The Battlefield

the scent of the grass cut by tractor or man,
the powdery dust where battles decided
the spot in the middle where our dreams began
the shiny tin mouthpiece of law abided

the rippling sound as the wind draws breath
the sequence of rectangular birth or death
the circle for remembrance silence or applause
a structure of metal where a lone man claws

the scent of hot drinks, the pain in my feet
the boo and the hiss to those that dare cheat
our head in our hands, replayed missed chances
as lady luck ducks and dives and then dances

with our hearts in our mouths as the troops battle on
and quivering voices burst into anxious song
these are the dreams of the beautiful game
the memories live long past that timeframe

but the real games are played on and on
out on any field, between me and my son

(c) Ian Rusetear MMXII

Tha’lassic

She’s out of my reach by many leagues
Who else foster’s life to feed the free

When I’m near her, oh how tiny I feel
So overwhelmed, that’s the appeal
When I’m with her I know my place
I close my eyes; she moistens my face

She calls me then roars but I don’t despise
how she waves me over, then will hypnotise
Her concentric echo’s at all times
She’s never been tried for her crimes

Why she’d lift me up if only I dare and
She’d drag me down without a care
But first gently caressing and lapping my skin
Before her bed massage tempts me in

I’ve tried moving away, boy did I repent;
craved her oscillating, her fragrant scent,
She always does greet me at my side
But any glimmer of trust has long since died

She leaves a mark like no-one else can
Her secrets untold to ignorant man
Who does choose to abuse her with his assaults
Slowly corroding her curative salts

I stare at her too long and I’m sick
She’s the original authentic lunatic.

© Ian Rusetear MMXIII