Crooks and Grannies

Hall of Infamy
creativity by others
writings by me
Junk Drawer
the misc


about Alarra



The Towel
home of the Nerk (currently on hiatus)
home of Aquila
Bored of Life
home of Melaura
F1 Rejects
pimpin' for Noch





poetry by Alarra
Poetry (the earlier years)


The Last Goodbye

She said his eulogy -
Said it, like an elegy
For a dying swan
Her face wan
As she grew louder,
Grew larger
Her voice rising to scream out
Her sad goodbyes.
The pigeons in the rafters
Fluttered their downy wings
And slept.
The church quiet, damp
Small flames twinkling, lighting the way
Light the last candle and leave -
Leave him to sleep.
Fare thee well, and sleep.



Of Stolid Unease

Beneath a corner of everchanging sky
Where the walls are lined
With gold and leaves
Cast strange shapes with hanging fronds
Cool in the shade of a summer's ease
Or in winter's wane.
Of goldfishless goldfish ponds
And buildings of grey cement untouched

Under imposing monoliths
Bricks of terracotta newness
Contrast green glass and skyline views.
Sway in the midday sun
Shadeless palms for a misplaced island

This place is alive
This place is a-hum
With the noise of a thousand people.

When the fading light
Creeps past the closing threshold
Breaches into hiding corners
Swallowed by the growing dark
Outside, displaced souls
Wait for time to be returned
Wait to shake off the dreamlike fugue -
This present wakefulness

Let me walk in the -

As shadows fall
Across the park.




Atrophied muscles, grey
clammy skin caked with relentless mud,
Cold, and alone.
Bodies fly as bursts of light raise
Sparks, above lowered heads.

Deep in the trenches rats nibble
At half dead soldiers
Too weary to stop this early ravage
Of skin and flesh
Vulnerable to attack.

Guns, a neverending sound
In the air, in ears,
In their dreams.
The waking state only a reflex
Of men still asleep in endless night.

Above the trenches
Lies land nurtured in the blood
Of those they cannot save
And those who die attempting.

Write your letters home, boys
For who know where you will be tomorrow?

For those who will never know,
Will never come home.




If I put my head back
And close my eyes
I can feel the earth turning

If I put my head back
And open my eyes
I can see the earth turning,
As the clouds continue
their leisurely walk across the skies

I like watching that procession
Against the curved dome,
Clear and blue, of
Sky bending to meet horizon
in ground or skyline -
Tall buildings and springtime trees.

How nice this day is!
Sun shine and green leaves,
Cool breeze rushed against soft skin
Thank you for this pleasure Lord
And bless the creation you made!



feedback welcomed