The Aeolian Revue has published another one of my poems. Go and have a look at their other writers too.
This poem was written a couple of years ago in a small cottage in Baltimore on the South coast of Ireland. We used peat in the cast iron stove.
Peat
A slow burn bound in black
giving nothing away
save the stains on hands
trousers
anything you care
to name
nameless as flame is
as flames are
lost
collapsing compressed bricks
processed as wild is
by staining hands and anything
we care to claim
wordsofmercury 