A landscape lies flat.
Rolled by an obese weight
of water. That fell like nails
hammered into the earth.
Now we are but flecks
upon a mirror. Stubborn marks
where silvering has rubbed through.
an unending metallic plain.
Pierced only by spires,
huddled island communities.
Sharp black spikes
of mud-trapped trees.
A steep path. Steps too high for comfort.
Straining calf muscles at each knee-bend, mud-slick in rain.
It rose behind the training center. Boys hung like apes
on tree strung ropes. Learned team spirit, rules of convention.
Their shouts twined under thick boughs. Higher up trees clotted.
A green palisade that blocked road, view, noise.
Pine cones littered ground cushioned upon a million shed needles.
Mottled, fragrant. Dotted with open lobed cones. Light fell
in dancing patches. Flickered over the ground in mirror-ball splashes.
Silence lay pure. An open mouth into which I fed thoughts,
worries, an expansion of optimism. That returned to me
chewed into more recognizable shapes.
Going down was best achieved on ones backside.
Hands gripping each steps edge. To arrive at the road
mucky, nails filled with earth. Head softly rested.
Miki Byrne began performing her poetry in a Bikers Club. She has had three collections of poetry published and work included in over 160 respected poetry magazines and anthologies. Miki has won poetry competitions and has been placed in many others. She has read on both Radio and TV and judged poetry competitions. She was a finalist for Gloucester Poet Laureate. Miki is a member of the charity Arthritis Care's People Bank. She has been disabled for many years.