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The Argotist Online |
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IAN SEED After more than twenty years in
Italy, France and Poland, Ian Seed currently writes and teaches in Lancashire.
His poems have recently appeared in Aught, Dream Catcher, Fire,
Exhultationsanddifficulties, Great Works, New Hope
International, The Penniless Press, and Stride Magazine. THE FAVOUR OF NIGHTThe tenderness we grew ashamed of. Discomfort the prime force in our moving. Make of it what you will, we walked through the forest until we saw the city shining on the other side of the river, the gathering of nerves at hand, night streams whispered into one world. We waited, hooked to the bottom of a winter past, happy anyway to play along, a fine time to be had by all. A letter was hammered to each door. Knowledge was stilled to the effect of coming together.
MURMUR THROUGH THE CROWDI
was not at home and will not be. Only to speak from the recesses of my mind, and
it had better be good, she added, the white sugar in her lifted spoon stained
with old tea, willing perfectly to crumble that destiny hoisted on us by a
metaphysics unmentionable at the best of times. The winter boys hung around,
hard put to find a different way to say the same thing, the death toll of a time
when people were grateful for a decent cuppa. We got off our knees though the
message had not reached us as expected, not by a long chalk. Folk gathered on
the village green at night. They had their own way of letting us know what they
wanted.
ERATO
watched
from the dark landing she
leans in the doorway your
coat on her shoulders sleeves
limp against the street’s yellow
light the
coat falls away she
has grown young and beautiful
overnight the
doorway is empty coat
twisted in shadows curtains
flicker in the darkness of
a window left open JUSTYNA
Next
to me now in
the dark flesh
and skin skull and
bone and
between each beat
the
silence of
her heart
copyright
© Ian Seed |