Archive for July 14th, 2013

14/07/2013

The Faerie Fears of Next Door’s Dogs

 

The dogs next door are watching bats.

Their pirouetting eyes are fazed,

By moon-dark nightlights glowing sparks,

By flickering wings and siren songs.

 

Beyond their reach the myths are spun,

From bats, to moths, to lunar casts.

Entrancing echoes bounce around.

The violet shades dragged from their dreams.

 

The tendrils of that other world,

Come curling from the undergrowth.

And by the nightlights dogs are turned:

They’re lantern eyed and garish hounds.

 

The faerie demons bite the howls:

And off they run, and how they run.

 

14/07/2013

Weight

 

There is a weight to being alive,

A density of songs and claws,

A flock of beaks and broken barbs:

It clings to flight, it grips it tight.

 

The earth will take the sycamore.

The sky will take the sycamore.

Its bark and leaves will feed and fall,

And life will take the sycamore.

 

This gravity of slowing blood;

The pressure buzz within the ears;

The dissipating breath and twitch:

It gives its all, it takes its toll.

 

The weight will keep the moon in tow.

The weight will hold us in its flow.

 

 

14/07/2013

6am, Sunday

 

A flickering of morning wings;

A wire buzz of starling flocks;

A distant dog which echoes hills:

Vibrations of another day.

 

A tyre drone and clunking gears;

A martin pulling songs from mist;

Allotment cockerels blaring dust:

My eyes are shut, I feel the sounds.

 

The Sunday papers brought by van;

The jackdaws of a hundred eaves;

The voices raised some streets away:

Each sound has found its space in me.

 

The air is shimmering with life:

Despairing, yearning, joyous life.

 

 

14/07/2013

From Northern Ports the Empire…

 

They call this place the Last of Hope,

The quayside packed with wailing folk,

Where Stoics stand and watch the boats,

And some will fight whilst others choke.

 

Behind the docks, the red brick spreads

And fills with cotton, coal and lead.

The brick turns black on chimney stacks,

Turns black on houses, back to back.

 

It wrenched its future from the fields,

From cottage mills and common lands,

And now it faces out to sea:

Enslaved, dependent, hanging on.

 

From lands which spill their ocean blood,

Come those who walk the one way street.

 

 

14/07/2013

Stone Curlew

 

The scrape, like hare, of pebble bird:

As fawn and cream as flint in church.

The jaundiced, yellow eye will blink

As mirage dews pour through the fen.

 

The field was first, the bird was first,

The sky reflected breck was first:

The yellow eye had snapped them shut.

The clouds of dawn turned iris bright.

 

The lines of earth, of dyke, of hedge,

Formed islands, merged and took the sea.

It watched it all, the yellow eye:

It watched it from its field of stone.

 

Beneath the dust which birthed its calls,

A wary bird ducks low to earth.