Photo Source: PxHere
What hides in the mist,
inside places you don’t look,
when all the sounds are muffled
and birds are menacing dark silhouettes
against a flexing crescent?
It’s called fear
and comes chugging and rumbling and screeching on the brakes
like a train at full speed
over a ramshackle bridge.
Haiku of the Volcano
Like steel to fire
gliding as proud ladybugs
from a dying world
In the Darkness of Flowers and Frames
Frames, zooming, and snapshots,
an avalanche of colours
against a black tapestry.
Choosing photography over acting meant eluding
the ordeal of human interaction
but not its dangers.
She cocks her head,
staring at the model.
“Shine, girl. Smile for the camera.”
A love undeclared is like a fallen butterfly on a carpet of flowers.
Before I can say No
I switch roles in the day
the way people shuffle cards
you fight angry entities at night.
Life is just a dream
except when it is not
-rock solid as a bleak reality always is.
Today’s ghosts are
armed and famished
history has forgotten.
In a world
bleached in indifference and painted with guilt
we met one evening
in a no man’s land called revenge.
You held my hand
walking me out of the graveyard
and I left behind barbed wire, blood, and shrapnel shells
rotten flowers and
the names of the victims
all the times I told you 'I can’t'
only taking along
sea-salted tears and a fading scar on my face.
Russell Hemmell is a French-Italian transplant in Scotland, passionate about astrophysics, history, and speculative fiction. Recent poetry in Argot Magazine, The Grievous Angel, Songs of Erez, Star*Line, and others. Find them online at their blog earthianhivemind.net and on Twitter @SPBianchini.