My breath is white.
It’s wintertime:
more than weather
it’s the ghost of hunger,
small sounds in the night,
a strangling of light.
I walk through haar,
through the town’s cobbled crust,
past smeared shadow,
mirrors in green glass. As I go,
halos of lamp turn to will o’ wisp,
neon to bone fire.
Moon cracks cloud
and the clock face freezes.
I burrow in a guise
no wraith will recognise,
professional, of Dumfries,
out for an hour.
In my Apple-land
they quietly wait,
souls lost, souls gained,
finger tips on window panes.
I raise a glass to Hecate,
drink, ab ovo usque mala.
Ab Ovo Usque Mala- from the egg to the apple, from birth to death, the circular path.
It’s wintertime:
more than weather
it’s the ghost of hunger,
small sounds in the night,
a strangling of light.
I walk through haar,
through the town’s cobbled crust,
past smeared shadow,
mirrors in green glass. As I go,
halos of lamp turn to will o’ wisp,
neon to bone fire.
Moon cracks cloud
and the clock face freezes.
I burrow in a guise
no wraith will recognise,
professional, of Dumfries,
out for an hour.
In my Apple-land
they quietly wait,
souls lost, souls gained,
finger tips on window panes.
I raise a glass to Hecate,
drink, ab ovo usque mala.
Ab Ovo Usque Mala- from the egg to the apple, from birth to death, the circular path.
5 comments:
What a great way to start my Halloween morning! :)
Love the photo and "Moon cracks cloud and the clock face freezes." What a great line!
May your journey into the night be fruitful, even if the fruit comes in a glass. ;)
cheers me dear and may all your pumpkins be juicy ones.
NO BAD BIG MAN. STILL THINK POEMS ARE FUR THE BIRDS THO
I particularly like the last two stanzas, very nice on the ear.
Fabulous images in this. I love 'neon to bone fire' for its half rhyme and the idea of the streets turning to something otherworldly as the narrator passes.
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