Taint

Dirty rusty morbid moon

Reflects the blood and bile of life

Slow motion clouds drift

As does time

Death taints red the sky

As charcoal clouds slide grimly by.

Sex In Church

I remember it was a hot sultry June afternoon, with a bright crisp clear heat. The trees were in the peak of  their Summer greens, and an energy of late Spring was still hanging in the air somehow. The old shady Church offered a cool relief from the surrounding buzzy atmosphere, the kind of which was very particular to a busy Saturday afternoon in a small northern market town. An out of service water drinking fountain nearby offered no relief for those who thought they would find solice in a drink of cool water.

  Todays gathering was a Christening. Both young women in their nubile prime (as yet to be mothers who were probably throwing their hands up in horror at such a thought ) and older more aware women who had already been through the trial by fire, all showed their bodily wares equally in such a frenzied fashion that not even the staid location of a Church could suppress.

 The hyped atmosphere of repressed sex filled the air. Hard pews though uncomfortable, seemed to suggest thoughts of chaste denial. The hypocrisy of the crowd only made the whole scene feel worse. The contradiction of the situation only heightened the lusting. And why should this surprise me so much ? This gathering was the product of such lusting, or rather the fruit  there of. Surely one cannot ignore the link between two ? Not even on a day like this. Even in this Church ?

   Eventually the tardy crowd all hushed their uneasy chatter while the Vicar slowly lit the tall elaborately decorated candle ( phallus ? ) Brows perspired, firm tanned thighs, both natural and sunbed baked pressed together, contained predominantly in bright, light short, Summer patterned dresses, their legs all crossed as if to give some level of projected composure. The irony that they would all soon be spread wide open in glee to accept motherhood was thankfully just a passing amusement to my mind. Many would later be opened for many a more generic reason. Such is life.

   Every woman there was having her day in the sun. The pregnant teenager with her tattoo's and leopard skin dress wrapped tightly over her large belly. The woman in her 50's who had a figure still to die for who just floated past every 5 minutes at regular enough intervals to gain every mans attention. A finely honed act if ever there was one. Funny how no man ever approached her in conversation. Maybe she was just feeling out of place on her own ? Maybe Im too naive ? And then there was me with my family and a squirming child to boot. Uncomfortable. Even the mother of the christened child paraded past in a state of juiciness. She wasn't going to be upstaged, even in the sex stakes at this stage of events ! No, it was a day of  women celebrating womanhood alright. It was a day for women to strut their stuff with an air of respectability. I thought it felt more like a night club for the married person, such were the contrary messages I was receiving.

   The water in the font made a relaxing swish as the manicured hands of a man of God scooped a blessing up for the silent offspring. After all that had been the original plan, handnt it ? Well, before the social hijacking anyway. It all now seemed an anti-climax. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200. Back to the start again ? Don't mind if I do !

   Earlier the pressure had steadily built as people sauntered to their seats. The now innocent Church isle had earlier appeared to be a very well utilised cat walk. Women know how to make an entrance. The slow walks and swinging hips are no less prevalent on Holy ground, maybe they are even a little more so. The albeit of unawareness does not hold enough water to excuse this sordid little social scene. It was an out and out sex fest, a potent spiritual or carnal aphrodisiac. The Higher and Lower selves in perfect harmony ? No I wont say intercourse !!
  

The Seasonal Entity

High branches creak
Like hangmans noose
In silver moon swept winds
Seasonal entity flip game
While gaudy trees a glow

The Archetype

Bubbling, bruised magnificent Madonna
Archetype
Genius
Produces the goods
Her hands unsoiled.

An Axe To Grind ?

Who hath not an axe to grind ?
Despite all this, trees one day will fall
Wasted energy swing the shaft
 In the coming storm all labour is proved redundant
Generations regenerate new ideas
Chance dictates your timeline
Hope not you land on the harvest time
Your childrens axe, now your greatest fear

A Maternal Sham

White foundation
Slyly smirking
Hugs too close
Kisses formal
Head contorted
Bronze skin shining
Ruby lips though barely moving
Forced magnetic halves


David Haygarth 2015    

There is nothing worse than a Mother who pretends to show affection for her daughter....

The Holiday Cottage

A slap of casually closing car doors
An unpractised laugh
A reflection of tensions left at home...