POETRY GALLERY
Poems submitted by Currock Press website readers.
Robert Frost spoke of poems beginning in delight and ending in wisdom. That's pretty much the case with these three poems: explorations of identity and circumstance. Each of them invites the reader to consider a situation and form a response. And each of them demonstrates a high level of crafting which repays reading and re-reading. My thanks to Adele Cairns and Laura Potts, both members of the Black Horse Poets and Silvia Pio who has sent her atmospheric poem from Italy.
In addition, we also have a contribution from Jonathan Eyre whose booklet, Stopping the Clocks is an informative and moving read. Scroll down to read Birds in Your Heart and then contact Jonathan for details of how to get hold of the booklet:
MRF_Doctor@hotmail.com
Breaking news: Adele's poem was awarded the Black Horse Poets Poem of the Year award, a decision which for once won widespread approval from her fellow Black Horses. With marvellous images in every stanza and a genuinely impressive simplicity the poem captures the spirit of humanity without ever being over-sentimental or mawkish. A magnificent achievement.
We Are Island
We are island,
Sand and stone.
We are one flesh.
We are one bone.
We are the winter salted air,
The hollow and the hill.
We are the water and the clay,
The turning of the mill.
We are the roar of the tumbling foam,
The flotsam and the jet,
The orange mud on the riverbank
That slows the boatman's net.
We are the totem and the sky,
The plough that tills the land.
We are the sculptor and the form,
The family of man.
Adele Cairns
On the Balcony Under a Full Moon
On the balcony under a full moon:
stillness near and distant barks.
I want to be here
with a silent heart
with a manifold mind
knowing they are all inside
and asleep.
The man, remote
in his private universe
now almost dashing the dark,
visible to me only,
far away in turn.
The child,
smelling of all things good,
her smile full of tomorrows
filling me with everything I long for
just now.
The parents on the edge
of their stories
but not ready yet
to give up their hate,
their forgetful distaste.
And me, under the moon
llulling our loneliness.
Silvia Pio
Creusa
Outside my skin: cold and stone skies. I weep
and think of hands - stressed, clenched - his skull
moulded in the crack of my elbow, and rock him,
crying, caressing the soft pearls of his eyelids.
Thunder snarls in the dead of night. Say light
and I swallow my stomach.
He sleeps in some other arms now - my son -
wakes to the eyes of dawn in another land
far from here, where a woman will not hold him
quite like I did. The moon will be old and
the clouds wheeled away before I see him, my boy,
striding with limbs long to his mother's open arms,
when the skies will flare with copper, copper, crimson and tan,
when he will stop, cold, and ask me who I am.
Laura Potts
In addition, we also have a contribution from Jonathan Eyre whose booklet, Stopping the Clocks is an informative and moving read. Scroll down to read Birds in Your Heart and then contact Jonathan for details of how to get hold of the booklet:
MRF_Doctor@hotmail.com
Breaking news: Adele's poem was awarded the Black Horse Poets Poem of the Year award, a decision which for once won widespread approval from her fellow Black Horses. With marvellous images in every stanza and a genuinely impressive simplicity the poem captures the spirit of humanity without ever being over-sentimental or mawkish. A magnificent achievement.
We Are Island
We are island,
Sand and stone.
We are one flesh.
We are one bone.
We are the winter salted air,
The hollow and the hill.
We are the water and the clay,
The turning of the mill.
We are the roar of the tumbling foam,
The flotsam and the jet,
The orange mud on the riverbank
That slows the boatman's net.
We are the totem and the sky,
The plough that tills the land.
We are the sculptor and the form,
The family of man.
Adele Cairns
On the Balcony Under a Full Moon
On the balcony under a full moon:
stillness near and distant barks.
I want to be here
with a silent heart
with a manifold mind
knowing they are all inside
and asleep.
The man, remote
in his private universe
now almost dashing the dark,
visible to me only,
far away in turn.
The child,
smelling of all things good,
her smile full of tomorrows
filling me with everything I long for
just now.
The parents on the edge
of their stories
but not ready yet
to give up their hate,
their forgetful distaste.
And me, under the moon
llulling our loneliness.
Silvia Pio
Creusa
Outside my skin: cold and stone skies. I weep
and think of hands - stressed, clenched - his skull
moulded in the crack of my elbow, and rock him,
crying, caressing the soft pearls of his eyelids.
Thunder snarls in the dead of night. Say light
and I swallow my stomach.
He sleeps in some other arms now - my son -
wakes to the eyes of dawn in another land
far from here, where a woman will not hold him
quite like I did. The moon will be old and
the clouds wheeled away before I see him, my boy,
striding with limbs long to his mother's open arms,
when the skies will flare with copper, copper, crimson and tan,
when he will stop, cold, and ask me who I am.
Laura Potts
Birds in Your Heart
Have the birds
of your heart
deserted you,
gone away and left you?
Have the songs of your heart been silenced?
Do not fear.
If asked
they will return - these
heart birds need
only to be asked.
Create a space;
Nature abhors a vacuum,
call the birds to the aching
and one day they will return to you,
and sing in the morning
and through the day,
and at night,
and even at times,
call the Sun,
the Moon, and the stars -
to shine
for you.
Jonathan Eyre
Have the birds
of your heart
deserted you,
gone away and left you?
Have the songs of your heart been silenced?
Do not fear.
If asked
they will return - these
heart birds need
only to be asked.
Create a space;
Nature abhors a vacuum,
call the birds to the aching
and one day they will return to you,
and sing in the morning
and through the day,
and at night,
and even at times,
call the Sun,
the Moon, and the stars -
to shine
for you.
Jonathan Eyre
