Freshwater Salts
Icy breath cascades across our asphalt arteries, meandering blockages that we incinerate with shovelfuls of salted grit; their cloying excess overspilling into unkempt reservoirs that
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Icy breath cascades across our asphalt arteries, meandering blockages that we incinerate with shovelfuls of salted grit; their cloying excess overspilling into unkempt reservoirs that
Golden rays of winter’s sun pierce through the roof-shingle of the channel-sky, forbidden warmth enfolding frozen robes that shudder at the touch of an assumed
Beneath mottled shells of dreary, setting suns we bury instruments in living sands; digital treasures to map the edges of existence. Caressing your carapace as
Struggling beneath the weight of accumulation you buckle in the rains; a surplus of backwash baptising you with the filthy discharge of a thousand vanquished
Ghostly quilts of verdant fields shimmer in the braying heat, picked bare by arid gusts that rattle through the landscape with malicious intent; a rank,
Buried deep beneath the tundra, frozen bodies lie asleep, waiting for the trumpet call to raise them from their peaty beds. Saturated with the fossilised
Peeling back the blackened veins of ancient crust, forgotten fragments whisper soggy secrets. Their enforced exile loosening tongues that now bubble over with stories of
Beneath shadows Of Spring Mountains The rain dove arcs Across a barren sky, Its trembling shadow Rolling listlessly Above abandoned towns Of silver and gold,
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