Deborah Tyler-Bennett
Magpie
Last night, a dream circled like a ragged magpie.
I was standing in a queue
that didn’t have a front,
rumour pricked us, beak jabbing.
I was standing in a queue
in black and white,
rumour pricked us, beak jabbing,
hands gestured, fluttering wing tips.
In black and white
a queue from a Soviet movie,
hands gestured, fluttering wing tips
rustled the dome above our heads.
A queue straight from a Soviet movie,
streaked with lines of mercury.
The dome above our heads
bounced back bird chatter.
Streaked with lines of mercury,
the trembling queue
bounced back bird chatter
filled with echoes lamenting missed trains.
The trembling queue
shifted, the hall filled with light
and echoes lamenting lost trains
thinned, becoming watery.
Shifting hall filled with light,
rumours saying we were nowhere near the front
thinned and became watery.
A woman behind me snapped ‘typical.’
Rumour had it we were nowhere near the front,
and nowhere near the end of queuing,
a woman behind me snapped ‘typical!’
Her cold voice cawing.
Nowhere near the end of queuing,
I stood in line
taking my place
in a dream that circled like a ragged magpie
streaked with lines of mercury.
I was standing in a queue
that didn’t have a front,
rumour pricked us, beak jabbing.
I was standing in a queue
in black and white,
rumour pricked us, beak jabbing,
hands gestured, fluttering wing tips.
In black and white
a queue from a Soviet movie,
hands gestured, fluttering wing tips
rustled the dome above our heads.
A queue straight from a Soviet movie,
streaked with lines of mercury.
The dome above our heads
bounced back bird chatter.
Streaked with lines of mercury,
the trembling queue
bounced back bird chatter
filled with echoes lamenting missed trains.
The trembling queue
shifted, the hall filled with light
and echoes lamenting lost trains
thinned, becoming watery.
Shifting hall filled with light,
rumours saying we were nowhere near the front
thinned and became watery.
A woman behind me snapped ‘typical.’
Rumour had it we were nowhere near the front,
and nowhere near the end of queuing,
a woman behind me snapped ‘typical!’
Her cold voice cawing.
Nowhere near the end of queuing,
I stood in line
taking my place
in a dream that circled like a ragged magpie
streaked with lines of mercury.
Page(s) 24-25
magazine list
- Features
- zines
- 10th Muse
- 14
- Acumen
- Agenda
- Ambit
- Angel Exhaust
- ARTEMISpoetry
- Atlas
- Blithe Spirit
- Borderlines
- Brando's hat
- Brittle Star
- Candelabrum
- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
- Coffee House, The
- Dream Catcher
- Equinox
- Erbacce
- Fabric
- Fire
- Floating Bear, The
- French Literary Review, The
- Frogmore Papers, The
- Global Tapestry
- Grosseteste Review
- Homeless Diamonds
- Interpreter's House, The
- Iota
- Journal, The
- Lamport Court
- London Magazine, The
- Magma
- Matchbox
- Matter
- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
- Moodswing
- Neon Highway
- New Welsh Review
- North, The
- Oasis
- Obsessed with pipework
- Orbis
- Oxford Poetry
- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
- Poetry Review, The
- Poetry Salzburg Review
- Poetry Scotland
- Poetry Wales
- Private Tutor
- Purple Patch
- Quarto
- Rain Dog
- Reach Poetry
- 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