Traces in the Fog
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
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
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
Within the deepest creases, out of sight, You glide along the ocean’s murky floor; Surviving in the darkest realms of night, Your body writhes above
The oceans are awash with our debris, As plastics from our lives flow down the drain And travel down hewn channels to the sea, Where