Jackdaws and witches tapping
watches, stripping you to the bone.
Some still can’t say your name
without stretching all the wrong vowels.
I hear your voice,
I’m ankle-deep in Bluebells.
My red penknife unfolds.
I’m scratching your initials.
*
Trap-doors every Monday morning.
Cornflowers, my boots are soiled.
The great birds, they are clapping
the pear tree in the orchard.
There is no noise
beyond the kitchen window.
The water boils
my shadow on the table.
*
Ghost ships in the bay, like play things.
I’m on a hill in a faux Greek temple.
You’re in the cold clouds
close to heaven.
On the beach
the waves keep falling
down
so slowly.

There is a strong sense of loss in your words… maybe it will help to carve her initials and with the right spells she will come back
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Thanks Bjorn!
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There is magic in this poem. Brilliant imagery, too. Nicely done, Nick.
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Thank you, Misky!
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I can’t decide on a favourite line between ‘I’m ankle deep in bluebells’ and ‘You’re in the cold clouds close to heaven.’ I hear you voice: a Just & Wonderful tribute to DB on the birthday of BD, NR 😅
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TY, IW, for your initial thoughts.
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‘I hear you voice’ was another deliberate mistake, of course 😅
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Such a sense of loss and a restless feeling like the writer is waiting for something to happen as the birds clap with no sound and the water boils.
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Yes, a restless feeling. And a remove. A ghost story, perhaps. Thanks Merril.
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There is a story within this poem. A bit haunting. Nicely woven.
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Thanks Truedessa! It is a ghost story of sorts.
Thank you for stopping by.
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Ah, I do love to hear you sing this. It always makes me smile in a rueful, wistful kind of way.
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🙂 Thank you, Liz!
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Reblogged this on johncoyote and commented:
Amazing poetry shared by a talented writer.
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Thank you Johnnie! x
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You are welcome, Nick.
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Good music and amazing poetry my friend.
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Bless ya, Coyote!
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Thank you, Nick.
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I really enjoyed this especially that you sang it 💜
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