Poetry

 

“. . . I have willed my body to the furthering of science. / Although I’ll not be there / to chronicle my findings / I can imagine all the students / poring over me: / “My God, is that a liver? / And those brown cauliflowers are lungs?” / “Yes, sir, a fine example of how not to live.” / “And what about the brain?” / “Alas the brain. I doubt if this poor sample / ever had one.” As with his forceps / he extracts a single rose. . .”

“. . . Ten tall sunflowers grew in my garden / they played the incomparable artist's game / one black eye each and a dart / that was the start of my garden / / Then I walked through the trees of adolescence / the angry walnut and sheltering beech / a seed was sown in an ebony heart / let the bud decide where the flower shall fall . . . “

“ . . . In her dying she is yet lovely / her silence swings like a sea-plant / at the ocean's edge; the madonna bones / in their cardboard coloured wrappings / make no quiver; yes, secret, she lies / and silent. / / Ninety years a spinster — they say / she was rich once — nieces and nephews say — / Hey Sheila! One each side of her, solicitors sit / tearing the hospital cloth / with their ravenous backsides. . .”

The Collections

New poetry publications 2022

from Lepus Print and Salmon Poetry

sketches