Loading...

poem

I like the condensed nature of poems: they’re great for capturing a theme, a moment, an emotion. Many poems I write, I’d never show anyone. I use them as sketches to express something I don’t understand, and often find they help me gain insights.

This is a poem I wrote during the process of working on Cooking with Bones, to get me connecting with the ‘raw material’. I felt as if I needed to get to know ‘bones’ as objects from a closer angle.

So with that in mind, I decided that I needed to:

a) attempt to understand them by writing a poem

or

b) pick a suitable target, perform a murder and subsequent extraction.

The latter was far too gruesome, and a little bit wrong. So here’s the poem..

 

BONES

Death

isn’t peaceful.

each heartbeat, as it stops

continues as a drumbeat, in the

skeleton.

We bones ache to move out

of the living bodies we’re buried in.

We’re locked in and lively

slyly sheathed by

periosteum.

When we’re naked

bones

we’ll dance truthfully.

Under any kind of light,

sun-stroke day or fluorescent night

we’ll glow pale as we clobber

shadows

build drum rolls; our echoes

will scramble through clouds,

as we ricochet

longing.

Share this page on social media: