Poetry

Send

Send me a secret story in a song just for me
Send me a grain of dust
Send me a heartbeat flipped, squeezed with lemon juice, soaked with sugar
Send me the sharp stars
Send me the winks in the water
Send me
Send me songs, photographs, breaths, petals, kisses, muddy puddles
Send send
Send send me the satellites and the lights of Japan and the sizzle of electric eels
Send send send
Send me the weave and the weft, the ragged starts and endings
Send

If we thought that love was gone

by Alison Wells (1991)

i

If we thought that love was gone

that out of sweetness none remained

why should we catch the balmy air

its warm and laden music strained

upon a wise and falling light

the evening coming home to rest

the wide relentless sky still bright

like a heart stretched taut with care

then shall we find brim-comfort there

that what is now, not past is best

the full and glowing day now done.

ii

Why should we catch the balmy air

with glee and toss it through our hair

shout and stomp and shout again

that all we want to be is here?

And yet we grip rich beauty tight

must keep this fleeting joy so rare

within our touch, our taste, our sight

but scent and sound they drag us back

to scenes of sweet and haunting pain

and put us face to face with fear

that what is gone will ever lack

iii

Shout and stomp and shout again

that what despairs cannot be heard

Feel the sun – a love’s embrace

the breeze becomes a tender word

that soothes the soul, the heart and mind

and summer’s wealth of promise stored

makes the falling evening kind

and musings touched with warmth erase

the tracks where restless hopes keep pace

Then loss and aching quiet ignored

both strength and beauty now remain.

This poem appears in the Poetry Against Cancer book. Poetry Against Cancer is a collection of poetry from writers around the world; all the money raised from the book goes to St John’s Ward at Our Lady’s Children’s Hospital, Crumlin, the Haemotology and Oncology ward.

You can BUY IT HERE.

Poetry – Summer

Restless blood thumping
Sin spinning in the thick river
Hot flesh
Neck dips slip
sacred hollows
Smooth slices
honeyed shoulders
Teeth and lips sinking
plum juice
The dark interior
Pulse points, black veins
Liquid gold pouring
On the shallow surface

Skin buzzing with molecular nectar
Crackle
Winter embers from ash
flare, flash
Incinerated self-slivers sail into the wide sky
The soul’s discarded dust, now seed of snow