WHAT THE STORKS SAID Don’t know how it happened but I know it did, And yet, to this day, many have questioned it. I’ve been called a liar, a loon and a fake But these words are true as the quill they forsake. It all started out when my well-meaning mother Placed a long-lived looking glass in my hand. Truth’s gaze and mine met and did not like each other So I smashed the family Georgian nightstand. I wanted to run from the house that I mastered But this ain’t no movie: I picked up the mess; And since angry men tend to be brutish bastards, I suitably blamed her for my own distress. Each time that we hurt those who love us the most The planet starts smelling a little bit worse So I took two clouds to soak up the nosebleed, Shut my first aid kit and proceeded to sleep. I nestled in bed, both baby and corpse, While my dreams forgot their daytime job as thoughts; But out of Death’s pets, Guilt’s bite’s the most piercing And Sleep is but Death’s more tolerant sibling. The volatile fabric of nightmares and dreams Came suddenly loose as it tore at the seams Of my mattress, which – I took notice of this - Had turned into thousands of thick ash tree twigs! I looked up above me: the sky was humongous, I looked down below: I had been undressed. I looked all around me: frogs, feathers and fungus; There was no mistaking: it was a bird’s nest! So seized by bamboozlement, arms all outstretched, I ran around twice, then peered over the edge: A belfry descended, the height made me retch, How would I go down if I still hadn’t fledged? As I found myself thinking in these odd terms A cloud dark and dire came out of the mist. Night fell on my eyelids and spread like a germ And my heart felt gripped as by some iron fist. Three grand ghastly shadows then perched on the rim, The three plumed eclipses that made the world dim. A milky fog gathered behind their dead eyes; When they looked at me, my insides turned to ice. Then one of the storks promptly opened its beak But melody came there none. Instead, I admit, I let out a wild shriek, For its talking technique left me stunned. Like silhouettes rise from a backdrop of words When eyesight surrenders and pages command, The dreadful bill-clattering made by the birds Dissolved into patterns I could understand: “Do not blame, Child of Shame. It will only bring you pain. Know your sin and change your game like smoke rises from the flame. Do not blame, I say again!” “Do not lie, Child of Drive, no one’s going to ask why You’re not always up real high, shining perfect in the sky Do not lie, I say two times!” “Do not fret, Child of Fear. What you get is now and here. And the demon you hear jeer builds his house inside your ear Do not fret, I hereby threat!” One stork then bent down (I slightly withdrew), She seeked with her beak and picked up an earthworm; The crushing it felt, I sure felt it too, And grew more infirm as I watched the thing squirm. “This worm is your life, your thin silver thread. One end is the sky. The other, your bed. Now you know your mission in this wooden womb, So make your decision: the trip or the tomb?” The flow slowly faded and I was amazed, A bittersweet consciousness inside me blazed: So sad I could laugh – Like some bygone song So funny I could cry – I’d known all along! The storks’ feathers filtered the pale northern sun, The sun it did beam and my eyes they did sprout To mountains and woods and to all things undone; I mounted a stork with no remnants of doubt. On top of the world I could feel my heart swell; Below, the church bells chimed a tune of farewell. The Earth seemed to have effloresced a new skin And I couldn’t wait to breathe beauty back in.

ASTRAL TRAVEL I end up covered in stardust Every time I astral travel, Think it comes out of my ears As my pillow trips unravel So I take the vacuum cleaner And pick up the cosmic mess; With my dreams inside my Hoover, All is fine - nevertheless, Once my dreams get too fantastic, The machine begins vibrating Like a platypus on acid Or a cocktail shaker shaking. Then the twatting thing blows up! Breaks into a million pieces! And the stardust makes my nose Break into a million sneezes! See a desert made of stardust Of my lucid dreams cascading From the inky sky that keeps All my nightmares from escaping. Why employ a vacuum cleaner When the vacuum's dull and dark If the dirt left by the dreamer Shimmers with a brighter spark?

