SPANGLED IN MY CELTIC CROSS
put your remark
in the breach
of my heart
and reach
to my head.
make love to my core,
in the land of my lore
this said-
in fields in summer
in woods in the fall-
with you, then me, under
it all-
the sensual cloud
calling wild out loud-
then bodies spent
on the grass all bent
talking in mulchey tones
scenting tree bark and squelchy moss with pheromones.
naked tall bones
hiding in robes of silver birches,
walk with random tribes of bluebells
bringing us to pagan churches-
where we leave offerings
for mineral blessings
on trickling rocks-
like hat bells
and single socks.
at the base,
we looked up at Arthur or Merlin's face,
trying to rewind
and prime
our supernatural clocks
to that forgotten time
we can't replace,
but only got
the echo of physical and mental mines
under this surface.
no more homes
gather round the circle stones-
no more druid dreads
to connect our disconnected threads
up on Alderley Edge-
and as we wandered back down
to get on the train out of town,
i felt my ear-ring
while I was thinking-
and found a ribbon of moss
spangled in my celtic cross.
Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 22nd November, 2010. All Rights Reserved.
Some poems sleep inside you. This one has taken twenty years to wake up.
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40 Poems From POMEGRANATE FLESH by Strider Marcus Jones
PoetryThis collection of poetry features 40 of the 75 poems from my latest book Pomegranate Flesh. You are most welcome to vote and comment and follow me. The poems in this collection show Strider's gift of being able to weave words into creative and surp...