31st October 2026

 

crisp air

the street oddly scented

patchouli

© Rachel Green October 2026

A Post-Christian Utopia

when the dead rose

they didn't shamble and stagger

and look for the living to satiate a hunger

they couldn't put a name against;

they formed orderly queues outside the church

and at the Salvation Army building

and asked "Is this the Resurrection?

Are we going to Heaven soon?"

and all the government could do

was treat them as Asylum Seekers

for the land of the Dead

and issue temporary passports and 

put their names on reanimation certificates.

The next election had a new platform altogether

and was a 'look after' or 'destroy' coalition,

but the surprising outcome was the Ultra-Right

who ran with the slogan 'Ultra for Unlife'

and got in by a landslide until the economy crashed

because the Undead could work Unpaid

and the living all went to Hell.

© Rachel Green October 2026

30th October 2026

 

woodsmoke

passing the allotments

burning leaves

© Rachel Green October 2026

Almost Always

why do I dream

of urinating in odd places

like stove tops

and towel bales

or a disconnected toilet

at a childhood friend's

or the men's urinal in a shopping mall.

At least I always wake up.

© Rachel Green October 2026

29th October 2026

 

salvation army

the stench of old urine

homeless lads

© Rachel Green October 2026

Broken Furniture

there's a recurring dream

where the house is full of rubbish

and art supplies and woodworking tools

but the child (now thirty) is still two years old

and their toys are everywhere.

The wallpaper is peeling from the ceiling

in the dampness of the attic room

and a hole in the wattle and daub wall

reveals a glassless atrium beyond

overlooking the neighbour's yard

and my ex-ex-ex's father

is scowling at me as usual.

© Rachel Green October 2026

28th October 2026

 

Grave diggers

Opening up an old grave

Second burial

© Rachel Green October 2026

Feel Safe

Rusted machete

Brushed off and varnished

A sweep of acrylic

And some lettering in gold

The story of an object

In thirty words or less

© Rachel Green October 2026

27th October 2026

 

windy bin day

the garden full of rubbish

next door's

© Rachel Green October 2026

Tiny Demons

small paintings

on pieces of rubbish

picked up on the street.

These are the things I feel

as I creep through the passion

of each passing day.

Encapsulated turbulence

masking internal breakdowns

offset by coping mechanisms

of societal masks

© Rachel Green October 2026

26th October 2026

 

pouring rain

disintegrating cardboard boxes

Amazon deliveries

© Rachel Green October 2026

Price of Admission

mummified

in latex and tar

angelic wings blackened

by the passing years

frozen in the simple act

of masturbation

her fingers

still inside

© Rachel Green October 2026

25th October 2026

 

wild and windy

stripping off the leaves

naked sycamores

© Rachel Green October 2026

On the Purchase of a Hat

I bought a hat today.

A woolly hat to save my ears

from being cold.

I'm old

and people smile at me

because I skip and dance along the street

and they think perhaps the village fool

has been released just for a day

and maybe it's the hat

and maybe it's the wide-eyed smile

and maybe it's the wishing of a happy day.

© Rachel Green October 2026