Poem ‘Between Lives’

Between Lives

“We are the sun,” you said,
that his light arose with us
playing on rainbows,
his myriad smiles the spangled waves.
In those days thoughts were endless,
vibrant pages which turned by themselves.
There were no limits to how far we’d run
or dream out onto the sea,
our hearts living free in a peerless sky.
But thoughts like books do have an end
and I have died a billion times,
holding on to every word you said,
like a child might ask a question
between the pages of his lives

poem and image © copyright Francis Barker 2012 & 2020

Poem: ‘Dark’

Dark

Rook on the roadside straight ahead
you step aside casually
only just avoid my wheels.
Is that why I smile at the mirror
see you promptly step back
to continue to pick and prod
and pull at roadkill entrails
some straitjacket driver provides?
Like the crow, the raven, the jackdaw—
few are as bright as you, so dark
in colour and reputation

copyright Leofwine Tanner 2019

Poem: Anonymous Lines

Downstairs any morning;
sunlight and smoke
in slow swirling clouds.
The cat wanders in,
cries and wanders out,
flopping down the step
toward shrill sparrow sounds.

An open passage door
through which I follow
into a past, or no time at all.
Gooseberries hairy in the mouth,
that sour shock at the crunch.
Raspberries sweet on the tongue;
peas plucked from the pod,

sitting between rows of green.
His shadow blots out the sun,
a tall silhouette, cap pushed back
as a match is struck.
I follow to runner beans
and strawberry rows,
where the cat rolls over and over.

He is distant now, never hurried,
where it all opens up,
when I cling to his leg
looking down on the dyke
where the moorhen struts.
Out onto prairie fields,
anonymous lines of roads

and pylons. A relentless horizon.

*If you would like personal astrology report, please contact me at: leoftanner@gmail.com for details.

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Downstairs any morning; sunlight and smoke in slow swirling clouds. The cat wanders in, cries and wanders out, flopping down the step toward shrill sparrow sounds.

An open passage door through which I follow into a past, or no time at all. Gooseberries hairy in the mouth, that sour shock at the crunch. Raspberries sweet on the tongue; peas plucked from the pod,

sitting between rows of green. His shadow blots out the sun, a tall silhouette, cap pushed back as a match is struck. I follow to runner beans and strawberry rows, where the cat rolls over and over.

He is distant now, never hurried, where it all opens up, when I cling to his leg looking down on the dyke where the moorhen struts. Out onto prairie fields, anonymous lines of roads

and pylons. A relentless horizon.

Rate this:

Share this:

Like this:

Downstairs any morning;
sunlight and smoke
in slow swirling clouds.
The cat wanders in,
cries and wanders out,
flopping down the step
toward shrill sparrow sounds.

An open passage door
through which I follow
into a past, or no time at all.
Gooseberries hairy in the mouth,
that sour shock at the crunch.
Raspberries sweet on the tongue;
peas plucked from the pod,

sitting between rows of green.
His shadow blots out the sun,
a tall silhouette, cap pushed back
as a match is struck.
I follow to runner beans
and strawberry rows,
where the cat rolls over and over.

He is distant now, never hurried,
where it all opens up,
when I cling to his leg
looking down on the dyke
where the moorhen struts.
Out onto prairie fields,
anonymous lines of roads