locusts

When he grew up, the sky opened
and the sun was a husk of bright golden corn
medowed by a lark.
when he grew old
the sun poured on his uneven brow
locusts.
his children
sizzled like honey tossed into flame
his grandchildren
ate with copper spoons
his wasted remains by an outdoor fire.

Amphitrite

by Marcus Roi

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I was taught that goddesses only exist
in the heart and in myths.
Well, she must be Amphitrite's descendant,
unbridled perfection
a beautiful remnant.
Blessed with olive skin and auburn eyes,
a mind as bright as the sun.
When was I ensnared by her smile?
I couldn't begin to surmise.
It happened in an instant, like a flash of light
a burning deep within me, like a shooting star or a crashing flight,
like Icarus before his demise.

It felt as natural as soil between toes
the first time our souls met.
She took my breath away with every word she spoke and when she held me close
like a corset.
Even the small things she did with divinity,
she spoke like a waltz
enhancing my affinity.
Goddess among women rose among the weeds, you are effortlessly without fault.

There must be something in the waters
passed down to the Mediterranean's daughters;
My Amphitrite, my goddess of sea,
who swam through my veins like cocaine.

Goddesses only exist in the heart and in myths,
I learned once again.
It's proved more difficult than I'd imagined
trying to stay sane.
You got under my skin like a tattoo
you spread quickly as a rumour.
Mysterious, magnificent,
and malignant as a tumour.

From: 

 Marcus Roi

Copyright ©: 

 Marcus "Roi" Medford

BRITISH LIBRARY-BAD BEHAVIOUR BY STAFF

As a regular user of the British Library I have come across extraordinary behaviour by its security personnel. He is a complaint's letter I recently wrote to their customer service:

I had on several occasions concerns about the behaviour of the security staff in the past but it was an incident last year that brought my concerns into focus. I made an official complaint on both incidents. In one, I had paused before the exit in humanities Level 2 when a sterntorian voice repreminded me, informing me as if I was a recalcigent child it was against the rules to be standing where I was. The disrepect in this gentleman's tone and manner was almost visible. He, large and greying, swept past me and I had no chance to respond. The next incident a month later was when I came in by the front entrance, my bag was search, and my hand was over a zipped pocket on the bag, which the security personnel flicked away with his fingers. Am I a criminal I thought. I made an official complaint on both incidents. 

Before issuing a complaint I spoke with the head of security who shrugged and walked off, clearly uninterested, and I was left in the hands of his assistant who helped me issue the complaint. It seemed nothing was done on that occasion as I later witnessed the same large and greying gentleman berating a student. I watched to see how far he intended to go. I have since described him as a bully-boy type-but in the British Library? Surely not!

Death is nothing at all

Death Is Nothing At All

A Poem by

Henry Scott Holland

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.

All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

the jinn

The jinn has golden eyes
that see
the gods' past and future-
it always smiles, knowing their fate.

WE KNOW

We know too well that we 
will die,
will feel the drear gusts of death
the final fear
the angry sigh-
we know, we both know in each fading breath
that all religion is a lie
that grief
disapears by and by
and tears never bring relief
the sun always brings heat
we know all this but never ask why
and smile together in careless defeat. 
hold my hand as we walk along
forgiving love, 
forgiving wrong
knowing too that above
is neither further life nor duller song.
hold my hand
as we go 
step by step; slow, very slow.