When the Mangroves Disappeared
Deep beneath the dunes fossilised roots whisper golden memories of emerald lagoons. When sapphire seas lapped tenderly at knotted feet, bathing sunken stems with the
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Deep beneath the dunes fossilised roots whisper golden memories of emerald lagoons. When sapphire seas lapped tenderly at knotted feet, bathing sunken stems with the
Ancient forces dredge secrets from beneath the seabed, undulating stimuli unearthing memories of a long-buried past. Rising and falling with the passing tide dark shadows
Returning to forsaken lands you cautiously rebuild your island homes; every log, branch, and mud pile pressed on with the precise hesitancy of re-colonised dreams.
Stony gardens of shifting light sway vibrantly beneath the waves; rainforests of the sea, whose motely splendour permeates still waters with a pale and delicate
Scattered across the sea the fossilised fingerprints of your invisible touch proclaim the coincidence of our lineage. A single point from which we all emerged,
In a change to the usual format of this blog, this post features a longform interview with the poet and scholar Donald Beagle, whose recent
Spat out from the murky exhalations of our impetuous industry you drift into the firmament, tainting its continence with your coarse and filthy touch, trickling
Blown on cooling winds your paper wings flutter in the breeze, a murmuration of autumn leaves stretched across the horizon. Stray gusts catch the chosen
Sailing by moonlight you wallow in the opulence of your oceanic abode. An illusion of permanence concealing the current that now bathes you in shameful
Tiny flecks of red dance across artificial rivers of powdered grain, their movements halted only by the confusing steps of a familiar other. The speed