Song
For this morning I am resolved
to live more like a bird,
with my chest puffed out
as blazon of my great good fortune
or protection from the cold.
I will turn an eye to the open sky,
entrust my obvious blind spots
to the protection of instinct,
refuse to admit the existence
of anything but the present.
I will take flight only
in the face of the direst threat,
fling my song upon
the dull embers of dawn
to burn with just one story,
that reports of my demise
have been greatly exaggerated.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Jo Dixon: Two poems
Nature Reserve
Asphalt smoothway hastens hybrid cycles
and monoscoped twitchers
past a dry brood of wellies
feathered in mud-splashed memories
Jo Dixon
Spring
(After Barbara Hepworth)
Bronze egg
hatched with twine
outweighs
panting arms edging
her out; she
tilts on the tail lift.
Salt rivulets
perspire
down her silken
shell until -
flanked by
armoured glass,
she exhibits in
white space.
But when Spring
is lacy
with sunlight
leaves,
fingertips
reach to meet round
her back, feet
follow her curved
breath and in
the criss-cross
veins of her yolk eyes conceive
amorous
plume-stretches of teals,
the branchwork
of foraging goldcrests,
and a marriage
of grey herons spired
in their nest.
Jo Dixon
Welcome!
This blog will be a space for those who took part in the Hidden Nature walkshop at Attenborough Nature Reserve in February to post work inspired by the day. It would be good to see writers using each other's work to inspire and shape new writing - if you don't want yours used in this way, though, feel free to post a line after it asking others to lay off.
As we're hoping to run a similar event in the autumn, it'd be good to build a bit of momentum towards that. I'll be posting a couple of fine poems from Jo Dixon later today, and some of my own work later.
Matt Merritt
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