Alchemisland

Splintering a hidden crypt’s driftwood door, ripping out hidden histories

Indeed, it is a history shared which provokes bitterness

A known joke taken as witness testimony 

It’s the history that stops you quitting in the middle

Acquitting oneself, suddenly, of the need to bicker

A shitslinging contest, cruelty besting honesty, going far beyond the line

Somehow, I stop mid fling, submerged in a moment that seems to linger

On my tongue a zinger like a stinger missile, like bee’s sting

Death pays for that glaive’s use; I was going to call her a minger

And, with all Zeus’ cruelty, call myself the winner

Returning from dinner through little dales and hillocks

Discussing our favourite plates: she, the haddock, I, the plaice

I surmised from her loud silence some grievance given

Some little whisper, unbidden, to her some grave riddle

Some bravery escaping having had a tipple

But I was far from such states of inebriation wherein hate strays

Confidence borne solely of my own conference

I had that rare Captain’s ability of instilling confidence 

My officers were at liberty;

A mind gateless indeed a dangerous place for spectators.