Archive
and we at bed and purest
from a lazarus by morgan downie
for me all purest leaves
that may a mountain move
with each morning will we
pleasures make, of buds
and buds that be, steep
the sing of gown valley
to the shepherd in gold
and in this flower morning
this kirtle of delights
the embroidered straw
a fragrant, fragrant
madrigal of thee
the wool of each
shall be gold to me
morning dances myrtle
groves my love
and we at bed and purest
morgan downie lives and works in the leafy lushness of central Scotland. His collection stone and sea is available from Calderwood Press. He can be found at his website.
the tunnel
they say i am the fruit
of un-natural union
they say that i feed
on the blood of virgins
all these things i hear
though they think i do not
in the darkness it is easy
to create monsters
they descend from above
groove steps with their passing
weave the white threads
of their desire around me
until my bound oxhide glows
and their tongues are sated
in my pale light starved meat
laughing they call this pit
a labyrinth
until a man comes
holds a torch to my face
and in a voice that sounds
like broken jars
tells me i am no more
monster than he
and guides me out
into the brightness
there a woman waiting
and seeing me shrieks
at the secret unbound
blood falls in skeins
let them sing songs the man says
that no-one shall know us
and leads me away
down to the anonymous sea
morgan downie lives and works in the leafy lushness of central Scotland. His new collection stone and sea is just out from Calderwood Press. He can be found at his website.
anaximander
anaximander
makes the world’s
first map
the centre is where he is
at least at first
he draws the things
he can see
and then
when they are not
enough
the places
he has only heard of
anaximander
sits back in the sun
he makes the world
a cylinder
it makes sense
at the time
he surrounds it
with water
looking out over
the blinding blue
of the sea
it seems
only logical
anaximander
makes the world’s
first map
draws it in the sand
at his feet
the limitless sand
which he will whisper
to himself
may be called apeiron
looking over his shoulder
in case anyone
god or man
can hear
his wife is calling
even a philosopher
must eat
he moves his hand
across the world
and it is gone
the cartographer
becomes destroyer
then eats olives
in the sun
by Morgan Downie
qarrtsiluni 