Riders In The Night

Riders in the Night - Dec 3 2017 - Hubble views remnants of long dead star

Riding high through waves of time
Bristling as they came
Hoof beats, hardest, black as night
Beating out their name

Out to kill, out to maim,
Hate and passion deep,
Faster, faster, down they bore,
Seeking blood to reap.

Clash of iron, ring of steel,
Bodies falling ’round,
Arcing maces, swinging swords,
Lances upwards bound.

Riderless horses carry on,
Riders lying spent,
Little left to claim or hate,
Following death’s vent.

Between The Spaces

Between The Spaces - October 8 2017 - hubble

In between
Lie spaces
Sinuously teeming
Silently streaming
Riches of life

You may
Find me

We shared

That’s still there

Grasping at stars
Like sparks
In the air

Hoping to find you
In each
Flickering glare

Turning then twisting
For the life
In between

Where love
Is all
There is


© 2017 Robin McShane

Mesmerizing Stormy Sea


Silent waves bit hard,
Sucking mouthfuls of the shore,
Swallowing them deep,
Filling trenches, valleys,
Abysms and abyss.

Seen from above, the land withdrew,
Tasting moments of
Destruction, devastation, death.

White capped flowing mountains of sea
Rolled in with military precision
For the next bite,
Relentless, righteous, ruthless.

A scene powerful beyond power,
Sucked me in, drew me down,
Mesmerized, I dropped

A distant call tugged at me,
‘You can pull up now,
Eagle chopper three,
Flip, fly free!’

Words heard dimly through static,
Like fine drops of mist,
Drizzling, drenching, yet dry.

Events below pulled stronger
Than far away words
Softly spluttering sibilance.

Water sprayed across the screen,
A splash of force,
A splatter of gunfire,
A warning shot,
The rotor still spun
As I looked up,
White fingers flickered,
Nails crested
As the next rolling wave
Horrendously heightened, hungrily

Reaching for the shore,
It was oblivious of my perspex bubble,
“Wait!” I cried, yet darkness
Washed my whirling world.

Released from my reverie,
I floated once more,
Watching as wreckage poked through water,
Body spun in currents,
Dragged, disabled, dying.

A warm hand touched my shoulder,
I turned,
A bright light shone,
Feeling feeble, I followed.


© Copyright 2016 Robin McShane

Rebellion, Insurrection, Revolution

then again the people rose
fleet of foot, light on toes
hard to heel, quick to feel
up and down the road they’d reel

crashing rulers
crushing ruled
flashing power
flushing pooled

stretched now far beyond endurance
rising, taking own insurance
tired of corruption, self and greed
bored with politicians’ promises to heed

all their words and their desires
money from pockets burnt like tyres
spent on worthless stupid things
no accounts or reckonings

so now step forward Mr Leader
time to answer your misdemeanors
chance to tell it as it was
time to put the flames out fast

impossible, this thing we ask?
to now explain your every task?
weak of person, soul and being
now you feel what we’ve been seeing

you who thought yourself so great
above the law, the land, the hate
kneel before us, those you bled
and hear our voice until you’re dead


© Copyright 2015 Robin McShane

A Nursing Moment – Dying

There are times when watching life expire
Becomes an experience to behold,
Opening the portal to another world
So different from ours, I am told.

Through this feeling of utter peace,
From a place beyond our knowing,
We are drawn a little away from here,
Maybe tasting the moment of our going?

A short distance down the path we’ll walk,
With our patient in the bed,
Standing by for whatever their need,
As soon as their name is read.

Then their life leaves, sometimes a smile or a grin,
Sometimes a fight and a kick,
Either way, the final’s not long,
As the soul uses carrot or stick.

And we are released back to the world,
A sigh, a slow outflow of breath,
Tears start to fall from the loved ones behind,
Who stayed watching, now suddenly bereft.

We quietly withdraw for a time,
Respecting the need for solitude,
Each to their own way to grieve.

Depending on the person’s faith,
Family requests,
Hospital protocol,
(deep breath),
We return to lay out the body,
Just the body,
The soul is gone,
You can feel the shell is empty.

