Poetry

Saturday, 9 November 2024

Last Poem of Flat Holm Island

 She with her cloves so black

She bitter crow, tooth by claw

The rattling steam cooker

Boiling the red hot hob

Hobbling as horses hooves

Clattering shore

 

Those steely stolen feet of stone

Clabbered the pebble dash dawn

Sorted in the graves

Of fish, rolling out the crease of sea

Ironing flat the deep

 

The bees of sleep have sung and hum

The waxwork town of men

All fixed are they

Henna brushed the tattoo lanes

Which wild willows blow

Shutters sound of shop door bells

Cling, clang ring of moneyed tills

Billowed bills and dollared dills

That faintly smell of sea sprayed sills

And that joyful, lawful wind

Which judges not least itself be judged

Just moronically mows down the morrow in moans

Dredges cats from alleys in calls from bins

Winds dogs barks around lamp posts

Their authors and owners

Trailing as cod fish on a leash

Clasping gawp gobbling as turkeys at the goblet air

Of homespun hamlets and heavy Irish hair

Just blandishments of bandicoots

And boron rods of care

In the cooker of his dreams

And machinations of a mind’s lair

 

Just hag the egg men

And hog the sea weed

Dredge the cock spurs from out the chicken feed

Chafe the chaffinch and fetch the Magpie

Palaeolithic the mega myth before I die

Follow the saintly swan too all white bread

The skatey scanty sea of scurvy hunger

And weevil whales that bore through

The biscuit of the big belly jelly deep

As leviathanic gloves that slip the silky thin night

From the dread grey sea

The shimmering shining sun as a smoky fish house glade

  Hung up to dry in a witch watchful sky

The sun is Gaol and Heights goosing by

The chimney pot pig sties

And roofs of ribbon rotted warmth that ties

All of death’s cold down to earth

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