The Wrench

September 17, 2012 § Leave a comment

The wrench
The ripping and tearing
Of another one lost
Another soldier down

Jealous of the release
Of the relief
Of being free on the tide that carries hopeful ships to sea

Mourning the passing of people not dead
Lost though, gone for good
Or gone for bad, gone for worse

There is only quiet here now
Low, deep loss of laughter and light
Meaning ever dwindling and decaying quicker than we were ready for

It’s not the betrayal
The leaving of kin
It’s the empty flatness of dreams half lived and lives interrupted

We sigh and breathe and drink and die little deaths
Little, inconsequential deaths that no one could see but us

A lost limb
Not coming back
It’s tiring
Always fighting for a world that never seems nearer
No matter how hard we throw ourselves at the bars

Go then
Fleeting spirit
That brought us joy
That fed the hope
But now leaves that sour taste in our mouths – like old pennies
and the blood we licked from our wounds

To a Commonplace Notebook

September 12, 2012 § Leave a comment

There’s nothing commonplace here.
This commonplace notebook,
bound in ashy card and lined with blurred red.
It’s not so commonplace at all.

Is the mud commonplace, that puts forth new shoots of Spring,
and feeds the hungry mouths
that stoop to seek their sustenance?
No, not so commonplace.

And here is the sea,
awash with thought and alive in dreaming.
Fall in, be curdled by the riptide and buffeted by the bluster
as nightly thoughts come rushing in.
Not so commonplace I find.

The whale is sleeping, dreaming, drifting.
Buoyant in lights that blind and glitter,
floating in shoals of angelic and dying phosphorescence.
Is that so very commonplace?

And it is there in the library of thoughtful books
that gently age on their sun-warm shelves.
There in the gloaming dim, with its dust motes cascading in golden highways,
leading to that eternal resting bench – on the hill, in June.
No, not at all common place I’d say.

Kiel Benson

A Love Poem by Kiel Benson

February 15, 2012 § Leave a comment

We perch on mountain tops
Their peaks our crumbled thrones
Though I can barely see your beacon
I feel your breath carried on the west wind

You echo through my caves
Resonating with the rocks
Toppling empires of stalagmites
As you carve a winding path
To the chambers of my heart
In my weather-beaten core, where open veins glisten
Haemorrhaging their precious contents
Your whisper catches an up-draft
And, buffeted by eddies and bluffs,
Spills its tender words over my cold ears

We may seem immobile
Roots planted in shifting aeons beneath our surface
But, though they may not see it,
We march towards each other
A slow dance through time
Crushing every obstacle
That would dare to stand between us.

mountain scape

The Endless Light

September 5, 2011 § 1 Comment

The endless light.

The shift of a thousand bodies

crying laughing fucking.

Hot airless corridors strip lit

and prison-like.

They huddle over their

guilty cigarettes,

hounded out into the bleak


to shuffle their feet

through wet leaves,

inhaling the warm laundry air

pumped through a vent

and into their smoke-blackened lungs.

Will the last vestiges of detergent,

clinging to infinite molecules of moisture

cleanse those

feeble organs, or be rejected with the cool clean air,

to be scattered,

a pollutant?

Would that I were away,

dissolved in vapour,

a mere shimmer in the heavy air.

My ceiling hums with the very life that fills this place.

As if too many heartbeats

have synchronised,

giving up just one pulse.

I put a finger to my wrist,

and count off the beats

to the rhythm of banging doors,

racing footsteps,

coughs and futile curses.

The Corridor by Kiel Benson


August 15, 2011 § 2 Comments

The illusive allegory of dark and light

tracing glittering trickery across your mind


Escamotage and dark legerdemain

pulling the wool over your young eyes


You’re lost in my parlour of smoke and mirrors

And I sincerely doubt that you will find the way out

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