Very pleased to have three poems at ‘The Blue Hour Magazine’.
Beyond murmur burning –
the marching wound, old meat and bare bud. Another sun
hints at butcher’s blood in running flesh. Ruined
birds wake from a coiled dream, wings empty from being born,
their loss mostly planted in the rough land. A grief
heaved to a hung lamb, a swung cow, a river of pigs.
“I brought light, I looked,
Everywhere blood reigned.
And I cried, I wept with my whole body.”
– Yves Bonnefoy
Heavier than the hour –
the rowan berries lie like rubies sucked and spat.
The broom on the hill relives the light – it blooms
its fires to blisters. From air, sea-wet and witness –
the gull. She peers in necks popped wide flustered mouths.
The gape a dead-eyed howl such innocent names. A banner
of blood, of body, our plucked beds tidy. Our crime –
grieve like ripped-up rain, like fists.
Moment Reflected in Bonnard
Drool-capped crocus. My…
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