Member Poem

Briars scrape my flailing hand,
a fly drones overhead.
Prickly hedges drip with beads,
of squashed black fruit,
basking in a sticky sun-lit mist,
Down this quaint unearthly,
country lane I tread.
Some strange presence,
a mocking bird sixth sense,
that casts it's unseen ring,
in or of watchful silence.
The drooping branch that creaked-
a spore-shedding fern,
an ominous ripple or dash.
Imagined signal from an imprint,
long buried, long forgotten.
Ouch, you stung my ankle -
spiked green thistle.
Buffoon, sneak, playful oaffish imp.
Joker in a deep craggy hollow.
Past issues seep eerily through,
the echo of my downward plod.
Some jagged rock peeps slyy upwards,
straight up  through that wild,
and weedy labyrinth,
where tortured souls dock.
A startled creeper darts from tree to tree,
shaken by the banshee scream,
that filled the air with trauma,
was that me or me hallucinating?
The poor creeper cowers.
As the sun draws down its hazy blind,
old batted eyelids squint,
The sultry heat's my backpack,
on this heavy limbed march.
I gulp clay bake air,
gasping, sos, leaf green dew,
please slake this unquenchable thirst,
Is this a cul-de-sac that bears,
the blistered feet inside my leather?
Or did I hear the bustle of a dim and distant road?
Relief road, release - eternal memory chaser fly,
Methinks the startled creeper knows something -
I plod on