Two new poems

29 May 2018

Okapi Stones
 
On that first warm weekend of the year,
when farms were Lost Domains on a table laid for frugal giants,
you brought out the geometry of okapi stones with coruscating Ribble water.
Your wet clothes, suspended from trees,
leaned into the breeze,
learned to breathe,
danced like married ghosts.
The lushness of meadows, splashed with an eggy mess of dandelion and daisy,
spoke of lost, happy truancy,
and the waters fed the alluvial plain of me.
 
 
Beauty Spot
 
The English flaunt thighs of flaccid-balloon skin during work-plagued dozes
next to rusty pools, thick with kingdoms of midges,
while flocks of families, let loose from life, obey the magnetic leash of car parks,
and tattoos carry a laughably pink birthday bike,
now with tyres of grubby, white rubber.
Bored rocks jut like the noses of chiefs,
divining the scent of seasons as the sun finally feigns interest,
and the splashes of childish play begin a lyrical hum
as water takes to the wing, paragliding jewels.
I feel astonishment at the warmth of my own skin.
Then, descending;
tree roots fold like the lips of toads
around the carnage of canine ownership,
and pines block the path like frozen bullies.
Below and beyond, hidden motorcycles roar for
the salvation of The Snake, like sinners’ souls.

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