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There's sand falling from the sky

coppered bronze burnished in silt and grains 

containing secrets of a magicked East

that became known around these parts as an overspill from the brick yard,

but this dust is Saharan

crustacae from planes

Dead lost places with no witness.


The heat of the sun bears down its mirage

and admires its own reflection over vast skeletal lanscapes,

overwhelming in the beauty of narcissistic bones

born down


with dessicated  stickleback cracks over its rib

and slick swathes of that which man forgets

in its mirror.

Side and rear.


I wipe the washers and flick

the truth from Indian ceremony

out the way so i can see,

but in this bog standard rain

I might crash in the reddish gravel

and more obviously bleed my complaints to the road.


A hand made blanket

of rigid control and vacuous spaces.

the safety of the sun can cake

its mud in places

where no body cares.


if a tree falls in an unmarked forest?

if a man is is killed in the bright day of nowhere?

if not one person can acknowledge the saraha in our sky

then what are all of your stories for

and why?



◄ louise (repost)

Bad Queen Mab a story from 'The Bond Grimoire.' ►


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Rachel Bond

Tue 8th Apr 2014 17:43

thanks cynthis..yes it was all over mine and everyone elses cars..not one person mentioned it all day...till someone i write to in london said people were really suffering with it...i thought it unusual that it didnt stir more people to comment...

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Tue 8th Apr 2014 12:49

I really like this, Rachel. There's a lot to absorb, but the first plunge into your work is always invigorating and challenging. I'm glad you picked up on the romance of Saharan sand drifting and falling over the UK - the natural event was begging to be 'poeticized'.

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Julian (Admin)

Fri 4th Apr 2014 11:31

Looks OK to me Rachel, and well done getting a topic poem up so quickly.

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