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Tag: poetry

You’ll See Him

"Rain cracks its whip Against the windows. The wielder: autumn. From the cottage in the cleft of the foothills You can see a flickering light, just out of sight And it stains the blackest night."

Soil: On Digging a Hole

"A worm has beaten me to the hole I’m digging; when I pull apart the soil, I find a slender punctuation mark in the mud. Its pink body threads through the dark clay."

Petrichor

"in a quiet hollow on the far side of this field rain patters through the leaves like twinkling glass"

A Letter To Those Whom my Light Will Guide, In Honour Of Those Whose Light Has Guided Me

"What you are, is complicated. And I love you for that, Because you are complicated, Because you are raw, and soft, and broken."

Verbalisation

"Then there is a sudden pull – my loose thoughts spill over the pebbly surface of the page. Images crashing and breaking against sobering stillness, propelling seafoam into the air, rumpling the Edenic crispness of the page."

Time spent in Oxford

"The photographs on the walls show people years ago in the same spot. Did they feel the same, love the same, breathe the same. It seems impossible that they did, even more so that they did not."

Ode to the Sunflowers my Dad bought for me

"You – yellow in 5 Acts, yellow in division to make up a whole – belong to the morning"

Four Children

"And I sat with my back to the skies as I mouthed out a prayer to the winds and imagined them ghosts; for where I sat, half-anaesthetised, four children had used to sit"

My Dog and Its Owner

"My dog had lost its collar in a cave, Whereto, through chasing night, astray it ran After my whistle panicked in its ears."

The Sword-Cross

"A warrior of Palestine Traversed with a Cross for sword, From Babylon to Jerusalem, Until he spoke not word."

Seven Flowers for Midsummer

"It is a day, and night, which brims in fairies and women cults and sprites and mothers."

On my white window ledge

'Now I see them yield to the light, papery and, with old age, translucent.'

Friday Favourite: David Harsent

There is something about poetry that makes it more potent than fiction in times of need. With its raw, brash and yet strangely beautiful...

Now That’s What I Call… Poetry?

Somebody once told me there are a lot of bad song lyrics out there. Imagine, for every subtle, elegant song you hear, there’s bound...

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