Living with loss

he tells me of lovers

counting them off

finger by fingers thumbs

indicating toes

people he called out love to

now gone

the way of all flesh

living with loss he tells me

as the jug empties

& we call for more

gentle under the trees cicadas moon

& my turn will come he sighs

caught in the thought

the majesty of death

of course I say quiet

reaching across for olives

& oil

I know nothing of any of this

for I am immortal

having never ever felt loss

suffered in any way

felt life’s thin cruel whip

y’know he said all bright

& firing now

for my longest ever friend

you can be such a arsehole

burned out

there was a time

my ancestors say to me

late in the day

when the moon is low

the wind is sleeping

the sand ceases to move

of a time

when shut up

was never heard

we would bang our drums

sing until morning

or the singing was done

in this way our hands

reached back all the way

to those gone before

& then came

the time of shut up

we were not to talk

sing of these things

that connected us

to those who no longer

walk the day

& like the fire

before you now

growing colder

this is how they

burned us out

ended our culture

hypno regression

I spend every day

walking my stone circle

& nights here in my cloak

watching the stars & moon

waiting for the signs to come

sky to change

from these I tell the farmers

when to plant

hunters to go out & succeed

feed the tribe

as the deer migrate

fish rise in the river

when the village has to harvest crops & fruits

the time to slaughter cattle for winter

the omens to prepare against attack

which clan younglings are born into

& in finality for some

where when & how they will be buried

& the price to be paid

for all of these

is to live

be alone


if revered

always alone

unless sage advice

warnings from the gods

words to the wise are sought

& then I am abandoned

until needs arise again

this too is written

howling at the moon

my own

comes late at night

not always in drink

under the influence

once in magic

clutching my stick wand

creating the circle

hearing the world

in all of its senses

crackling in the undergrowth

clouds past by the moon

the wind whipping my words

into the dark

hearing the dogs

sing them right back

wondering if i was being foolish

hoping for no humans on the track

more often

this is a release of rage

venting pent up emotions

not that often do I do this

a need every now & then

pain out loud into the world

escaping this thin cage

levelling up

levelling out

across the void

maybe one time you’ll hear

stop & think

ah, yes,

the fool there on the hill

at it again