Savouring
the soft pickling of day’s end,
the heaviness of time descend;
sun sliding seaward,
pallid orb a fickle friend.
Hearing
the moan
a flickering call
time to extend.
Feeling
our short sally
down the customary alley;
where moist veils kiss
a rugged rocky wall
and lost footsteps
of sunlit seconds
fall
echoing.
Watching
her sibilant slipping
through garish glades,
stretching sylvanly:
our plum.
“Come all,
Come one!”
“No... no!
Not here!”
“Where, where,
my dear?”
“A place delicious, near
where the robin bleeds,
the cock crows
and deadly nightshade
births and grows.
Where Hecate knits:
a place that fits.”
Smelling
fresh fecundity,
the bitter belt of
souring milk
and brackish black
of bubbling blood.
Eventually
found spread autumnally
as if some ruddy rascals
had sipped their wine
indolently,
while we pattered on predictably.
Bob Nimmo has had poetry and short stories published in Britain, Singapore, Australia and New Zealand and his poetry has been short-listed in international
competitions. He has also written the book, lyrics and music for six musical comedies
and had a novel published.
Alternative Reality Web Zine: ISSN# 1559-3037
All materials on these pages (including fiction, poetry, essays, articles, interviews and opinion pieces) are copyrighted to the original authors and may not be reproduced without permission.
Reviews
