All posts filed under: Gardening

‘Self Portrait as She Wolf’ and other poems by Breda Wall Ryan

Self Portrait as She Wolf   You sheer away from the warm, many-tailed beast, spurn the communal dream.   Beyond the shelter of pine and fir you lope across open ground where cold scalds your lungs,   feel a soft-nosed bullet’s kiss, lick the salt wound clean, almost drown in a starry bog,   but break through its dark mirror, meet your reflection in a boutique window on a city street   among mannequins in ersatz furs, the last of your kind, or the first.   Only look back once, for a silhouette, a hungry scent. There is still time to re-trace your spoor,   answer the tribal howl. Your throat opens on one long, swooped syllable, almost a word.   The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife   (Katsushika Hokusai. The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife, woodcut c.1820.)   In the dark my fisherman shapes me, his girl-diver, to his wants, tastes his dream-geisha, inked teeth in her reddened moue, face nightingale-shit bright,   hair a lacquered bowl, camellia-oiled. I slip from his shingle-hard grip, …

‘The Goose Tree’ by Moyra Donaldson

The Goose Tree   ‘There are likewise here many birds called barnacles, which nature produces in a wonderful manner, out of her ordinary course.’ -Topographia Hibernia, Gerald of Wales   There are certain trees whereon shells grow, white-coloured, tending to russet.   Each shell contains a little living creature; like the first line of a poem, a thing   like a lace of silk delicately woven, one end of which is fastened to the shell,   and which at the other feeds into the belly of a rude mass, that in time comes   to the shape and form of a bird. When the bird is perfectly grown, the shell begins to gape.   First lace, then legs, then all comes forth until the goose hangs only by the beak.   A short space after, at full maturity, it falls into the sea, where it gathers feathers.   Those that fall onto the land perish and become nothing. A blank page. The Goose Tree is © Moyra Donaldson, from The Goose Tree (Liberties Press, 2014) Moyra …

may bell

may bell   not a rook to maycaw its mockery seats are pulled up to the maybell statuary   starling swipes up at a yellow tree laburnum is poison it sings   yellow fish are stitched into a tree tacked into the leaf and flower   the flowerpod the seed –   maybe all three: root, bloom, and seed   are stitched in.   seed   seed slopes, slews in the crystal pool   its flesh blooms to an effort at tone former desiccate, it corals the milk   sucking in meat from water’s distress   and living nonetheless–   winding in its silver thread beneath brine of flesh frond    and secret too   cells   draw in the silver thread beneath brine of flesh frond   shut in cold shut in light   a silica scar a stone embed   lit in rock deep cut in   it forms a bird graven arched   this place is unseamed   cells   draw to the frayed lifethread the flame of it is subdued to …

The Elm Of The Aeneid and Spadework by Peter O’ Neill

The Elm of the Aeneid   After Virgil , Lines 282-295, Book VI     In the vast shadows of the Elm, Under her ancient boughs where, According to men dreams are allied to nightmare, Intricately woven into every arrow-headed leaf, There monstrous shapes and forms Become crafted by the elements, As beheld through the Light Trees, Where everyone fashions for themselves The proper demons which people their most Specific exactitude; Just as Aeneas saw, Him-self, those heady Chimera and which He pursued with wrought steel, On through the torturous waters of the Tarterean Archeron, where the roads led.   This translation of The Elm of the Aeneid, After Virgil , Lines 282-295, Book VI is © Peter O’Neill . Spadework    In memoriam   Out in the allotment, thinking and digging, And considering Heaney’s analogy Of the opened field – Immense acreage Of sovereignty to be found there   Emanating beneath the wood of his words, Their clayey, and powderish substance. And, pausing to take a breath, before I too Rake up the skeletal remains of …

Impress by Candi V. Auchterlonie

Impress by C.V Auchterlonie. Published Punk Hostage Press 2012 nest   1.   I see us as if we’re not us at all as if we’ve let our body suits already slipped off and skinny dipped under some glass blown lake one in /one out we walk the same /we drown the same.’    nest is © Candi V. Auchterlonie from Impress (Amazon) Impress is Candi V. Auchterlonie’s second poetry collection, published by Punk Hostage Press 2012. Candi V. Auchterlonie  is a woman of the landscape. She is a poet of the open vista and of the outdoors. One feels that the house and the hearth are an alien skin that somehow do not fit her. The house functions as doors and windows that lead to water and wide open spaces. There is an obsidian thread running as a deep cleft through and under her expression. She mines this vein revealing a controlled sure craftsmanship in her approach to poetic form. Auchterlonie’s writing approach to her poetry is singular. Whilst she takes on themes of motherhood, alienation, …