yell
as the pick-up tailgate
smashes the temple,
suffering done,
it is over.

White, caucasian, female,
reads the tag
on the black
full length bag.

All that remains
is a flaccid body,
I have departed
into transience.

Without relatives
to stroke the cold skin
or caress a bruised face
where I lived lies still,
solitary in this melee.

My life half lived
snuffed out
in a moment
of nature's madness

Nobody will remember
this white, caucasian, female,
the tag
on the black
full length bag.

That which persists

My unchanging essence,
specter of the human condition,
is ever enquiring
searching for meaning
through diverse experience.

I have been allowed
to use this instrument,
this container
until it is worn out
or broken beyond repair
a tenant in an amalgam
of flesh and spirit.

An insider
exploring the extremities
information provided by nerve endings
indicate the roughness of stones beneath my feet
a coffee cup warms the fingers
they feel nothing
I am an observer.

Eyes provide a trompe l'oeil of life
biological wonders
yet they see nothing
just as brush and palette
are lifeless wood and sable
until instructed by the artist .