The River
written by: John de Gruyther
@JohndeGruyther
Part One
River on the doorstep
Hollow promise in the air
Tried four times to soak away the worry
Noise on the monitor, phone rings, disturbed thought processes
no sign within
The whisper of an idea
The loss of a friend
A sliver of information, this grey has no end
River on the doorstep
No excuse to close eyes to overseas atrocities
A jumped up prime public figure, has a tear for us to buy
Submerging the terror, hidden in the murky depths
River is breathing
Sky is gasping
Raining for days
Strike out the tubes, light a futile match
Trying to get clean
In fogged up hostile obscenity
Touch the copper waters of treachery, lapping and re-claiming their roads
Dream of some Costner led dystopia
The news the same for three weeks now, though the weather is fucking obvious
Endless yawning blackness
Days of mournful restlessness
Complaints we can’t get better, predict the impact of mansions in the country
awash with more water and sandbags than is polite
Puffed up trickery
one hand promising money and the other robbing us blind
Back to the bath, hoping for no further interruptions
Part Two
Many rivers to cross, but don’t cross the Severn, it’s not happy with you, dredge, drown, decay
There once was a prison on the banks of a mighty river, murderers, rapists, tax cheats, like sardines in a pungent tin. One day River got angry and with its surge so tidal smashed all the tiles and ripped open the doors of the jail, this was no judgement by the river just cold random order
Out swam the prisoners, to a deluge terrifying. Where the doors once stood, just a jagged brick maw, grinning and malevolent. In rushed the hungry river, not frightened or feeling making the prison’s naked insides fat with watery decadence
Filled to bursting the building blew, bricks and mortar flying through the air. On the ruined steps, stood an ancient hooded gaoler, black-eyed watching as the prisoners swam away
Stranded on trees or upturned road signs, free from numbers, dank rank and file, but a watery pit awaits. The river rumbles as foundations crumble, it will wait until the prison is washed away. Cold cryptic logic, true powerful tonic, all that’s left is the night.
My writing has appeared in various publications, including Star Trek Magazine and the Vegetarian Society.
