from 'Bursts'

Seasons, cloud banks, grave routes

The stillness within wandering

The traces of us

Roads are sidetrips, doors another weather

Who thinks of the rose in the dark?

The symbolic, just a dark plate

To be roadworthy in ways and means

How to know

White dust haloes round your feet

The city’s memories in bullet holes, wreathes and chisel marks

A half moon, again

A tiredness between sleep

Those beliefs in old landscapes


This is a little something from a sequence I'm working on; some parts of it are based around my recent meanderings around the world.

The above extract was worked up from notes written while in Paris (hence references to white dust, cemeteries and bullet holes etc) in September/October during the northern hemisphere's autumn (as in, they do seasons differently up there).


Popular Posts

Questions, but no answers: while editing a manuscript

Viva the Real - shortlisted!

‘The fast fold of fret lines’: Intimacy, ecopoetics, and the local