SECRET GARDEN I was walking through the moorland / down a steep and winding lane Underneath a sunless promise / of abundant summer rain When I noticed that, beside me, / a stone, ivy-covered wall Failed at hiding a dead garden / for its bad weeds grew too tall. From a corner of the garden / a red robin flew to me, The sole sign of life remaining / in that eerie house of sleep. "All things weep, all things weep" / Was his grim recurring tweet "In this solitary garden / You've forgotten how to keep ." Didn't know what he was saying / so I begged him to explain: "What has this to do with me, bird? / Are you stupid or insane?" "All things weep, all things weep" / He was willing to repeat "Now not even you remember / all the plants you used to feed?" "Knees were young", said the robin, / "and dreams wild as dreams should be" When a child used to come visit / every Friday after tea. He would skip across the moorland / past the graveyard and the well To pour water on the lilacs, / and the lilacs loved it well. But the equinox arrived / and nobody came to play. Firefly was quick to note / "Surely he's unwell today" But more nights sunk in the moorland / and the willow ceased to laugh, No more did its backcomb tickle / the pale moon , his better half. Ivy spread its magic kingdom / by annexing walls and benches, Blocking up the lidless eyes / of the statues it still clenches; Even that well on the prairie / grew a scab of sparkling moss And the roses' hundred eyelids / mourned each morning at the loss. Topiaries in shapes of creatures / became hugely overgrown: Now the beaver's body prickles, / as a porcupine, it groans; Now the owl's a daunting vulture, / the cat's turned into a lion; They can't entertain the thought / that their savior had been lying. Many animals escaped, / although some of us stayed here Hoping to refute an answer / that we didn't want to hear. Squirrel shed hot, heavy teardrops / like a hairy garden hose, It was more despair than being / as it blew its tiny nose. Dragonflies used to shape hearts / when they mated in the moonlight, Now they are but crystal gargoyles / murmuring an icy "good night". Water caught in spiderwebs / froze them into bright dreamcatchers But can't save this house of sleep / from the nightmares that it captures. The night air is so, so cold / even ghosts wear duvet covers. See their whispers turn into / that chill smoke signal that hovers? And the nodding leaves admit, / when admit they really must, That the wind is right in taking / their weak bodies far from dust. Now I am the last one standing, / I have buried all my friends, I have planted their bones, hoping / they would flourish in the end. Sprinkled all my love upon them , / added much water and light But either the harvest's awful / or the measures weren't right " When the red robin stopped speaking / and the wind rustled the thistle I thought I could recognise / the old lullaby it whistled. In the pocket of my jacket / I then felt a heavy weight, Searched and found a rusty door key / - Had to enter, couldn't wait! Opened wide the wooden doorway / and saw daffodils in bed Stretching after their deep slumber / by the ancient fountainhead, Smelled the blood red roses' breath / - yes, the garden was alive! Seems it had remembered for me / while I coped with real life. It seems something good inside me / had been lost along the way But I'm safe back in my garden / and I'll never walk away I will let it drink my teardrops, / and if it still doesn't thrive I will let my body dry up / to make sure it stays alive. Once again the moors will hear, / through the years and through the ages, The beat of a million hearts / against a million ribcages. They're emerging from the moss, / by the morning they'll have flourished Now the dome of stars appears / and they're waiting to be nourished.

THE LABYRINTH The labyrinth goes on forever A honeycombed ocean in green My sense of direction can’t solve the equation And brings me back to where I’ve been The spectres around are blindfolded But somehow they all know the way Although each one’s boots follow disparate routes Which doesn’t help much, I must say Cause I have my eyes open wide So much I can make out my thoughts But try as I may I cannot find the way - This irks me more often than not - A castle awaits in the center The spectres, they know how to go I say “hello, hi” but they all say “goodbye! It’s time that you, too, headed home” But I do not know if I’m ready -Those who go in never come out – Could wear a blindfold and do as I was told But I’d hear the voice within shout The architect, Demiurge, yes! His art is mind-numbing, he plays! He wants me to tame the wild birds in my brain; Poor Daedalus in his own maze Above me, I sense the glass vultures Rejoice in the choice that I’ve made But I don’t take kindly to casting spells blindly I’ll read the grimoires as I wade Now stardust is creeping all over The labyrinth blooming around And I know the cost of remaining this lost But I still don’t want to be found Ends go hand in hand with beginnings The moon promptly chases the sun I won’t let this dream fade away with a beam Before it has even begun