Poetry in motion

Nutter’s rhyme

I’m a little teapot
short and stout
tip me up…
and I’lll rip your throat out!

Silence strokes
her fingers across my throat
muting my words,
voiceless I choke

locked in a moment
time stands still
the key just beyond my reach
atop a monstrous hill

I struggle up the
steepest slope
just to find the answer
which is there, I hope

My voice is lost
and must be found
I slip and I fall
onto cold unyielding ground

the morbid raven
atop the dreaded mount
screams down at me
‘this obstacle you won’t surmount’

Do I have the courage,
to charge on through the pain?
Can I reach sanctuary
under the turbulent pounding of the rain?

The tumulus
is vast and cruel
my heart begins to doubt
that this demon, I can overrule
fear creeps in from without

regardless my resolve
refuses to falter
and as I claw to the summit
I come to a man,
his gun drawn from his holster

‘Turn back my friend’
he says to me
‘or else by death,
I will set you free’

I look down the barrel
of his gun, and though
he threatened me with blackest heart
I say one word and that was
…’No’

Weep for the phoenix
born already dead,
with its requiem call
and wings sanguine red

Its fate to be the first
and last of its kind.
Dreams of its fiery death
haunt its waking mind

refused nirvana
cursed is its karma
forevermore trapped
in samsara
its own living hell

thus is the price of immortality