Animated earth,
puppet of mud and blood,
my soul within you
feels soiled
by this pitiless sky.

On my back,
in the gutter,
I gaze upwards
at glittering stars.

Do they know
I’m down here?
And if they know,
do they look down
their astral noses
when they write
my horoscope,

my horror-scope
of late.

When daylight loses itself
in night’s dark weave,
what remains,
but souvenirs and dusty
photos of moments
I alone recall?

Memories cling like mud
to my match-stick frame,
and me in the gutter,
a man, right now,
in nothing else
but name.

19 thoughts on “Puppet

    • Thank you for liking my poems and a double thank you for inquiring after my health. I was declared cancer free 18 months ago, so I am doing quite well. Still some minor side effects from the treatment, but basically good. My current project is to rewrite The Cancer Chronicles I kept throughout 2014-2015 but allowed to lie fallow in 2016. I needed some distance to turn ‘thought and feeling’ into poetry. These ‘dark’ poems have a silver lining, but they are all part of that experience.


  1. Oh goodness, how utterly bleak. A horror scope indeed. One of the worst feelings in the world is helplessness. To have no control of events as they spin out around you. Even worse to feel that they are being manipulated against you…

    Liked by 1 person

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