A Wind Scraithe. Poem by Colin Honnor

A Wind Scraithe

A wind scratches, a silty loess
wind ghost plait ropes, rammels
wind liass freights its effortful
abrasion
the ant soul formically exudates
scatter nests its cargo fine ghosts

to freight diaspora, compose anabasis
the fluke reflects saltire vanishes
farewell, disappearing the silent chorus
termite calm

erosion revenant splay chrism dried kelp
kilned barnacle loch
soon cell whispers calx particle
splits to lodge in its house of moon
the red tide of aphasia.

a different sea landlocks idea
pure arch of blue,
salts lake to its sour ice
inflame tree re
peon crouch hunched under the pui hee
a different bohemia
known unknown chokes, silty labials

forked ridges ride ammonite bay
ice haar unrecords the floe secret histories
at the cobwebs drackle dew point
between flame bush

centaury dews hooves freight
droop from thorn to berry sun
this vouches to separate leaf
shatters so twist the affect of plumb fall of nothing

reflects hue silence the winter thought of you

how you would stop amazed bemused
perhaps amused at some perception

doubt had interfused with caertainty
a cogitate white perplexity

fled in the sun‘s heat, evaporates
the white stones

melting the transient filigree
fable of the dissolving tree

to gather in one silent space
filling this plaited coronel

and the far off approaching roar
is not rain nor ocean

II
No we shall not go
to the ashphalt of extinction
where knees need not heal
Look out over the field of flax
the fields of gold, corn wheat and barley
there you will go though you return
to sifted sand, shunted gravels
where hearts cannot heal
look out over the fields of gorse
the fields of thistle, heather
THE HOOKED BEAM, THE COUNT, HIS ONE EYE
proleptially monocled treats oaths
binding justicially unstitches the wolf
from the lions skin
Kaspar ist todt der frei Germanium
no you will not return to Dumpton Cliff among yellow furze
good too for these pale cold days
stumps of chain radar metal bruise in sea gorse
the grass of parnassus, the ladies mantle
where bones of metal stork bury to trip the enigma.

 

 

After the University (Wales, and Leeds, where he edited the internationally acclaimed journal Poetry and Audience)  Colin Honnor has worked in publishing, the OU and the law. He is a literary scholar and a translator of modern European poetry, and also runs a fine arts press in the Cotswolds.

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