2 poems by Bob Beagrie

The Man in The Moon

Drawing the moon in its midway phase,

edging toward its final quarter, with all

of the intricacies of pockmarks, craters

thumb-smudges, blemishes, mare prints:

Nectaris         Crisium        Tranquilitatis

I saw, in the countenance emerging from

6B scribbles, the patience of an ancient

gardener, like Ted’s from the allotment

by Middlebeck with his miles-away stare

except when he looked at the living soil,

one who tended the dirt, knows full-well

it is originally of the earth, grown out of it

but standing apart in aching separation.

How it once coalesced from the shards

of impact and impregnation to hang

in a moth-like flutter around the flame

of its own making, suspended, watching

in a state of longing to cling to the gravity

of its parent, inheritance, tradition, with

its dark side simmering in the desire

to break free, a repulsion of recognition,

a will to become its own being, but how it

keeps these yin yang drives in balance

upon the Scales of Nightimes, forever

swelling, shrinking through its germination.

Tarnished mirror for our own projections;

like the helplessness of knowing Dad has

taken ill, out of reach in Spanish hands,

we rely for knowledge on refracted light.

How Ted would finger the soil and know

there was a blight, reading how the particles

suffered from a case of collective dementia

and its up to him to coax it back to memory.

Sympathy for the Night

The wind, which has wailed through town

hysterical, rambling about a pandemic,

drops, and the darkness seems to expand

in sound’s absence, as if it squats to rest

from the buffeting, as if it has no

intention of shunting off anywhere soon.

And why would it?

Each day brands the night a vagrant,

shooing it away, kicking it on, clad in

hi-vis vests, helmets, steel capped boots,

with good-riddances and official writs

of ‘Get thee gone’ signed by the Sun;

but for now this night can stake out a plot,

unroll a groundsheet, trace constellations.

About the contributor

Bob Beagrie has published numerous collections of poetry and several pamphlets, most recently Civil Insolencies(Smokestack 2019),  Remnants written with Jane Burn (Knives, Forks & Spoons Press (2019) Leasungspell (Smokestack 2016) and This Game of Strangers – written with Jane Burn (Wyrd Harvest Press 2017) He lives in Middlesbrough and is a senior lecturer in creative writing at Teesside University.

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