With gentle respect, we remove the tubes
That were helping to sustain the life,
Wash the body,
Wrap it ready for the undertakers,
Or the keepers.

A bell rings,
Both a toll for the departed
And a call to action,
Mr Smith, in room 4 is calling,
Probably needs a bottle again,
Ah well, back to work…


Copyright 2015 Robin McShane

Meeting Beelzebub – #1

meeting beelzebub 2 - june 5 2015 - morguefile

Beelzebub came to meet me in Cherry Lane,
Lined with Honey Blossoms and Jakarandas,
Flowers blooming.

I stood my ground, wondering what he could want,
It was simple, as it always is,
He wanted me.

My soul and I, waiting on his move, watched closely,
Fretting on past deeds, thoughts and feelings,
Quickly, my life passed before me.

Unexpectedly, after all, it was just an afternoon’s stroll,
I grasped my chest, fell to my knees,
Pain ringing through.

He grunted, smiled, flicked his flagrant tail, tossed his head,
Finger beckoning, he grinned,
“Yes, you have sinned!”

A horn sounded, loud, clear, pure, from above resounded,
Angels appeared, with winged chariots,
What a movie!

Beelzebub took a step back, watching warily,
A shining Angel with golden wings flew down,
“Where has he sinned? “

Beelzebub shifted uncomfortably, tail still,
“Well, you can’t blame me for trying,
He almost agreed.”

“We can, we do and he didn’t. Begone! ”
Beelzebub snickered, flickered and left,
” Come with us.”
“You bet! “


© Copyright 2015 Robin McShane

To explain: I wrote the last three days poems several weeks ago. The above was the first, which led to the second (posted yesterday) and then the idea to make that into a villanelle (posted on Thursday). All written one after the other, within a few hours. then left to brew, then edited and edited… and edited! I decided to try a villanelle as I haven’t written to a ‘classical’ style for a while, and felt to challenge myself (!) to try a tight form again! Not sure if it was a good idea to try and adapt or whether I should have written from scratch? Any ideas?

Don’t you find the creative process just fascinating? I love to see how we are all inspired differently, express ourselves individually and write uniquely!

1. I would love to hear your comments on these, and the process they took; and
2. Anyone care to share your creative process? What sparks your ideas and how do you get to a final product?
Please share, I am so intrigued by this process and how we are all so different….

For myself, my process varies – from idea to paper within a short period (sometimes with only a little editing) to poems, prose and music composed many moons ago (some many years!), then brought out, dusted off, twisted, tweaked and, sometimes, terminated! 🙂 Ideas just enter my head – sometimes the first few words and sometimes the first few lines – I very rarely see something and think to write a poem! My brain works more with words, thoughts, principles and sounds more than pictures, smell, taste, touch, etc….and yours?

Wishing you all a magical weekend…:)

Meeting Beelzebub – #2

This is very different to the Villanelle I posted yesterday. The villanelle came about as I ‘played’ with the ideas from a first poem, which developed into a second and then into the villanelle. I thought it may be fun to post the three and show some poetic, creative progression!. As I say, the first two are very different in style (free verse) and flavour. Do hope you enjoy them!
Maybe I should name them “The Beelzebub Trio”! 🙂

Anyway, here is the second one – I will post # 1 tomorrow!
I would love to hear your comments…


photo credit - morguefile.com

photo credit – morguefile.com

Beelzebub came to meet me in Cherry Lane,
Lined with Honey Blossoms and Jakarandas,
Flowers blooming, sun shining,
A fine day.

Stopping before me, he smiled and winked.
Flicking his tail nonchalantly,
He curled one taloned finger,
Beckoning me to follow.

Strange, really, I didn’t feel dead,
After all, this was just an afternoon’s stroll,
At least, that’s how it had begun
Before horny appeared.

I stood my ground, breathing air sweetly,
His smile turned to a frown,
Unfurling the black-nailed finger
He pointed directly at me.

“Follow me!” he commanded.
Not being one to be ordered around,
I stayed my feet,
He was not happy.


© Copyright 2015 Robin McShane