A Short Cut
I decided to walk home from the pub through Booth’s wood,
it only took half the time the winding road would.
A minute or so into the wood a fusty smell filled the air
and a ground mist seemed to cover everywhere.
This path I’d walked many times and never noticed this before,
it was very eyrie with no breeze to disturb the mist at all.
I came across a clearing where the trees were further apart,
for no reason a thumping was echoing from my heart.
I stopped and looked all around, just to satisfy my curiosity
when towards me came a cloud of a green luminosity.
It came from within the wood, which was difficult to believe,
but then a purple cloud formed from behind a fallen tree.
Now I was really getting anxious, as I put a sprint into my pace,
then another cloud, a yellow one was heading towards my face.
The thought of going back from where I came entered my mind
so I turned around, but the clouds were in front and behind.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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House Of Shadows
Every time and wherever I fall asleep I find myself walking
down this fusty and dark cobwebbed stone stairway.
I don’t know where I am, or where I’m supposed to be going
my memory usually blanks out as I approach the hallway.
This time I’ll try to stay awake and see what lies before me,
the torches on the wall are dim and the light’s not so good.
I hear unearthly scary noises not too far down the corridor
I’m frightened and I’ve a tingling in my blood.
As I hesitated a shadow on the wall pushed me towards a cell
and the noises stopped the instant I looked in.
It was empty except for moving shadows all over the place,
another push sent me tumbling to the floor within.
The cell is deathly quiet as more shadows take to the surfaces
a deep voice echoes out, “Another dreamer has come,
he wants to join the shadows and to bring frightening nightmares
to dreamers who trespass here when their day is done.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Rebecca
Past loves you always remember
and Rebecca I’ve never forgot.
It was in May when we first met,
and the days were unusually hot.
We were both sixteen and innocent,
and love’s spark grew into a flame.
Desire and passion overwhelmed us,
and our deepest love was to blame.
Early evenings we spent together
and most of our weekend days.
We made love wherever we could,
and in so many different ways.
At eighteen she wanted to marry,
but I said we were too young.
She of course didn’t agree
and of course I was wrong.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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The Bar
On Friday I went into this dimly lit night time bar
the jukebox was playing the blues by some bygone star.
I wanted to be alone so I sat in a dark corner spot,
nearby a couple were kissing and getting passionate.
The atmosphere was relaxing and I was reflecting on my day,
one drink, then two, and then another went down the same way.
The kissing couple had a break and each smoked a cigarette
they spoke softly of love, and kissed each others neck.
Four young guys came in and sat on high-stools at the bar
they were laughing and joking, without going too far.
Suddenly the whole mood changed as one got offended,
but the others apologised, and said no insult was intended.
The offended guy went to the toilet while his friends got in another round.
Then a stag night party came in, who were pouring the booze down.
Some of the party were slightly drunk and a little worse for wear,
but then they became loud and rowdy, and some began to swear.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Thursday to Sunday
On Thursday she told me she was leaving
she wanted to get out of my sight.
She didn’t want to waste words talking about it
no discussion would put things right.
She asked me to book a flight to England
where she would make a life on her own.
It was clear that I no longer figured in her life
and she certainly made it known.
For the rest of the day she never spoke to me
and tried to avoid me in every way.
She wouldn’t listen to any of my questions,
this was a silent treatment day.
I said that this was no way to be parting,
we should talk and reach a compromise,
but she threw reasoning back into my face,
slammed doors, and much more besides.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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The Cobra And The Mongoose
“Tell me mongoose why are you trying to steal my eggs? ”
“Well, I’ve not eaten for weeks and I’m dying on my legs.”
“Don’t you realise that very soon these eggs will be my children? ”
“But you have so many and you won’t miss nine or ten.”
“How wrong you are mongoose I’ll miss every one of them.”
“Well tell me cobra, are you prepared to die for just ten? ”
“Mongoose, I am a mother and for only the one I would die.”
“Why are you swaying Cobra, and is that a tear in your eye? ”
“Aren’t you feeling sleepy mongoose, you do have heavy eyes? ”
“I know what you’re doing cobra, you’re trying to hypnotise.”
“For your information mongoose, I’m doing my cobra dance,
it’s a dance of magic, which gives my enemies no chance.
Don’t think that I can’t see you mongoose trying to circle around me,
first in one direction, and then the other so tactically.
I must warn you mongoose that I have a bite that can instantly kill,
and if you don’t die straight away, moments later you will.”
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poem by Orlando Belo
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The Sphynx
Several weeks ago for the first time I saw a furless cat
stretching out its claws and long slender back.
I was stunned by this creature, with its pale red skin,
its demand of my attention was most unsettling.
For the next few days I kept picturing it in my mind,
and I knew one just like it I had to find.
I was so determined to delve and research the breed,
so I obtained as many books as I could read.
I soon discovered the feline known as the Sphynx,
and initially I thought it had Egyptian links,
but the Canadians are supposed to have bred the cat,
so that very quickly put an end to that.
The next day I wanted more answers to my questions,
so the pet shops I visited and asked for suggestions.
The breeders were the ones to see, but they are rare,
the internet was suggested, so I searched on there.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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A Work of Art So Great
I’m going to prepare for a work of art so great,
exceeding all I’ve ever tried to create.
Way beyond that of the usual and what is real,
surpassing the contemporary, and surreal.
I’m going to paint my mother before she was born
and my deceased father in his next new dawn.
I’m going to show my enthusiasm and love for life,
and also my idiosyncrasies, which I do dislike.
The paint will flow with my love, which is so strong
and my devotion, which is eternally long.
My determination of which there is none stronger
will follow my fortitude, which will last even longer.
I’m going to paint my energy, the mighty force within,
and then my endurance, I will never give in.
The swirls of paint will portray the thin air that I breathe,
and the phenomena I find so hard to believe.
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poem by Orlando Belo
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The Old Man
An aged man came into the bar from out of the cold,
he was wearing a monk’s habit as in the days of old.
‘Like death warmed up’ my mother used to say,
as he sat by the open fire on this winters day.
He never spoke, ordered a drink, or even showed his face,
he hardly moved at all and everyone gave him space.
The barman said, “You can’t sit there without buying a drink, ”
a stare of stone was the response, “okay, I’ll give you time to think.”
The place went deathly quiet as whispers could only be heard,
“Where did this monk person come from, doesn’t he look absurd? ”
The whispering stopped as the man turned and looked directly at me,
he pointed with his long skeletal finger and croaked, “You will be he.”
I gulped, and nervously asked, “What are you talking about? ”
“You’ll be leaving here with me, so let’s make our way out.”
“I’m not going anywhere, ” I said, “until I’ve finished my beer.”
“That’s fine by me, ” he said, “I’ll be waiting here.”
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poem by Orlando Belo
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Shelter From The Rain
Today I’m in the country on one of my walks
the clouds are gathering whilst the thunder talks.
I had better seek shelter from the incoming storm,
that barn looks okay although battered and worn.
Made it inside thankfully just in the nick of time
I’m a little bit wet, but never mind.
It’s now pouring down and difficult to see.
Oh my God! What’s that standing next to me.
“Hello there mister may I share your shelter?
I’ve been spinning around like a helter-skelter.”
“You startled me; I’ve never seen your kind before.”
“I know, I am sorry, I’ll be gone soon for sure.”
“There is no urgency, but how did you get here?
You can stop trembling you’ve nothing to fear.”
“I came in with the thunder and the pouring rain
and with luck that’s how I’ll be going out again.”
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poem by Orlando Belo
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