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Axis Of
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The Harsh Winds of Rathlin
Radcliffe was the first to leave
five miles from my garden lawn.
Rendered to approximation,
mindful kids looked on.
And when the snow thaws I'll be out there,
sipping tea with bouyancy.
I'm physically...
Congratulating those who
frantically imbibe adventures.
Poured down on top of them like.
And when I'm looking back I think of all those characters
who personify this inclination like they do.
One wet Sunday
I dandered down to a place within the rocks.
Found some drift wood,
and with a knife I glorified the lot.
Wrote a thousand names in there,
a thousand more to go.
You were standing on the merchant's bridge,
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the streets down below.
Having just read an email from
a child who'd forgo.
The urge to rise, or compromise.
We laugh all night,
in this medieval city with delight.
These walls facilitate your gladness.
Revelry now emphasised through history.
I came to ask you if you knew of
anyone selling a specific book in which
this little spider tries to weave its web persistently
and bin bags of nettles urge a master
to return in the spring time.
I promise you we'll look along the brine,
find that driftwood,
and we'll update those names in time.
A month on an isle, mile by mile,
reading a family tree.
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