Ancient Rings of Time
Giant clams lie settled atop distant mountain peaks; their arid husks supressing the brackish smell of ancient waves that once bathed them in their shallow,
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Giant clams lie settled atop distant mountain peaks; their arid husks supressing the brackish smell of ancient waves that once bathed them in their shallow,
At the top of the world we slowly cast our sonic nets beneath the waves, in search of the secrets that these soundscapes suppress. Spectrograms
Born into violence: the offspring of mixed aggressions, traces of sickly silver quickly infiltrate our atmosphere. Toxic clouds that sail the zephyrs, spurting their entrails
Between synthetic, parallel lines drawn across artificially constructed maps, the clouds begin to form. Climbing upwards like giant anvils of cotton candy, a trick of
From buried cracks And open wounds Shrouded scales Begin to seep. Cutting across murky waters Into buried memories And forgotten half-truths, Inky fingerprints Preserve their
Hidden behind the fragility Of a sub-Antarctic archipelago, A speck of shamrock shimmers On a sea of turquoise. Exploding into life this fleck Becomes
Sea air shimmers in the evening haze; The gentle rays from a setting sun Reflect the remnants of the passing storm, Cascading skywards in prismic
At the far edges of the world, Hidden deep amongst the Raging seas and rising waves Laze a series of secret atolls and coral coves;
Translucent orbs of moonlight Sail along our chalky coasts. Encased in an envelope Of teals and sapphires, Their chemical composition Reveals the secret tracks And
The blushing sun conceals A dirty secret. So in our quest for BEAUTY We shield our glowing frames From its spiteful rays; Basting our bodies