Labour Pains

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These contractions

Surface skin stretches taut

Life writhes beneath

Earth labours to expel

Sodden Spring

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Prison Break

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One day sun will melt the bars,

Open doors and mend the scars,

Free your spirit from your chains –

Winter’s just the labour pains.

Alive and Kicking

Which is more alive?

Sometimes

you need to know when to fold,

when to halt the forward momentum.

The irony bleeds on blades of steel –

blooming is most profitable

when ground to a halt;

there,

in the secret places,

seeds are knit from

crisping petals,

distended ovaries,

dried husks of youth.

Once the shell of beauty is ceremoniously cracked,

rendered useless,

torn limb from limb

in ferocious labour pains,

what spills from broken caskets is

Alive and Kicking…