a sort of masterpiece.

close to the aperture, creative writing, memory, Northumberland, photography, poetry, scratches in the sunlight, shit haiku, Uncategorized

 

in an oaked corner of wild field,

unzipped, I spilled into a belfast sink

at the foot of the fort on Old Rothbury hill,

a less than generous piss without thinking –

 

a skein of hinny spittle and skinny sheep disease,

stagnant spring rain, latticed silver wings,

windfall twigs and orange leaves and, beneath

this scum of natural things

 

suddenly (reflected), the sky was seen –

the kneeling sheep, the block-headed beast,

the horizontal line of trees,

and all became a sort of masterpiece.

 

and i smelt,

for a moment,

my own iron breeze

and that of many ancient histories.

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23 thoughts on “a sort of masterpiece.”

  4. Wow. Ditto all what was said above…
    “and i smelt, / for a moment, / my own iron breeze”
    — just a few among a series of brilliant lines.
    Thanks for sharing and inspiring.

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  5. Well..

    “beneath
    this scum of natural things
     
    suddenly (reflected), the sky was seen –“

    That, is sort of a masterpiece Nick.

    And frightfully and magnificently vivid. I’ve adopted your word, it’s ace
    xo

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