Featured Poet, Anne Casey


AFTER MAKING LOVE WITH THE LIGHTS ON, DOORS WIDE OPEN


resting my head on your shoulder
when
you said there is
no future no
past only this
this moment
and
i replied it
is
always
now
never yesterday
or tomorrow
we can live forever
in this unending
now and then
we turned
out
the light




DARKLING


Artemis, protector
of unmarried girls,
where were you
when they howled your name?


ghosting over shadows
of fates evanesced
you waxed and waned
while no-one knew


how you’d
let them down




LET ME COUNT THE WAYS


I:
Do you miss her?


Only when she is off
stood by my father
shapeshifting his mood


Do you miss her?


Only when she flies to my
brother’s side holding
still to her first-born child


Do you miss her?


Onlywhen she sweeps in
like some changing wind
to bewitch superstitious minds


II:
Do you miss her?


Like a small round
stone in the hollow turn
beyond my swollen tongue


Do you miss her?


Like a clinging
vine intertwined in the
cleft of my left ventricle


Do you miss her?


Like the wet black
scratch as a sharp nib
inscribes her name inside my ribs


III:
Do you miss her?


Only as far as
ice crystals on the
heights of Sagarmāthā


Do you miss her?


Only as deep as
serpentine in the floor
of the Mariana Trench


Do you miss her?


Only as much as
a heart or a lung
not inasmuch as


I could count the ways




Notes: 
1.The title for this poem originates from a line in the 43rd sonnet of a collection of love sonnets written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
2. Sagarmāthā meaning “Peak of Heaven” is the Sanskrit name for Mount Everest.



FOR EVERY PURPOSE UNDER HEAVEN


Modest as a novice, Autumn slips in
without the riotous fanfare of her showier sister, Spring.


Her breath is cooler and with unassuming care,
she whispers prudent prognostications, summoning forth a solemner air.


Subtly, she draws us back, like some distant drummer
from all the fuss and heat and noise of her raucous brother, Summer.


In muted robes of earthen tones and with steps more measured
she slowly sheds the gilded charms that her flightier siblings treasured.


In between the trappings of fallen beauty all around,
she leaves a hint of times to come when all will lie ungowned.


Darkly chasing sister Autumn on hooves of ice-cold steel,
Winter—wielding whetted blades—will bring the weak to heel.



A POCKETFUL OF DREAMS


A twirl of emerald
for the circular skirt
that caught your eye
as Bridget Brennan
swanned into your life with her
shopgirl glamour, and you forever
wondering how you ever won her over


A twist of turquoise
trimmed with amber
for the laughter in your
darling boy’s eyes
reaching out of the tea-chest—
makeshift play-pen—for his
Daddy’s arms to hold him


The chestnut swirl
of your little girl’s curls
framed in white
reflecting the glow
of her shining face
First Holy Communion lace
unfolding into a bridal train


A grey gash of ache
for the lost babe
knocked sideways by the
bright red-yellow-blue flash as
five sons clash to split the ash
across your fresh-cut grass
and slash their mother’s prize begonias


The clink, clink, chink of them—
tiny, shiny multi-coloured orbs
one by one slipping and spilling
between grazed knees
past the muddied margins
beyond the grasping reach
of your loosened grip

If you liked Anne Casey then you will also enjoy Ruth Aylett

Stay in touch with Anne Casey at her website here

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