The Poetry Marathon

There you are.
I do not remember you.

There under a gloss finish,
You point your lens at me across the water.
An older man laughs beside you
And the wind lifts a veil of petals around you both.

You could be anyone,
Frozen in springtime.

I wonder if,
Flicking through your albums,
You ever glance back at me.
I wonder if I am young and untarnished to you –

Frozen under a gloss finish
And a smile.

Welcome to the Island!
Ten sexy singles and a glittering pot of gold;
A chance at all your wildest dreams and never growing old.

Welcome to the Island!
Please don’t stray from the grounds –
There is a chance you might get lost, and ne’er again be found.

Welcome to the Island!
Now come and eat our food.
Sink with us into glamour and enchanting solitude.

Welcome to the Island!
You have signed away your names.
Now dance under our starlight, play our exquisite games.

Welcome to the Island!
No, please don’t hide away.
We have made a deal, remember? You do not have a say.

Welcome to the Island!
We hope you never leave,
For here you can be free from toil, and we so love to watch you grieve.

Quiet.
A whispering.
Moonlight makes ghosts of the reeds.
Mosquitos brush their toes against the surface
Of blood-dark water where
An eel chases shadows through the roots of ancient trees.
And a million tiny things are alive.

Quiet.
Or… not.
Quiet but for the noises
Of the pumps as they rip apart the soil
And drainage channels scar
The broken land. And the ancient trees have lost their voices.
And a million tiny things have died.

Quiet.
Now, so quiet.
Moonlight finds ghosts where once were reeds.
In dried-out carrs foxes carve their dens into
The starless midnight earth.
The blood has drained away – they said there was no human need.
And a million tiny things are ploughed away.