Poetry

I wrote this poem some years ago after experiencing the events it describes while walking on Cannock Chase. It was later included in the pamphlet “Road Kill” which I co-authored with poet and publisher Nadia Kingsley for her Fairacre Press. Recently, during a similar walk, I experienced something like the same events.

AUTUMN RITE

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The sound the stags’ antlers make as they lock together in a clearing in the wood above the quarry one morning in October

 

A hard clattering rattle

With a hollow after-echo

In the wet trees.

 

The sound of the victorious stag’s voice, heard from further down the quarry in the hidden, wooded valley

 

Deep, dry, a rasping

Grated booming, as of

Bark cracking

A tree splitting.

 

The way the herd of does are glimpsed running towards the stag’s voice

 

A sudden scattered

Flash-fragment through the undergrowth

Quivering of twig-ends as they pass by

Tail-flutter, hoof-tingle

The high-voltage approach.

 

What other sounds are heard, peripheral to this grand drama

 

A woodpecker’s rolling

Stuttered laughter, the jay’s

Alarm-scream, the dove’s wing-clatter

A crow tearing a hole in the sky.

 

And what is experienced after

 

A secret silence –

A whisper in the blood –

The deep below singing

Of generations.

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4 thoughts on “Poetry

  1. Elaine says:

    beautifully written and sad.

  2. Julian Beach says:

    Oh my….

    “Lud” is transports me right back to the Roaches and the “Church”.

    Perfect.

  3. Julian Beach says:

    Darn. How I hate typos. Feel free to edit.

  4. Keith Bradbury says:

    Splendid. Captured some experiences I have had.

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