I compose my spirit from under the myrtles- Orpheus,I write, Exemplar thee! … Fire falls in descendent spirals: He transforms the bare mountain, which awed is found—A mountain cowed, a mountain crowned in majesty;Whence resonance exhales, pure as the art In an act of a sacred deity. If the god should sing, as he sat […]
Years now, since the solemn men
from the Co-op came, and zipped you
into a blue bag. Not your style.
what if the majolica plate
is a pot for a definite
purpose simply formed
to cast a speech bubble?
of a covid ward
lodged in my head
I know that out on the water, welcomed home,
is a replica of the ship they took my ancestors in–
to sugar plantations for former slave owners.
Thug siud adhbhar dhomh sgrìobhadh as ùr.
At times we wondered where emerging Scottish poets went
between tweets, but we soon learned not to ask questions
affecting personal security.
Oh, listen now, my dearest one
To all the things I’d wish for you:
A hundred lovely days like this
In the manuscript, the verses
are written out on pages washed
with subtle colour.
They say the average star forms from an accretion of densities,
Performs reactions whose excesses light millions of years of space
Sing like a linty
Let your voice be heard
The stones face each other
in rows like booth-style
compartments in old trains.