The Grey Fish

The grey fish is out the water,
It’s teeth in your street,
Outdoor toilets blasted,
Stairwells felled,
An allotment, allotted its own grave,
Along with baby,
A nursery in bloom,
Bloodied with rubble,
And black and white devastation,
The spaceship leaves town.

I wrote this tonight because I watched a program about German zeppelin attacks on London in WWI


Language lost in the oxygen system,
Masks, limp, given up on any sign,
Of a face, a mouth, a nose,
Air-traffic control at a loss,
Middle age cupped in tired hands,
Caffeine spilt, monitors as still,
As the day they rolled off the assembly line,
It is unusual to lose all communication,
Even the beep, beep, beep and squelch,
Of internalised citizens band,
We shall have silence like land was once flat,
Light unheard, undefined, scrambled,
At the fringes of comprehension,
Control tower rendered useless,
As eyes that have seen it all,
From religion to re-birth,
Family members involved in the theft of coins,
From a grandmother that would give her heart,
Animals eating animals,
Animals forced on animals,
Worthless imagery and frames,
Flickering by a disenfranchised youth,
(Wasted on pathetic youth.)
We all come face to face with existence,
The planes landing on the runway, one by one,
Cockpit and fuselage filled with blobs of blue gas.

I penned this in an airport waiting lounge yesterday, not realising the date I was writing it until after the event. The idea I had, was not of destruction and violence, but of aeroplanes landing on a runway with nobody inside, purely clouds of blue gas.