Just opposite, an island of the sea,
There came enchantment with the shifting wind,
That did both drown and keep alive my ears
Hyperion, John Keats
My sisters’ names I write in water
An M, an I, a J
Growing blank freckles on tree pulp
Your scarlet swimming cap still had drips
as you stood at the door
Your eyes spoke of the fate you would yourself meet
You wrung your frayed towel on the carpet
The wet that reaps
I write in water
Fish follow the reflection
of the names our parents chose
after a film star
a ballet dancer
Oh, those home-made skirted bathing suits would show the side of our titties
as we waved at the sea
The body that would hold us together
for a while
Medusa hair alive
Sunlight points down
My sisters’ names I write in water
An M, an I, a J
DAB LOGIC ON GULAG ATTIRE
And so, still clutching the hunk of bread, he drew his feet out of his valenki, deftly leaving inside them his footcloths and spoon, crawled barefoot up to his bunk, widened a little hole in the mattress (…) amidst the sawdust, concealed his half ration.
One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
Pumpernickel
mashed with spit
sucked and savoured
Gorky feast
Busy throats
in the convict built
The tongue that licks others’ leftovers
sticks to the plain slate
Bellows comrade in his imagination
Tears rest in pock marks
How do the scum wash?
No time to spy on bigger members
Splash pointless sacks
Nyet zygotes
Artists unbind cold paint with stiff hairs
Dab logic on gulag attire
One dry valenki, one not so
Ironic pride in the frozen mortar power plant
Living in the present with a sentence
Commie parents, only one style of pen
Grey numbers on the catwalk
Thoughts of prisoners are not all free
More to talk about with fellow inmates than family
On the outside his half-a-film-reel curls
waiting for light
to darken
ABACUS OVERLOAD
The Sea
a witness to wild cries
from humans and swallows
when they first see the white cliffs
in search of sustenance and safety
Chorus of fleshy lip and beak
blend with waves-a-crash
A promise of repairing existing nests
Pee peeh, pee peeh, pee peeh, peeh pee
The Sea
Blue liminal saltwater escape
from war to peace
The People’s Friend in a doctor’s waiting room
The beans as prizes in a food bank queue
The airport lounge’s dusty-box scents
The hospital corridor’s Caution-Wet-Floor yellow
The faded leaflets in cold council offices
Who are we in-between?
Ahoy me hearties!
The government spyglass mists over
Get ready to write your initials in fog
Finger fatigue from abacus overload
The flight through familiar star patterns
on wings, dinghies and kayaks
Sensing whispers though feathers and skin
It’s light o’clock at Landmark Mountain
No bomb smoke on water
No sulphur stink
Under anoraks we cuddle hope
not to sink
Underneath
sharks stir past eyeing orange rubber
Swim through the ghost of rusty Royal George
It’s battlefield de la mer, my brothers
GO SPROUT THE GRAIN!
She weaves a cross of rushes
picked from blessèd brooks
Each twist stirs poets’ prayers
from ancient coffins
to future grains
Barefoot with wicker basket
she treads the Michael line
Collects scarves, felt hats that rest on brambles
Turns water into mead to pour in taverns dim
Throws her swan feather cloak onto iced earth
Go sprout the grain!
Brigid in her skirts of flame
lights up the field
Spins the emerald wheel
of the quarter day
above cottage doors
There’s a cross buried on the hill
tickled by Druids’ ash
Anchored are the Celtic roots
Whispers of green shoots
Go dance the corn dollies!
Don the headdress made of holly
Waltz with the North wind
In the forest
handfasting
Go sing the mutes!
to their Three-Fold muse
White Goddess pokes her head
through the blank page
and blows as
flames flicker to syllables
that bless boxty fire feasts
on rowan trestles
SUNNA GEOLU
Peasant hearts of Heathendom beat
to the corn maiden’s pirouettes
across scythed magic
Her neck found in the last of the sheafs
that bathed in sunna geolu
and supped rain flaggons of yore
Cut in her prime
before wattle time
Peasants’ gnarly fingers craft knots to tree sonatas
Crack the spikes for a chestnut heart
Her corn blood incarnate bleeds
through mankind’s vaults
who ate many an ear
Shake the pershores, goos and blegs
Gatterberries, skaldberries bumblekites
Plait the pastry, lick with yolk
Kindle the tinder for hungry folk
In pewter moonlight
she lies with the new crop
Stiff little fingers splayed
ready
to hold the first grene’s hand
She, the infinity grain 8
Bionote
Deborah Edgeley is Editor-in-Chief of Ink Pantry in the UK. She has published 6 poetry collections. With Mark Sheeky she performs poetry with music as Fall in Green.
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