poet russ cavanagh

Wind visits this late evening to sweep leaves across another disorderly autumn Time now to let those few dear to me know I’m going, though words come hard and never seem enough Perhaps to sleep, perchance to dream -huh!- a better answer, while steel rain washes city slate under the ageing moon's unspoken baptism We are all precariat, for sure     CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh  

Dirty old man, lucky old man; she must be younger than any daughter you may once or more have had. Now self-conscious, you read my face from a corner of your eye, from along a crowded bar. “Time to go,” I see you mouth, before she follows in her most dutiful manner, gazing straight ahead. Dirty old man, sad old man, holding on to insecurity so tight for as long as you can. Just wait until the day you become too infirm, in any sense of that word. CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

Edinburgh; a city in love with yourself, if rather bitter underneath. Festival city; celebrating all but your own, once each year. Edina’s midden; perhaps so, yet still special for me, your outcast spawn. “See you soon,” I say. “See you, son,” says you. CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

oohs and aahs, our public entertained, we followers of Bacchus pursuing all that's vain; back in a time when nothing could go wrong; wizards, sprites, magicians, and days forever long; lost souls acting out scenes beyond real life; before our sorrow, our trouble, my now ex-wife       CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh  

I sit still disputing summer's demise Canute-like by the shore, beneath banks of billowing cloud behind which a September sun stoops in surrender to the season. My t-shirt and shorts sound a stoic cadenza, likely inviting a bout of influenza, while around me pass countless goats in coats that they bought from Marks+Spencer ® CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh

Slayed that dragon yet? How? By hiding whenever and wherever? Well this beast lives on, right here, cursed into eternity to remember how love once filled both my eyes and yours. Happy now?         CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh  

Every Western nation under vice-like occupation of parasitic settlers not who or what they claim to be; Their wars a blood sacrifice to the god of this world, whose feud trails back beyond some thousands of years; Prophets killed, Messiah murdered - holy blood spilt by these devils, now a curse on their children; And having hollowed out their host, this deity and his demons turn full-face to confront you and me. Matthew 27:25 - KJV CC BY-ND 4.0 - Russell Cavanagh