Mirror of the Son

Open sweated palmed hand, outstretched
Suctioned, still, against the joined spread-eagled fingers
Echoed in a flaking silver apparition of fear
Waiting for memory’s blood to smear reflections
Of a younger day of vivid green wet grass
Bending alongside child-like songs, meandering
In a meadow where satanic birds with curled talons
Seek the weak, oblivious to death’s closing shadows


Smash the frail mirror that laughs through glass
Release the shards of forgotten murmuring dreams
Time-warped in the Son’s ageing mirror




Harry Mills
Boracay Island, Philippines
1st January 2013
Dedicated to Harry, my Son
From : Departure Lounge

Room 6c

Below :
Workmen chatter, battering, repairing
Polluting the smoke filled air


She whispers her mother’s learnt prayers
Swatting a loaded mosquito, swearing the blood
Red swirl is her crimson curl, cursing
The workmen below and the dead departure


Dead :
As her starved open-mouthed child
Under the bed, in Room 6c



Harry Mills
English Bakery Boracay 4th December 2012-12-04
From : Departure Lounge

America

Silently sitting, clumsily in a lacquered wicker chair
Outside the once fashionable restaurant, waiting for her


Waiting for the morning’s daubing colour, jousting for street space
Smeared by sun, fighting shade along the waiting white walls
Where market sellers gather, like grey smudges
Below the gaudy faces of enamel fascias, smiling at lazy gazes


‘ She’s gone’
Her acid tongue spits sweet revenge, between pouting painted lips
Ice cold, like a sudden frost killing a frail summer
‘Gone? .. gone where?’


Her vampire blood- red varnished nails, preened for the clean kill
Outstretched vultures talons, tantalisingly, creeping closer
Along the starched Irish-linen white tablecloth, suddenly stopping
Like a pulse
‘America’


Harry Mills
English Bakery, Boracay, Philippines, 31st October 2012
From: Departure Lounge

Puzzles

Sunlight, morning bright
As a frightened rabbit’s eye dawning in the dew
Fidgeting, feeling, light’s touching fingers
Lingering across the bed’s defiant black shape
Arching it’s silence along your naked back
Birthing a new promise, a new day
Yet to be named and numbered in your brass clasped
Secret diary of coded names and puzzled numbers




Harry Mills
Boracay Philippines
17th January 2013
From : Departure Lounge

You

I think because of you
I painted the bedroom you never slept in, pink
Because of you


I sleep your sleep
Creep, weep, count endless sheep
Because of you



Harry Mills
Philippines 15th January 2013-01-15
From : Departure lounge

Marian’s Box

Crinkly, sun- aged in hump-backed flooded fields
Silent, as folded forgotten brown paper in dark draws
Weathered olive brown behind a lone caribou’s tail
Year after year, shedding brown babes at every furrow
Of promised rice shoots, failed, to a praying sun


A surprise box ! a daughter’s offering
In a quagmire of existence, of logos unknown to eyes
That cannot read, only to breed more mouths open
‘’Spaghetti Mama , ice cold Franchetti
Corn flakes and Spam to bake ... take !
Dried milk to boil, some cooking oil, Mama ‘’ 


Sweating now, behind the swishing ox
She dreams of another Christmas box
Of strange tastes and memories of children
Gone with kissed promises never to be fulfilled



Harry Mills
Boracay, Philippines, 6th January 2013
From : Departure Lounge

Tarnished Chrome

Pale smogish smoke over Embercombe woods
Creeps it’s slow spiral, like a glowing, smouldering
Charcoal perfumed ciborium, circling Benedictine ankles


Clamped in her two- wheeled chrome and leather coffin
Arousing penitence from pungent clinging blue incense
For his rampant incest behind ramped, iron belted doors


Now crooked leg-irons, concealed, covered with scorched blanket
Of congealed woollen fibres warping the weft, as deftly
As her dead dream to rise majestically from her wheelchair prison


A Phoenix
Arising, with pure white outstretched wings, flying free
Flying free




Harry Mills
Apartment A10 English Bakery Boracay Philippines
3rd October 2012
From: Departure Lounge

Crossing the Chasm

The eggs of quails, like Bedouin’s creamy cold peals
Roll the turning tongue’s treasure of twirled Burgundy
Feeding the absent senses of a kindled light perpetual
In a Southern night of toothless soothsayer’s prophesies
Of an open fingered outstretched withered hand
That will sooth life’s bended brow of a troubled ending
Crossing the chasm of spilt wine and fumbled pearls



Harry Mills
Apt A10 English Bakery Boracay Philippines
28h September 2012
From : The Departure Lounge

Sad, Barking Mad

‘They breed like fuckin’ dogs !’


The dogcatcher’s bamboo pole and wire noose snatches
The back leg of a whelping pregnant bitch
Whose dangling teats dance for freedom from the van
Destined for the short howling trip to the municipal tip
To join the other canine delinquents who feed on each other
Before starving in the faeces infested cage
On their last journey to the incinerator and bone crusher


‘Not many this week’


Grumpily observed the entrepreneur who sacks the grey remains
For the keen gardener who purchases the colourful five kilo bag :


WOOF –WOOF !
Bonemeal Fertiliser
It’s the dog’s bollocks !




Harry Mills
Boracay Philippines : 9 September 2012-09-09
On reading that the council have no budget to put-down or feed the captured stray dogs