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MICROPOETRY
love
‘ … dragging sadness down a farewell road toward the sea …’
a few inhale the scent of honeysuckle’d hedgerows
taste those blackberries wasted by a Cornish summer sun
or spot the blackthorn plump with rounded-ripened-indigo
their spikes as sharp as tiger-claws. to scratch. the blood to run.
a few might sense collective footfall dragging sadness down
a farewell road toward the sea. where surf drags up the grit
from off the undertow of water. the seaweed dry enough
to stab bare feet. and force the gulls to flee.
i well remember where i tripped and sent my new-found bird
flying. his well-loved china wings set free.
the crickets temporarily in silence. tenderness
replaced with fright. you see —
my mother’s tongue would lash in fury. not lick my wounds
or counsel kind. therefore —
i learnt to hide my pain within me. until alone. all reprimands
denied. a few will open up their hearts and grieve politely. but
too many times in life i’d bundled up my grief and nestled it away
so. when my mother died my heart flew wide-open. to shed those
shattered tears. and cry. like gulls. above a…