Thursday 21 December 2017

Widening Gyre












Whatever rough beast we had expected, it turned out
To be a shadow, as if it were our own reflection
In a sliver of glass, a chromed plastic bead or the sea
Beneath, throwing back our faces in the oily swell.

The waves, whispering, said, you did this to us.

Sunday 17 December 2017

Voiced














Black
Words on a white page
Silence in a stifling room
Windows closed with light
Trapped in beads of dampness
Like a fresnel screen across the world
Held still by time’s shuddering to a stop
By conglomerate greens and browns
Natural form’s frozen death
Atrophied in an image
A photograph
Forgotten