New stuff isn't posted here before publication because (quite rightly) journals like to publish fresh material.
Poems here have either been published more than a year ago, or else they are play things that I'm not thinking of sending out. You can be the judge of which is which...
Our Own Turf
Upland grasses scratch and spring like
matted kitchen scourers. Tangle-maned
mare and fell foal know their own land;
tough native nous grows from grass-roots.
Every hill-hardy blade of sweet turf
ties hoof to heaf. Here the herds live,
turn tails to kill-cold winds, are roofed
by unhaltered tumbled sky.
Men in suits with city hands tape
numbers into rules that hold us
to account for living here. They forget
it was our turf that coated the bare rock,
bred herd to hill, and bonded farm to fell
with centuries of carbon from old stars.
31 March 2014
Fiction : Dragon Bait * Against the Odds * Scratch * Coachman * The Forthright Saga * String of Horses * Non-Fiction : Hoofprints in Eden * One Fell Swoop * Fell Facts & Fell Fun * Short Stories : The Twisted Stair * Keeping On * Poetry : Ash Tree * Ruby Wedding * Galloway Gate * Samples! * Jackdaw : About the Author * Blog * News & Events * Services * For Overseas Purchasers * Links * Home