Last night, they sang hymns in Kiev; this morning, they sandbag the malls. Saturday, schoolboys with rifles. Sunday, late shoppers man the walls. The sky burns bright - pale blue to blush to red - obliterates the stars. Commuters, to the metro rush; but no buses, no trains, no cars... come, unfriendly bombs, rain fire … Continue reading They Sang Hymns
The longbow, the instruction in and of, was once integral to (I've read in books) a young man's education. Knights, old by half my age, with knotted fingers, eyes faded, would lead the jacks to the quiet wood, the wild boar acre, where the yew trees grow, where centurions and vikings before drew blood, marking … Continue reading Where The Yew Trees Grow.
Settled in water, we shape, and beneath candlelit sheet of perfume, we steam hips, ribs, spine and shins with no space between. I write you as reflections in chrome. * Of the Ouse, the Tyne, the Wear, we weave slow-flowing poems of their cool streams - We threshold their bridges, seek margins unseen: I write … Continue reading Reflections In Chrome.
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