Tag Archives: separation

Mrs Reynard

fox 1
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

You get used to it,
the carnage,
the ruptured bodies
of the small and the not-so-small,
waiting to be steam-rolled
into the tarmac.
 

The children used to cry at the rabbits;
innards glistening, torn fur
spilling scarlet ribbons
onto adamantine grey,
but even tender hearts
become anaesthetised
to the horrors of the hedgerows.
 

Strange then
that the fox should jar me,
so serenely intact; no visible marks,
no metal tears or twisted entrails
as if he has lain down,
in his exquisite, toffee tailcoat,
exhausted from the coop
or chasing a moonlit hare,
 

cleverly positioning himself
in the middle of the lane,
to avoid having the breath
and the guts tyre-squashed
out of his body, as slick blacks
pass on either side.
 

I drive on, the day unfolds.
I work, eat, talk,
mostly at a distance;
life underwater.
 

I am not here.
 

I am there, always;
on the unforgiving surface,
lying cold in the road,
burrowing my desperate need
into his unbroken fur,
grifting
what little warmth is left
from his small, ruined body.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

The Glassblowers

Glass
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The last time
was in the en-suite bathroom;
a wretched, accidental collision
in full view of the purple counterpane
and the torn loneliness of the antique bed.
 

The damp-freckled mirror bore witness
to frantic, tear-drenched kisses
as hands traced half-clothed contours
and fingers mapped crevices
that had lain untouched for months.
 

Fumbling in the heat of our howling,
in the suffocating sand of our gulping sobs,
we scrambled, trying desperately
to grasp the absolute death
of all that we knew.
 

Cradled in that granite womb;
out of the grief of our blown-glass past
and the furnace of an uncertain future
we traced the ancient shapes
of everything we were about to lose.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Stay

Stay
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

When it’s over
 

when rawthroat simmers
raindrum stills
 

breath deepens
howls subside
 

when jagged moon
tumbles hallelujah
 

dog rose petalfolds
evening moist
 

when cannons quiet
arms circle soft
 

mercury dips cool
on tender tongues
 

when coils
++++++u n r a v e l
++++++++++++caffled balm
 

stay
 

please
 

++++++just
++++++stay
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Meringue

 

Separating an egg is a tricky
business: cracking the shell
in just the right spot,
 

gently slipping the unfertilised
contents between two halves
above separate, spotless bowls.
 

Viscous albumen runs
reluctant from ripe vitellus,
dangling above cavernous Pyrex
 

while yellow orb sits bulging
in hard brown casing
waiting for the tip.
 

I will leave you now
in your quiet kitchen
to form your stiff, white peaks
 

while I turn my bowl upside down
and let the glorious saffron yolk
slide down my beaming face.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Lignin


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

We sit
for hours,
neither rigid
nor relaxed,
chiselling
someplace new
between the two.
 

The Pinot and their
adolescent nonsense
planes knotty pine;
curled shavings of
splintered months
wisping the floor.
 

You summon me
above a warm grain
and vanilla flickers;
a mute voice held
in a familiar gaze –
 

We did this
 
 

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Senescence


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Your smooth, tanned brow
sits above my tawny eyes,
neat, flat bridged nose
flaring in the glass,
deep philtrum
promising vitality –
longevity a myth.
 

I pour achievements
into paper cups, hold
them to your full lips,
sip small droplets
of triumph, while tucking
disappointments inside
naval-neat cuffs.
 

I wait, knowing that I will
watch time score lines
on parchment, scorch age
spots into soft, thin skin
and etch laughter lines around
features I had thought
beyond my grasp.
 
 

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Petticoat


 

She slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days,
a torn and ragged wisp I failed to grasp,
that withered in the mottled mirror-gaze.
 

Caliginous dysfunctional malaise,
shushed-silent but for dusk’s death-rattle rasp,
she slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days.
 

Bewildered child within the laddered maze,
seduced by sorrow’s vile puissant asp
that slithered in the mottled mirror-gaze.
 

Entombed within the muddy-mettled greys,
enveloped by seclusion’s gutt’ral gasp,
she slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days.
 

‘Neath fractal glitter, hope returned rephrased,
deft-delicately held with hook and hasp,
soft-swithered in the mottled mirror-gaze,
 

her party dress – resplendent polonaise
and in her hand the proffered, beaded clasp.
Wraith-like beneath her, lost it seemed, for days;
I found myself within her mirrored gaze.
 
 
 

~ a polonaise is a woman’s dress with a tight bodice and an overskirt drawn back to reveal a colorful underskirt or petticoat

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Filed under Poetry, Villanelle

One year on

A year since lain in langour’s lap, cradled
in the receding arms of an Indian Summer,
indigo-script yearnings
incarnated in season’s departure.
 

Exultant, slipped deep
into the contours of a fiery landscape,
first breath of Autumn rough-brushed on lips,
blistering hips ripeplump on boughs.
 

Purple shadows of bruised fruit scattered
beneath October’s ochre lava,
sticky sap released to run glistening
down the deep-riven bark of parched elms.
 

This year only memories harvested,
faint echoes of a stillborn sadness,
stored in the larder to stave off the hunger
of Winter’s dearth.
 

But come Spring cold hands will plunge
into the darkness of a peaty earth,
chocolate-moist crumbly balm
to papery palms as they scrabble to plant
hope’s cherished raspberry-leaf embryos.
 

Nurture from the womb-like land and watch,
while succulent shoots sprout green and hungry,
reaching for the succour of a season re-birthed.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse

Coma

Cranium cradled,
thoughts of you tread viscous water,
 

unspoken,
while broken body
lies dormant, in repair.
 

Embryonic emotions,
suspended between synapses,
 

waiting to be pipetted
into petri dish
and allowed to grow
again.
 

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Crumble

Café:
solo cappuccino,
waitress brings today’s special.
 

Crust breaks,
cinnamon shakes pungent
at nostrils.
 

Tumble into orchard,
harvest apples; sliced, stewed, spiced,
preserved in jars, air-tight.
 

Sit quietly on the shelf,
waiting for when two spoons
can share dessert again –
 

crumble.
 

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