Journeymen
Lately I am bedevilled, my confidence
bevelled with each whittling year.
I suspect a grandfather,
knotted in my DNA like a sleeper cell.
A mute bell, a wheelwright who fled the
knocking at the door; sought sanctuary
in his woodshed, an inner sanctum
ankle-deep in curlicues from the wood
he planed marble smooth which
soothed his war. There he drew comfort
from reliquaries of gleaming blades, his censer
a sooted glue tin, a monstrance for his saw.
This anchorite, long dead, looms bold
now, oversees blue prints in my head,
for we are journeymen both, artisans
chiselling speech, hammering straw,
Stentorian in thought,
the last to ask for more.
Page(s) 47
magazine list
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- Chroma
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- French Literary Review, The
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- Interpreter's House, The
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- Lamport Court
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- Matter
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- Oasis
- Obsessed with pipework
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- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
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- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Private Tutor
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- Quarto
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- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
- Smiths Knoll
- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The